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peakyblindersxx · 4 years ago

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whiskey buisness - john shelby x reader (part 5 of ?)

gif by my literal angel @michaelgreys who keeps blessing us like holy fuck

a/n: all i can say is that this is the hottest one yet. as always, my girl @stxdyblr-2k did an amazing job so i hope you all enjoy :) and i'm still working on requests, tysm for all of them!!

love, abi xxx

read part one two three four | my masterlist

tagging: @datewithgianni, @mayaslifeinabox, @deepdonutkid, @springsoulofengland

prompt: john just can't help himself when he sees you with someone else.

warnings: nsfw!!! smut, fluff, angst, light praise kink, john fucking adores you and spends a good amount of time with his head between your legs (yes i know!!!!!)

John had spotted you from across the London nightclub, his table tucked into the balcony area, perfectly positioned to survey the entire club. It'd been over a month since he laid eyes on you last. Sometimes, he wondered if it was possible for you to only get more beautiful every time he saw you. He wasn't surprised, as he'd been warned of your presence by Tommy, but he was unable to stop himself from staring at you, hair neatly styled, scarlet velvet dress clinging to every curve, red lipstick emphasizing your lips, a light haze of pink pressed into your cheekbones, lash-line expertly darkened with kohl. You were dancing with one of Isaiah's friends; the young man was tall and muscular -- a blinder foot soldier, John concluded, draining his glass of whiskey, flagging the waiter down for another.

The young lad was smiling down at you. John took a swig from his drink bitterly, the man obviously head over heels, his eyes bright, excitedly glancing from your lips to your figure. John could feel himself cringe; the younger man had all the subtlety and strategy of a malnourished dog. Then again, who could blame the lad? You were an absolute vision, twirling and giggling, off your face on something Michael had brought. John couldn't help but watch, wishing it was him who had caught your attention tonight, wanting to feel your breath fan across his neck, pulling away while you giggled at his blushing arousal; him whisking you to dark corners to steal a moment of quiet.

He'd tried to get over you but he couldn't. He'd been travelling a lot lately, business in Liverpool, Edinburgh and Belfast; yet in every woman who smiled at him, he found himself searching for you in their eyes, their smiles, their laugh. They were all gorgeous, but his heart simply wasn't in it.

Tonight had started off alright, normal Peaky activity. They'd seized the club only a few hours ago, gaining vital territory in London, bagging their place in the opiate trade and a successful business prospect in one fell swoop. By all accounts, John should’ve been happy, but he'd been too lost in his own mind lately to properly take in the consequences of those sleepless nights with the accounting books, all the hours practicing shooting and boxing, all the endless driving, the meetings, the lingering stench of death which clung to his family. Try as he might, he couldn't enjoy himself. His night got worse the second he spotted you; a yearning for you suddenly flooding his veins. It was easy to get on with life when you were hundreds of miles from him, but when you were a flight of stairs away? He knew the club had countless dark passages to hide away with you, multiple cloak rooms with thick brick walls to take you against: he had to stop his mind running wild. He couldn't. That had to be the last time. You were in his past, you had to stay there. But as he watched you dance with the blinder, he could feel the familiar burn of jealousy swell deep within him. The lad was far too close to you for his comfort, practically grazing his hips to yours. John roughly rubbed his jaw at the sight, silently seething to himself in the shadows.

Thomas studied his brother's body language, taking a slow drag of his cigarette, not understanding the fuss around you. Sure, you were pretty enough; you were bright, apparently funny, but you had never caught his attention really. He observed how John's eyes followed your every move, every sway of your hips closely watched as he held his breath, losing himself to you. He was glad he'd prompted Michael to invite you; this was the most attentive he'd seen John in a month. It was no coincidence that he'd dragged you away from Birmingham, from the watching eyes of the city locals, the wagging tongues in the assembly lines, far from Ada. Michael had admitted to Thomas that it was easy to persuade you, promising you a lift in his new car and a night out as Ada had plans with a gentleman. A night of dancing with your favourite lads and an all expenses paid trip to London? You couldn't resist.

John's jaw had tensed and squared, the man murmuring something against your neck causing you to giggle and grasp his collar. Thomas could tell his brother was practically bristling with jealousy. If looks could kill, the young man clinging to your hips would be long dead from the glare unleashed on him by the tallest Shelby brother.

"You gonna sit there useless or are you gonna fucking do something about it, eh?" Tommy inquired, nudging him with his shoulder.

"I can't."

"No one will know." Thomas pointed out, raising a brow, "The Blinders will say fuck all if they see owt. They keep quiet when it's about us Shelby brothers, yeah?"

John glanced at him, eyes slightly widened, confusion furrowing his brows. "You've changed your fuckin' tune."

"Sometimes, it's good to have secrets. What Ada doesn't know about the events of tonight won't hurt her."

"We don't do secrets. We're meant to trust each other." John objected. "We're a family."

"Nothing will change, John. I'll fix it for you, yeah? You've had a rough few weeks, you should reward yourself."

"She's not a fuckin’ prize, Tom."

"Keep talking that shit and people will get the wrong idea, think you love the woman or sommet." Thomas shrugged, taking a sip of his drink, while John's cheeks flared, his eyes flinching to the floor. He smirks to himself. "You going to go get your lass, then?"

John replied wordlessly, standing and downing the rest of his drink, pulling on his suit jacket, straightening his collar. "I'll catch you later, Tom."

********

The lad was nice, his name had long disappeared into the fog of liquor and Tokyo. He was someone's cousin, but he was polite; charming, almost. Most importantly, he wasn't related to your best friend. Not quite a Casanova type like John, but you two were a good match, everyone thought so. You'd seen him a few times now over the past week. He wasn't much of a talker, but he was a good dancer, and sweet after a few pints.

The band started playing a slower song, Isaiah dancing chest to chest with a beautiful girl across from you. You felt your partner place his fingers on the small of your back, his fingers inching lower, pulling you in closer before the two of you were interrupted by a dark figure looming over you.

"Can I cut in, mate?" A strong Birmingham accent sliced through the air, voice low and polite enough, but with a tone that was laced with venom. "Or are you gonna be a dick about it?"

The lad glanced nervously between you two, moving his hands away from you, embarrassed to be caught by his boss in this state, John staring him down. You slowly pulled away from him, turning to face John.

"Or you could ask me to dance yourself, John?"

John silently glared back at you, his mouth tensed into a thin line. He looked momentarily embarrassed, his attention switching back to your dance partner, the rest of lads silently watching, breaths baited, ready to jump in on the action if the moment required it.

"I'm heading off mate, reckon she's a cocktease." Your partner comments, attempting to diffuse the tension, stepping away, not wanting a fight or to piss off his boss. His path was quickly blocked by another blinder. You shot him an apologetic look and took the large hand John was offering you.

"Or, she's just not interested in you," John quipped, smirking, locking his fingers through yours. "You gonna go get your coat while I finish up with your best mate?"

"Thought we were dancing?"

"You can dance as much as you like in the suite, yeah? Proper gramophone. You coming?"

"You just want me on my own."

"Just tired of the distractions." He told you pointedly, skimming his glare over the group of men, standing with baited breath, preparing for it to kick off.

You rolled your eyes but squeezed his hands, slowly heading to the cloakroom, chatting with the attendant as you watched John confront the lad, keeping your distance. His arms were clutching the lad's lapels, snarling in his face before pushing him back. Michael watched from a few steps away, smoking absentmindedly, spine pressed to a pillar, leaving his cousin to sort out whatever offense he believed the man had caused.

You bundled yourself up in your thin coat, a gift from one of the girls you hung around with as she had recently married a blinder and was being spoiled rotten. The coat's flimsy material was going to be useless against the London night. At least you could count on John to keep you warm on the walk back to the hotel. You headed towards the side door, John's hand quickly finding your lower back protectively as he fell into step beside you. He opened the heavy wooden doors for you, the cold air an instant relief from the heat of the nightclub. You turned back as the door closed, catching a glimpse of the boys closing in on the lad, their eyes gleaming with a violent hunger for action.

"He'll be alright. Daft prick just getting put in his place." John said flatly. He seemed bored but watched you anxiously, begging you with his eyes to drop the subject.

"Is the hotel close by?" You asked casually, as the frigid air swirled around your calves, instantly causing you to shiver.

"I'll get us a cab, love, can't have you in those heels trekking halfway across London town." He stepped fearlessly into the road, unbothered about any potential danger or just forgetful from the whiskey. Quickly, a dark cab pulled up to the cobblestone pavement and John helped you in, taking off his coat and wrapping it around your shoulders before climbing in after you.

As the engine started and the car made its way through London's dimly lit streets to Camden, John's hand found its way to your thigh. You glanced at him, his eyes looking away but his thumb angled against his teeth. He was nervous, having not touched you in a month. You crossed your legs, angling them towards him, his hand shifting higher up your thighs, taking a deep sigh of relief. Your hands found his chin in the gloom of the back of the car, only the occasional bright lights from a nightlife hub or the demure lights of a residential illuminating his face, the angles changing as the cab drove on. It was too much. You'd been needing this for the past month, needing him. Your hands laced around the back of his head and you pressed your lips to his for a brief moment, allowing John to pull you deeper into the kiss. It awoke something familiar inside you, something comforting. Kissing John erased all your homesickness. Christ, you had to stop thinking like this.

"You've not been about for a bit, sweetheart. I know we said never again, but I was hoping you'd come by," John muttered, forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling with yours as he spoke.

"I almost did. The amount of times I nearly visited your office.. I just couldn't do that to you or Ada. Besides, last I heard, you were on tour." You admitted, keeping your voice down to save the cab driver the embarrassment. John caressed your cheekbone with his thumb, tracing the corner of your mouth, prompting a grin from you.

"Last place on earth I'd expected to see you next, it's been hectic my end," He sighed. His eyes were outlined with deep purple smudges of exhaustion, yet he was still devastatingly beautiful even after all the sleepless nights. "It's been too long."

"Not my fault you've been hiding yourself away. You should've called."

"Blame Tommy for that. His solution seems to be sending me on business trips. Trying to make me too tired to handle you." A nervous lick of his lips revealed John’s response to the suggestion that he call you. He wanted to say he would ring next time, but there couldn't be a next time.

"You can barely handle me on a good day, Mr. Shelby."

"Can't blame me. You seen yourself? On the brink as soon as I see you, lass." He teased, earning a gentle shove to the shoulder as you quickly pressed a kiss underneath his chin. You wanted to bring up Thomas' threat, but you bit your tongue, nudging his shin with the toe of your heel in the back of the cab. He rolled his eyes, grabbing your wrists lightly. "Behave yourself in front of the nice cabbie, sweetheart."

You soften at his touch, unable to resist reaching to interlock your fingers, squeezing his hands in yours affectionately. The spirits your table had been bringing you all night definitely boosted your confidence, any hesitancy due to potential rejection drowned out. John pressed his lips to your knuckles in response. He seemed different tonight, far more protective and serious than usual. He was so quiet it was strange, usually yapping your ear off, desperate for you to react, treating him to a giggle, a middle finger or a cutting response. You'd also never witnessed him spark off due to someone's interaction with you. Finn had mentioned a week or so back that John had a shouting match with Thomas and in the moment, your name got thrown up in the conversation, resulting in John taking a swing at his big brother out of frustration. It was confusing. He was willing to start fights over you, punch his brother, yet when you two were alone he was uncomfortably quiet, studying you, lost in his thoughts. His silence only made your body long for him, his fingers tracing patterns in your inner thigh. You let out a small whimper into the crook of his neck, as he instinctively pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

The car pulled up outside the hotel, your pulse racing, the anticipation already threatening to make you give in completely to his wishes tonight. You waited as he turned up his collar against the rain, clambering out of the car to open your door, creatively arranging the coat to hover just above both your heads protecting you from the miserable weather. Although John had referred to the building as a hotel, you could instantly tell the manor was some aristocrat's third or fourth home, obviously being rented out or gifted to business partners for trips. It was an imposing grey stone building, exquisitely carved, although not a country estate, the house was just as large. Was John used to this? It hit you all of a sudden that you'd never set foot inside John's home. You'd heard from Ada that it was overrun with hoards of screaming children. She often joked with the children at the Shelby Institute that if they hung around long enough at John's, he'd assume they were one of his offspring. You'd only ever fucked him in a guest bed. The shame made your stomach churn.

You needed to remind yourself of this when your late night thoughts ran rampant. John could say what he liked, but he'd never actually allow you to get overly personal with him. Whatever confusing mess was winding around your skull regarding him was useless; it was best not to think about it. You went to him every time, yet he would've picked another lass tonight, it was just that you were there. He probably had a string of gorgeous women, older, more accomplished, more experienced, more elegant. He could tell you he missed you, but you could never take for granted that he told you this for any other reason than as a prelude to get you in bed with him. You were his gorgeous mess, but only for the night. It was best to remind yourself to care less than he did. It was the easiest solution in the long term; this way, the downfall would be less brutal.

"You alright, love?" He asked suddenly, breaking your train of thought.

"Sorry, I was thinking about work."

He lived around his brothers for long enough, he could smell bullshit. He decided to let it go. It was best to not push it tonight. Just keep it light hearted, easy, like it was always meant to be.

"If your boss keeps being a prick, you tell Ada. She'll sort him out."

"Don't I know it? He can barely open the door before she starts on about workplace ethics." You joked, earning a small smile instead of his usual bright chuckle. "John, what are we doing here?"

"Well I'm about to take you upstairs and sort you out, yeah? You gonna let me look after you?" He asked, stopping you in your tracks by turning you into him, grabbing your wrist.

"You know that isn't what I meant."

"I know. But can we leave it tonight? Can we just have fun?" He questioned, lips ghosting over yours, fixing you with an intense stare.

"It's fun anymore." Your voice cracked, the liquor in your system making it impossible to control your tone or your facial expressions. "It's fucking with my head, John."

"It's just.. fucking difficult. It's fucking difficult because of who we are." He replied firmly but dropped his makeshift coat shelter around your shoulders, freeing his hands to grab your face pulling it to his, the alcohol making him far needier than he usually appeared. "You, my beautiful Y/N, are a fucking losing game. It's not as easy for me, I can't just dance with a woman and get a leg over-"

"I never said you couldn't."

"I know, I.." He gestured vaguely, lifting one of his hands off your cheeks, and you can feel your head nodding in understanding. "You know, I thought I was going to manage it this time. That I wouldn't be a total fuck up, but then you and that lad-"

"Catch you getting jealous over me."

"Fuck off." He let go of you for a split second but you reeled him back in, resting your palms on the chest of his shirt, the soaked material sticking to his skin. You'd struck a nerve. You decided to push him further.

"I don't know what you're trying to do, Mr. Shelby, disappearing across the country for weeks then coming back and telling me you want me all to yourself?" You played with his collar, tugging his face to yours before pulling back at the last possible second, causing him to let out a frustrated groan, hands itching to feel you underneath them.

"Don't fucking wind me up," He snapped, the intensity between you rekindled momentarily.

"It's worked wonders in the past," You replied, barely able to finish your sentence before his mouth was on yours, his fingers tangling into your hair, kissing you properly. Although you'd kissed so many times prior, this one felt so genuine, as though unleashed from its restraints deep within John. You'd never kissed anyone in the rain before in the middle of the night, and it felt magical. You were shivering but hot all over, burning for John to do something, anything. You could feel his cock through his dress pants, hard against you, prompting you to moan into his mouth.

"Fuck’s sake, Y/N," John grunted into your ear, his hands grabbing at your arse. "You're fuckin’ killing me here. I need you, yeah?"

"Tell me how badly." You responded coyly, linking your arms around his neck, ignoring the late night drizzle.

"I'd rather show you. M’gonna take care of you tonight, make up for the month I've been gone."

"Who's saying I've not been taking care of myself?'

He bit his lip in frustration, trying to stop his mind running wild with the image of you in bed, fingers between your thighs, breasts moving as you arched your back, hips lifting off the mattress, moaning as you called his name -- his jaw clenched. "I know what you're doing. You coming up before you catch a chill?"

You shifted your weight away from him, as if considering your options. He knew your answer; you both knew in a few minutes you'd be upstairs practically tearing his shirt off, needing his skin against yours, begging for him. John pulled away from you, dragging you up the winding path to the front door of the manor, opening the door for you, arm wrapping around your waist. His lips met yours, then your collarbones and neck, prompting a breathy giggle and whine as you wound yourself back around him, craving the contact. The manor was plunged in darkness, staff somewhere in the gloom. Your arrival had definitely been noted, but as with everyone who worked for the Shelbys, they just left you to it. It was easier to not get involved, to keep their heads down and not mention the midnight trysts the brothers got up to.

John knew his path, he'd stayed here before. Even in the dark you could tell the house was decorated to spare no expense, the gaudy paintings and sculptures casting strange shadows. He led you up the grand flight of stairs, then another.

"Worse than Thomas' estate, this place." You murmured quietly, unsure of other guests within earshot.

"I could never live like this. I'd never see my brood again. Getting them ready for bed would be one hell of a nightmare." He whispered back, halting your stride by pulling your hips to his, unable to wait any longer.

"John, what if we get caught?" You asked, pressing your hand against his chest with your palm flat.

"Never bothered you before. Thought you liked the fact that anyone could just walk in and see what a pretty little mess you’ve made for me."

You couldn’t help yourself from pressing an affectionate kiss to his mouth, letting him lay you down and pin you to the stairs, the luxuriously thick carpets scraping into your flesh. He cursed under his breath at the sight of you underneath him, pushing your dress up your thighs, lifting your legs to wrap around his neck, pressing a kiss to your flimsy underwear, glancing up to drink you in. The most beautiful woman in his city, begging for him, figure swamped by his coat, rain soaked and shivering, his mouth between her thighs. He ran his tongue slowly across your clothed core, your pleading moans music to his ears, loving how your thighs tightened around his neck. His tongue traced circles over your clit and labia, the friction generated by the lace of your panties pushing you further, your hands knotting into his hair, spine arching against his mouth.

"No one been looking after you while I was gone. eh?" He asked, pressing kisses to your inner thigh, tugging your panties to the side. "What about your dancing pal?"

"Fuck’s sake, I barely know him, John." You snapped back, teetering on the edge between lust and frustration from his relentless teasing.

"Keep it that way. You don't need ‘im, lass, not while I'm about." He replies before lapping at your slit, interpreting your moans as approval as your head slumped back and you released a low groan. "Y/N, watch me, yeah?"

You pull yourself weakly upwards, propping yourself up in your elbows to be able to look down the staircase at John between your legs in the dark. The view was thrilling, moonlight shining in through the rain on the window, illuminating his face, hair messy and tongue flickering across your clit while he stared up at you, his eyes darkened with lust. You couldn't help but pant, knowing you'd be returning to this moment alone at night, when it was your fingers instead of John's tongue pushing you towards the edge.

"So fuckin' wet and ready for me, aren’t you?" He crooned, sliding his fingers into you, sucking at your clit between flicks of his tongue.

You couldn’t find the words to respond, whimpers leaving your mouth instead, your hips lifting beneath his palms, chest heaving.

"Go on, use your words, clever lass."

"John, fuck.. don't stop," You manage to string together, thoughts too muddled by alcohol and arousal to play hard to get any longer.

"I won't ‘til you cum in my mouth. Need to taste you again, beautiful."

Your head jerked back suddenly as John curled his fingers inside you, pushing up against the spot that made you lose your mind, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, all he could hear except from his blood rushing in his head. Your desperate cries for relief caused his cock to strain against his dress pants, fighting the urge to sort himself out, needing to finish you off. John needed to prove that he could fuck you better than anyone else. He knew he was pushing you to the edge, but he wasn't going to deny you your orgasm. He wanted to make a point with this. His fingers worked faster, his mouth hungry for you, lips moving against your core at a harsh pace.

You groaned loudly, hips bucking involuntarily just to be forced back against the carpet of the staircase. Your breaths grew heavier, warning him how close you were to your peak. John refused to let up, pushing you closer every second, lips latched to your core firmly, lapping up the wetness he'd produced.

"I want to watch you finish." He commanded, you completely at his will now that you'd lost control, lifting your head upwards with the little strength you had left to be able to stare down at his dilated blue eyes. "Good girl. You gonna show me how good I make you feel? You gonna cum for me, doll?"

You couldn't respond, unable to keep your eyes from rolling backwards as you felt yourself suddenly release, John’s name escaping from between your lips, legs shuddering around his neck. He let you ride it out on his tongue, tasting you desperately, watching your expression slowly relax.

Finally, he pulled away from your cunt, unwrapping your legs from his neck. He grabbed your wrist, not letting you retrieve your panties, stuffing them into his trouser pocket. He returned his attention to tracing your slit with the index finger and thumb of his other hand, as he pressed a long kiss to your lips.

"I love how you taste," He murmured against your lips, causing you to flush slightly. John noticed, pressing kisses to your jawbone. "Don't get shy on me now. I've barely started with you. Not even got you to the suite and you've already cum."

He looked so proud of himself, it suddenly clicked for you. He was trying to prove himself to you, for some unknown reason. You know he was protective and quite obviously jealous tonight, but you couldn't believe that John Shelby felt the need to prove that he knew what he was doing, as though you weren't aware. You weren't trekking to his office for mediocre sex. Tonight he let you finish first, no teasing, no denial, no fucking about. Just putting his ability fully on show, so when your mind went drifting it'd go back to him, not some young lad who barely knew what he was doing. His cocky attitude and smug acceptance of his sexual prowess would've been off-putting if it was anyone else, but John, but with his bright smile and constant humour, pulled it off. It was enticing, making your core pool with wetness when he crossed your mind.

"A month is far too long, Mr. Shelby."

"I know, you're practically drooling over me." He teased. He seems a lot more himself than before. He’d been too caught up in his head, too focused on getting you off to enjoy the flirting and teasing. John loved how light-hearted he could be with you. Despite the mess you were both in, it was making you laugh or roll your eyes that soothed his mind. Honestly, if it was just sex he'd have cut you off instantly; he wouldn't have even gone there out of loyalty to Ada. Admittedly, it was your company and presence that had him absolutely on his knees for you, the way he felt understood, less alone in his brother's bullshit, less trapped by his criminal career because you understood. You always had a cutting line, a bright smile just for him, an eye roll at his brothers' daft plans, a choice curse word for Thomas. He didn't even want to consider what would happen after the night ended. He stood, pressing another kiss to your lips as he helped you to your feet, fixing his coat which hung off your shoulders.

"You ready for rounds two through to six?"

"John, you know you won't get through three with me."

"You’re right, you're just too pretty when you’re riding my cock." He teased, the vulgar material of his jibe earning him a joking shove before you curl into his side, letting him escort you up the stairs to the nearest bedroom. He quickly shut the door behind you, scooping you up in his arms, causing you to let out a laugh as he practically tossed you onto the king sized bed, eyes shining with adoration as he looked down at you grinning back up at him.

“You’re something else, John Shelby.”

#john shelby smut #john shelby fluff #john shelby fanfic #john shelby imagine #john shelby x reader #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders fanfic

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misslilli · 3 years ago

Text

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 21 - The Halloween Fair

[ DS ]

On the afternoon of the Halloween fair, I take out the costume that Miss Hannigan picked out for me from the closet. Ever since I’ve got it, I’m beyond excited to wear it. It’s a black low-cut shirt, a white, checkered suit with a blazer that ties at the waist and a flaring skirt. As I put on the blonde wig and the black beret, I turn to the mirror channeling my best inner Faye Dunaway and say to myself in a breathy, southern lilt: “My, my, don’t you just look dandy, Miss Bonnie Parker!”

My friends have been roped into manning the booths of the fair and somehow, I’ve slipped under the town people’s radars, which leaves me able to roam around the fair, albeit alone. Since I’ve known most people in this town ever since I was little, I’m never actually alone at these happenings, people tend to just pull me into their conversation as I walk by. But as luck will have it, as I’m rounding one of the booths of the fair, I find myself face to face with the one person I had secretly hoped to see.

He’s wearing a brown tweed suit with a matching waistcoat and over the white collared shirt he’s tied an emerald green tie. Perched on his head is a white fedora. ‘Shit. He’s Clyde. What the fuck?’

We stop in our tracks and stare at each other for a moment, taking in our respective costumes. He’s the first one to regain his ability to speak.

“Hey Bonnie, the laws are outside, they’re blockin’ the driveway!” His Warren Beatty impression is perfect right down to the Texan drawl. ‘God help me…’

“Gosh, I hope you’ve parked the getaway car around the corner, Clyde!” I’m putting on my best Faye Dunaway impression again as I add a wink to my statement and just continue to walk past him. My heart thumping hard against my chest betrays my cool exterior, but that’s my secret and my secret alone.

----------

[ FM ]

When we finally get to the Halloween fair that Felix has roped me into, dressed up in a costume I didn’t even pick myself. We trail the grounds together and we’re drawn to the candy apple booth. Well actually, Felix draws us to this exact booth, the little sneak, but I can’t resist his pout and pleading eyes, so we end up getting an apple each. Munching away happily, his mouth full, he asks the question I’ve been too scared to ask myself: “Hey dad, do you think Miss Scully is here too with her friends?” I hope she is, if only to see what kind of costume she has picked out for herself, but I can’t tell Felix that. Instead, I just shrug and we continue our stroll across the town square.

When we round another booth, we both stop in our tracks as we see a blonde woman appear before us , dressed in a checkered suit and a beret on her head. ‘Bonnie. She’s the freakin’ Bonnie to your Clyde. Your sidekick. No, your partner in crime. The woman you love. In the movie of course. Insert awkward cough.’.

Felix is oblivious of course, he hasn’t seen the movies and I doubt he even knows what my costume is, let alone Miss Scully’s. I scrape together the last braincells that are left in my head and a stupid movie quote is the only thing I can think of at this moment.

“Hey Bonnie, the laws are outside, they’re blockin’ the driveway!” The retort she gives me combined with her wink render me speechless until she’s well past me and Felix, mingling with the small crowd that welcomes her into their midst just a few feet away from us.

Felix does the thing I wish I could bring myself to do, staring at her retreating form in wonder and he also speaks the words that have sprung to my own mind.

“Wow!”

----------

[ DS ]

Countless conversations later and a little tipsy on the delicious apple cider they always serve at the Halloween fair, I wander along the booths when I hear a voice I haven’t heard in over a year. And could’ve gone forever not hearing again. It’s my ex-whatever Steve, talking to one of his friends.

I’m hidden pretty well in the crowd of people due to my shortness but I can still catch flashes of their conversation. When I hear my name, I stop, straining my ears.

“Dana? Oh God, no. She’s not even close to being a serious contender for a relationship.” I wince at his statement as well as the tone of his voice. “She’s just always there, you know? Like a well trained Golden Retriever, I say the word and she comes running. Such an easy lay!” When they share a laugh I can feel the flush of shame and anger crawl up my neck.

The situation he describes is exactly what I’ve spent countless hours in therapy getting over. But what he says next really drives a stake through my heart. “It’s so pathetic, but if it’s what I have to do to get laid, whatever. She’s even dirtier in bed than any hot teacher fantasy you could ever imagine and what they say about good Catholic girls is very, very accurate, if you know what I mean!”

If he weren’t the demon I have to face every time I try to get over my past, I would’ve revealed myself and give his ass a good kicking for talking about me the way he has. But not knowing how I’ll react to being face-to-face with him, I stay hidden behind a group of mummies and zombies like a fucking coward.

I’m so furious with him and myself for not being able to stand up to him. Where the hell are my friends when I need them? I haven’t seen them all evening and I could really use their company to talk some sense into me. Since they’re nowhere to be found, I head towards the bar set up in the back and slide onto a stool, ordering a shot of Tequila. ‘Fuck it! That low-life is not even worth your time of day!’

On the surface, I’m so angry I want to set this whole damn place on fire, but deep down, the past hurt resurfaces to join the hurt from his words I just heard.

By the time I’ve downed my second shot, I’ve repeated the mantra that I’m a strong woman who’s better off without men in my head about a thousand times. I see someone slide onto the stool next to me out of the corner of my eye as I order another shot of Tequila to keep the two empty glasses in front of me company.

“A third shot of Tequila is just asking for trouble, if you ask me.” I turn my head slowly towards my bar-mate to tell him exactly where to shove his smart-ass remark when I’m faced with my supposed partner in crime, the charming one with the disarmingly innocent smile on his stupid face. I’m staring him down defiantly, my eyes never leaving his while the bartender places my glass in front of me and I grab it, downing it in a swift motion, daring him in my mind to say anything else. He doesn’t comment, good for him, and orders a shot for himself, just raising his glass silently and I clink it with my empty one – I’m tipsy, not insane, chasing one shot with another.

We’re staring straight ahead during our conversation, turning our glasses over and over between our fingers.

“Which guy seems to be the problem and how many rounds of ammo do I need to take him out?,” he asks after minutes of silence. I want to lean into him for just assuming that it’s a man that has me sitting here seething, but unfortunately, he’s right. This one time.

“How many rounds you got?” He scoffs at that.

“Plenty. And I know of exactly eleven ways to get rid of a body without raising suspicion.”

“And here I was thinking the FBI frowned upon their employees giving out top-level secrets on how to hide away evidence of a crime committed.”

“I’m not going to tell you, I wouldn’t want you to be held in contempt of Congress when questioned.”

“How do you know I wouldn’t rat you out when questioned by Congress?”

“Just a hunch… Talk to me, Red. What happened tonight?” He turns towards me and I can feel his gaze dancing over the skin of my face.

“You really want to know? Well, turns out the asshole of an ex of mine decided that today might be the perfect time to make an encore appearance in my life and reminded me again why I should’ve kicked him to the curb a long time ago instead of hoping I could change him.” Looking down at the bar, I trace my finger through the condensation drops, my anger slowly dissipating and my voice growing more and more quiet. “I heard him say some pretty awful things about me tonight.”

I relax into his hand when he places it comfortingly on my back, right between my shoulder blades, and huff out a sigh. “I’m sorry.,” is the only thing he says, but doesn’t add anything else, giving me the choice if I wanted to elaborate or not.

“What I witnessed today was the way he’s always been but I just couldn’t see through the masquerade of the sweet guy, he was so kind and said all the right things and he quite literally wooed the pants off me from the get-go.”

“Love bombing.” ‘Oh yeah, I forgot, you’re a profiler. You probably already got one worked out for me, trust-issues, anxious attachment style, possibly daddy issues, in short, a hot mess. Avoid at all costs.’

“Pretty much, yeah. And I was stupid enough to believe it.” I raise my hand to call over the bartender for another round.

“You’re not stupid. It’s hard to tell the difference between genuine interest and love bombing in the beginning.” ‘Yeah, no shit Sherlock. It’s exactly why I’m sitting here torn between wanting you to make a pass at me and being absolutely terrified that you actually will.’

“How about we pass on the shots and get some water instead before calling it a night?”

“I think that’s probably a good idea, Mr. Mulder!”

“You know, after tonight, what do you say we just drop the Mister?” I nods slowly, pursing my lips.

“So just Fox?” He makes a pained face.

“No, please don’t. Just Mulder is fine.”

“Mh-hm. I guess since we’re dropping the titles, that that makes me Scully? Little odd, but alright!”

We get the check and argue back and forth about who gets to pay, him putting an end to it with a firm “Will you give it a rest, you’ll get to pick up the next check!”.

In my attempt to slide off the barstool gracefully despite three tequila shots, my heel catches onto the rail at the bottom and I stumble over the stool, knocking it over in the process. I have only his quick reflexes to thank that I don’t follow suit, his arms catching me around my waist and pulling me upright again.

He has the audacity to laugh, the bastard, and I’m beyond mortified. “Easy there, partner! Do you need a ride home? Felix is at a pajama party at his friend Suzie’s house, so I’m free to be your pumpkin carriage for tonight.” ‘NO! Yes? No. Get your hands off me. Don’t let go just yet.’

I’m so confused at the tug of war in my fuzzy head but I hate getting a cab alone and I’m in heels on top of being tipsy, I don’t want to walk home alone at night.

As we walk out, his hand finds his way to the small of my back guiding me through the crowds while making sure I don’t stumble again.

On the drive to the beach house, I manage not to fall asleep despite how tired I feel, too afraid of snoring or, God forbid, drooling onto myself. His hands find my back again guiding me up the stairs to the front door and I turn to face him at the top, even more nervous.

“Thanks for the ride, Mulder. And for listening.”

“Anytime, Scully. Good night!”

When he leans in, I start to panic that this is it and I think it shows on my face, because he only kisses my cheek, just like I did after the birthday party before getting back in the car and heading home. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed.

I can’t ignore the flutter of excitement every time his hands land anywhere on my body but what I will absolutely deny, even to myself, is the way my heart constricts in my chest when he gazes at me that way and the sense of comfort that settles over me when we’re together.

Bodily reactions I can deal with, it’s when it comes to emotions is where it gets scary.

I just don’t think my heart can survive another Steve.

#xf #the x files #xf fanfic #msr #felix felicis #🥺

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malfoymanortings · 4 years ago

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lavender and velvet //part two

SUMMARY: she had her fathers eyes, his aristocratic looks, her grandmothers spite, her mothers heart, but the one thing she didn't have was the love of her father that her god brother received. juliet black finally meets her father who has already decided who his child is.

PAIRINGS: to be decided.

hello again!! hope you all are doing well. i hope you all are enjoying juliet’s story so far! stay hydrated everyone.

“FILTHY BLOOD TRAITORS IN MY HOUSE, BESMIRCHING MY NAME, DISGUSTING-”

“Who the hell woke her up,” groaned Ginny, lifting her head off her pillow.

Juliet blinked blearily, the screaming words in the unfamiliar voice having woke her up. “What is that awful screaming?”

“That would be your grandmother's portrait,” Hermione yawned, standing up from bed and stretching her arms over her shoulder, her shirt riding up to expose her hips. “She absolutely hates us all.”

“Can we not burn it?” questioned Juliet, slinging her legs over the side of the bed and scratching her cheek.

Ginny shook her head, tossing her covers back and standing up. “Unfortunately, there's a rather tough permanent sticking charm on the back of it. No luck there.”

The girls made their way out of the room, watching as Sirius competed in a screaming match with his mother’s painting.

“Will you be quiet you bloody woman!” Sirius shouted, hitting the portrait with his palm. “Even in your death you manage to disturb me!”

“ROTTEN BLOOD TRAITORS, SHAME OF MY FLESH, IN MY HOME THE MOST NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK, HOW DARE THEY-”

“Enough!” roared Sirius, shutting the curtains with much more force than necessary. The screams filtered out, and finally silence echoed throughout the darkly lit hall.

“Who woke her this time?” queried Ginny, her voice quiet as to not wake the old woman.

“Your brothers,” Sirius shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his face. “They used their extendable ears on the meeting again, and they ran up the stairs to avoid your mother.”

Juliet watched as Sirius roamed his eyes over the girls, before stopping on her. He cleared his throat awkwardly, nodding to her. “Good morning.”

“One might think otherwise.” Juliet replied dryly, brushing past him.

There was an awkward silence that followed, and she was soon in the kitchen where Molly was cleaning up while Harry and Ron sat at the table, eating breakfast. Hermione and Ginny joined her, Hermione sitting next to Ron, and Ginny sitting across from them. That left Juliet to sit across from Harry, a slight frown on her face.

“You lot slept forever,” remarked Ron, taking a large bite out of his toast.

“Oh please, don’t act like you’re an early riser,” scoffed Ginny, scooping hash browns onto her plate. “This is the earliest you’ve been up in since the Quidditch cup, and I’m sure it was just because you were listening in with Fred and George.”

Ron’s ears turned red, and he mumbled something under his breath before taking a rather large drink of his pumpkin juice.

Juliet smirked, pouring herself tea, mixing in three sugars just as she liked it. A dash of cream, and it was complete. She sipped it slowly, the cup warming her cold hands. Grimmauld Place seemed to lack any sort of warmth, and the constant sound of wind blowing against the house was heard throughout.

“Morning, dears,” Molly greeted the girls, setting down a bowl of fruit. “Help yourselves.”

As the rest of the table conversed among each other, Juliet stayed quiet, mulling things over in her head. She supposed it wasn’t too much unlike her other summers, as she stayed with the Weasley’s quite frequently, due to Remus’ condition, but it was too different for her to compare. Her father was here this time.

She had imagined this scenario many times before in her head, especially at night as a young girl. It was much different than this, however; normally her father would break out of Azkaban for her, and steal her away from Remus so she could help him with the Dark Lord. Once she found out he was innocent, her story shifted, and suddenly it was him breaking out of Azkaban to live a life with her, and proclaim his innocence.

No matter the scenario she thought up, he always came back for her. She never thought there was someone else who he loved more.

“You alright?” Harry’s voice broke her out of her thoughts, and she realized she had been clenching her tea much so hard her knuckles were white.

“Fantastic,” she replied sarcastically, skewering him with a hard look. “I’m having the absolute time of my life.”

Harry blinked, and averted his eyes. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking away from her. Juliet rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

Ginny nudged her, a silent plea to be nice. Juliet sighed, tapping her nails on the table. She wanted to be anywhere else but here.

She finished her tea quickly, and slipped out of the room. Wandering the halls, she herself drawn to a small room with winding branches as wallpaper. As she looked closer, she realized it was the Black family tree.

Stepping further into the room, she looked closely at the names. She found the Malfoys, and she trailed her finger down the silver line connecting Lucius and Narcissa to Draco. A smile graced her face, and she wondered what her cousin was up to. Usually, the two of them spent time together over the summer, but with her spending time at Grimmauld Place, she wouldn’t be able to. Narcissa was lovely, and liked her niece, but Lucius wasn’t fond of her. However, she doubted Lucius was fond of anyone aside from Narcissa.

“I see you’ve found the family tree.”

Juliet turned to see Sirius leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. Instantly, she put her guard up, letting her arm drop to her side and her smile slip off her face.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Juliet paused. “I can leave.”

Sirius shook his head, striding forward. He stood next to her, looking at the branches. “This is your family history too. You haven’t got to leave.”

Juliet turned her attention back to the silver lines. Sirius leaned forward, pointing to a black spot on the wall.

“That’s where my name was,” he explained. “And your mothers. My sweet old mother blasted me off once I ran away from home.”

“How did mine and my mothers name get on here?” asked Juliet, looking sideways at her father.

“Well, whenever a Black is born they automatically get written into the tree,” Sirius let out a breath. “Your mother and I were both blood traitors, which is why our names were burnt out. Either she died before you were born, or she didn’t rush to make a judgement on you. I’m betting she died.”

Juliet nodded, her eyes drifting over towards Narcissa once more. Bellatrix was on there as well, of course, connected to Rodolphus Lestrange.

“I never thought I’d be stuck in this house again,” Sirius said darkly, shoving his hands in his pockets. He walked away then, pausing in the doorway. “You’re welcome to look anywhere you would like. Maybe you’ll feel more comfortable if you do, after all, Slytherin pride was rampant in this house.”

For some reason, that comment rubbed her the wrong way. Before she could question exactly what he meant by that, his demeanor changed. He smiled brightly, holding his hands out.

“Harry,” He grinned, walking out of the room. “Molly putting you lot to work?”

Juliet stared out at where her father had just been, feeling her chest tighten. It was like he couldn’t be bothered to have more than a five minute conversation without feeling the need to run off to Harry. Feelings of unwant swept through her, and her throat tightened.

She turned her attention back to the wall, and she drifted her fingers across the lines. There were many other burn marks in the wall, and she could almost imagine her grandmother blasting the names off, perhaps laughing wickedly while doing so.

Someone entered the room, and Juliet turned to see who it was. To her disappointment, it was Harry.

“This room is occupied, you know,” she said quietly, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m sure there’s many other places in this house you can be.”

“I can’t seem to understand why you dislike me so much,” responded Harry, stepping hesitantly in the room. “I dunno what it is that I’ve done-”

“I never said I dislike you,” she interrupted, stopping herself from rolling her eyes.

“If you don’t dislike me, then the way you’re acting is uncalled for.”

Again, her temper flared. “Uncalled for? You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Harry was cut off by Sirius entering the room, smiling at Harry. “Harry, there you are. I see you found Juliet. I’ve been meaning to talk to the both of you together, anyways.”

Juliet looked to Sirius, her fists balling up. She felt the sharp stab of her nails digging into her palm, but she didn’t care. She had a dark feeling she wasn’t going to like what he said.

“After my name is cleared,” Sirius began, his hands clasped behind his back. “I was thinking we could all finally be a family. We could all live here, or perhaps-”

“No,” Juliet cut him off, her temper coming to the surface. “You don’t need to include me in your plans out of pity. You want that for you and Harry. You don’t want me involved.”

“Why would you say that?” Sirius questioned heatedly. “I want the both of you-”

“Yet you only made time for one,” she shot back, her chest heaving. “You only escaped because Harry was in danger. Not because you missed your daughter. Not because you wanted your daughter. Because you wanted Harry. And each day, you make that abundantly clear.”

“You can’t seriously believe that!” exclaimed Harry, shaking his head. “He’s been trying to connect with both of us, but you keep yelling at him every chance you get-”

“Who did he send letters to?” Juliet seethed, glaring at Harry. “Who did he promise a life with third year? You. The only contact I had with him was Remus telling me it wasn’t safe for him to see me. But he saw you. He sent you letters. He couldn’t do the same for me?”

“Juliet, that’s enough,” Remus appeared behind Sirius, his face grim. “I understand you’re frustrated and hurt, but yelling at your father constantly isn’t going to bring the two of you closer.”

“I haven’t been yelling at my father,” she scoffed, brushing past the two men. “Not once did I shout your name, did I, Remus?”

It was quiet behind her after she said that. She was hoping the message had gotten through, that Sirius understood her hurt. That he understood that she didn’t view him as her father. As far as she was concerned, Remus was her dad. After all, he raised her. Took care of her. Told her stories of her father, making her think how great of a man he was, making her think that when she finally met him he would love her instantly-

Instead, that love went to Harry.

She didn’t realize she was crying until Ginny wiped her tears, leading her into their shared room. Ginny hugged her tightly, letting Juliet cry into her shoulder. She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want to be weak.

Juliet pulled away, sniffing and wiping her face. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Ginny gave her a squeeze, nudging her shoulder. “That’s what family’s for.”

“I went fifteen years without him, y’know,” she said quietly, her hands in her lap. “I didn’t need him then, and I don’t need him now.”

Ginny bit her lip, and Juliet had known her long enough to know the fiery haired girl had something to say, but kept it quiet. Probably a good thing, because if one more person defended her father, she might combust.

“How about I go get you a snack?” Ginny stood, giving her shoulder one last squeeze. “You only had tea for breakfast. I bet mum has something sweet hidden away from Ron.”

Juliet laughed, nodding her head. Ginny left then, leaving Juliet to herself.

It was just like she had told Ginny. Fifteen years had passed without him involved. She wasn’t going to force him to be a parent. She had the Weasley’s. Remus. The Malfoy’s.

Maybe she should go visit them.

one

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five

taglist: @person1839

again, just send me a message if you would like to be added to the taglist xx

#sirius black daughter #juliet black #george weasley #hermione granger #ginny weasley #harry potter #fred weasley #weasley #granger #hermione #ginny #sirius black #remus lupin #hp

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kopikokun · 4 years ago

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Spilled Drinks & Study Sessions༄ mark l.

↳ When you’re forced into a study session with your next door neighbour Mark, who also happens to be your academic rival in school, things go south very quickly.

pairing; mark lee x reader

genre; fluff, slight angst, enemies to lovers (more like friends, but anyway)

wordcount; 2503 words

author’s note; how the hell do you guys write e2l and make the transition so smooth? bro i could never. also, the header pic is different than what i normally do :/ it’s kinda eh, but i liked the picture so i had to do something with all that empty space

Request 26: Mark + “Oh, are you ticklish?” (73) + “Why are you naked?” (109)

— 𝐫𝐞��𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧. | 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬.

The animosity between you and Mark is intense and painstakingly obvious to everyone around you. Well, everyone besides your parents, you suppose.

“Can you stop being so loud? You’re distracting me,” you grumble, angrily flipping through your homework.

“Well, I’m sorry for breathing.” Mark rolls his eyes at you. “Would you rather I stop entirely instead and drop dead right here, right now?”

“At least it would be quieter if you did.” You press your pen down harder, taking your rage out on your poor, innocent worksheet. If you’re going to blame anyone for the excruciating torture your homework is enduring, you’d blame Mark. Even if it technically isn’t his fault, you’d still pin the blame on him.

“What’re you gonna do with my body? You wouldn’t be able to lift me, I mean, you couldn’t even open that can of Coke.”

Your cheeks grow warm, mentally replaying the image of a grinning Mark as he effortlessly opened your can of Coke, the soft hiss of its fizz taunting you. Mark had puffed up his chest triumphantly like he was some kind of hero. For crying out loud, he had only opened a can of Coke, not saved his country. It still bruised your pride though, having to ask for help from Mark, your sworn rival since middle school. Childish, you know, but you’re certain that Mark thinks of you as such too.

“Whatever,” you fumble for a name to call him, “nerd.” Mark snickers at you. “My fingers were just slippery.” He arches a brow, challenging you, and you scowl. “I wouldn’t be able to lift you because you’re heavy, fatass. Not because I’m weak.” You twirl a lock of your hair around your finger. “And look who’s talking, Mr. I-Can’t-Open-Doors.”

Mark flushes crimson as he silently fumes. “That was because I was pushing the pull door!”

“That’s even worse, Mark,” you tease, unable to suppress a smile. “Dumbass,” you mumble below your breath, enjoying the way Mark seethes.

“You’re calling me a dumbass? If I remember correctly, I was the one who placed above you last term.” Mark haughtily flips a page in his workbook. “Which I think is why your parents want me to tutor you.”

You throw a measly eraser shaving at Mark in rebuttal. “You know that’s not why I’m here!” Another shaving is thrown at Mark’s head, yet he doesn’t even look up at you. “In fact, your parents probably wanted me here so I could babysit you!”

Neither you or Mark are right. Your parents just chucked you together because they thought that after all those years of living beside one another and having weekly dinners together, you two would be absolutely wonderful buddies, and you can’t fault them for assuming such a thing.

Logically speaking, you and Mark are supposed to be the bestest of friends. As much as you dislike the word, it seems as if fate has decided that you two are meant for each other. Gross.

In almost every situation possible, you and dear Markie boy over here have been unwillingly strung together—from group projects, to assigned seats, you two just can’t get a break from one another.

Your parents had innocently thought that having a little study session while they went out for a double date with Mark’s parents would be beneficial for you two. Perhaps even fun. Fun, your ass.

All those years spent with Mark hasn’t made you friends, no, it’s made you rivals.

Yeah, so not sworn enemies, but what’s life without a little exaggeration?

You’ve always been a bright kid, some would even go as far to say that you’re ‘gifted’, but you think ‘persevering’ is a better word to describe it. You weren’t just born naturally intelligent or outstandingly athletic, no, you’ve had to work hard, insanely hard, for that. It hadn’t been handed to you all nicely wrapped with a little bow to match, just for you to tear it open and take. You’ve had to tolerate and undergo several sleepless nights, and many agonising hours of training.

Up until middle school you were top of your class in all aspects. You were idolised (well, as idolised as you could be for a middle schooler anyway), loved and acknowledged. It had been blissful.

That was until, little Mark with that stupidly cute gleam in his eyes came along, skipping over to you in those worn-out track pants and smiling toothily as he introduced himself as your brand new next door neighbour.

You have to admit, initially, you and him were close friends. You’d walk home together, sneak out to go to the convenience store together, share snacks together, the list goes on. You’d even given Mark your very first kiss, right on the cusp on your twelfth birthday. He didn’t know that it was your first kiss though, and he’ll never know. You’d rather be shot at point blank range than give up such private intel.

But when one day, in seventh grade, when Mark had begun closing in on you in rankings, outrunning you at the park and gradually being everyone’s new favourite, you found yourself isolated. Even one of your friends, a girl with straight long hair that fell past her waist, started hanging out with Mark more than with you.

And when you invited her to your thirteenth birthday, the first thing she’d asked was, “Is Mark going to be there?”

And at that same party, you saw her, kissing the boy you had been crushing on for the past year. And it looked like Mark really enjoyed kissing her too. More than he did with you.

From that point on, you began to distance yourself from Mark. It was gradual, slow, but you knew Mark could tell. When he finally surpassed you academically too, you started harbouring a resentment towards him, and the rivalry between you two started.

You were somewhat hoping he’d confront you, at least wonder why your attitude towards him had seemed to change in the blink of an eye, but he hadn’t. And that stung.

Obviously rumours had circulated in middle school about what was going on between you two. Kids, no, people love to talk. And talk they did.

It had been widely known that you and Mark used to be inseparable at one point in time, and it was jarring seeing how differently you two were acting around each other.

Mark and that friend of yours had broken up some time after that, and evidently she was pissed. It seemed as if she had begun spreading gossip about you, claiming that you had been some sort of psycho ex-girlfriend and that you had threatened Mark to break up with her, essentially, she was villainising you.

When high school finally rolled around, Mark’s ex had moved by then—you weren’t sure where and you didn’t care to know. The rumours eventually died down with her absence, and you thought that maybe, just maybe, you and Mark could finally make amends, bury the hatchet, as one would say. But that never happened.

Looking back, you’re a bit amused at what an eventful and dramatic childhood you had. All those scandals at just thirteen? What a boss bitch. Present you would not be able to stomach that.

You take a peek at Mark. He’s attractive. Of course he is. He had been a cute kid, no doubt, but as he’s aged, he’s matured into his good looking features. He’s not the rugged and manly kind of good looking, he’s got more of a sweet boyish look to him, and in your opinion, it adds to his charm.

“What are you staring at?”

Shit, you’ve been caught. No, caught? It’s not like you were doing something you shouldn’t have. “Nothing.” You reach forward to take a sip from the infamous Coke can. It’s lukewarm, but you gulp it down regardless, trying to appear unfazed.

“Were you checking me out?”

Disaster strikes just as those words leave Mark’s lips. The putrid sensation of warm coke leaves your mouth entirely, not because you’ve begrudgingly swallowed it all, but because you’ve spit it out from the sheer shock of Mark’s question.

“Hey! What the fuck?” Mark stands from his chair across from you and its legs scrape against the floor with a sound that makes your skin crawl.

You cough and sputter, gasping for air. Once you’ve gotten past that tight feeling in your throat, you wipe the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. A few droplets of the sugary drink dribble onto your shirt. But fortunately, well for you at least, you’re not as drenched in spit-laced Coke as Mark is.

“Shit!” You lift your gaze to look at Mark, who’s surprised, to say the least.

Mark takes a breath to say something, the words on the tip of his tongue, but he clamps his mouth shut, opting to groan in annoyance instead. “Jesus, why’d you even do that?”

Your face burns in embarrassment. No way you’re going to admit to him that you were checking him out. Sort of. “I don’t know, it just went down the wrong channel, I guess.”

Mark’s lips form a thin line of dissatisfaction. “Yeah, okay, whatever.” He cringes as his shirt sticks to him. “ I’m gonna go change.”

He runs a hand through his hair, face upturned in frustration as he stomps up the stairs, his footsteps echoing throughout the living room. Your eyes follow his figure until he turns a left into his room.

You sigh. If you were home alone, you would have screamed in humiliation. The can of Coke on the table mocks you. You resist the urge to pick it up and hurl it into Mark’s neighbour’s backyard—well, your backyard.

A sliver of positivity presents itself in the form of you and Mark’s mostly unscathed worksheets. There are a few stray droplets here and there, but it’s barely noticeable. It would’ve been much worse for both Mark and you if you had drenched those as well. In fact, your homework wouldn’t be drenched in just saliva and Coke, but also in tears at that point.

You curse the can in your grasp, its aluminium smooth against your skin, before you dump it in the bin. Good riddance, bitch.

I should apologise. You can suck up your pride for that. No, this isn’t even about petty things like pride anymore. That shouldn’t matter. I should apologise, you think to yourself firmly.

Alright. Apologising. Sorry. You inhale deeply, gathering your senses and calming your jittery nerves. Why are you even nervous? It’s not like you’re professing your undying love to him. Chill the fuck out.

As you’re standing before Mark’s single, wooden door (which looks extremely daunting for some reason), it doesn’t dawn on you that perhaps you should knock first.

If it had, then perhaps you wouldn’t be staring at a shirtless Mark, your hand still wrapped around his doorknob and your mouth hung agape.

“Oh my God, Mark!” You cover your eyes, the door shutting behind you with a creak. You’re a bit ashamed at how fast your cheeks are overtaken by a hot, prickling feeling. “Why are you naked?”

Mark, though just as startled as you are, has the common sense to reach blindly for the stained shirt he just took off, holding it in front of him. “What do you mean why am I naked? Why are you here?”

You take a few steps back, your back pressed up against the door. “I- I came up here to say I’m sorry. You know, for uh, just now?”

Your hands slowly fall to your sides as you burn holes into Mark’s carpeted floor with your eyes instead.

“Oh, uh, o-okay. Apology accepted, I guess.” Mark’s voice cracks and he clears his throat. “Let me just uhm—”

You can hear his drawer sliding open and the faint rustle of fabric. All the while you keep your gaze glued to the floor, feeling your cheeks grow warmer by the second. Oh my God, you’re acting like a little girl who’s just held a boy’s hand for the first time.

This isn’t the first time you’ve seen a guy naked—for fuck’s sake, Mark’s not even naked. He’s all covered up where he should be. Why is the sight of just his bare body from the waist up making your mind go blank and your palms grow sweaty? It’s not like you have feelings for him anymore. No, you don't.

“You can uh, you can look up now.”

You steel yourself, looking up to face Mark. Why did you have to steel yourself? It’s not like he’d have taken even more clothes off once you looked up again. You feel like slamming your head into the wall.

You fiddle with your fingers, searching for something to say to try and ease the tension. “Uh, sorry. For spilling that Coke all over you, I mean.” You scratch the nape of your neck. “And for you know, walking in on you changing.”

“Why didn’t you leave?”

Your shoulders slump. “Huh?”

Mark chuckles confidently, like he’s unabashed. His cheeks are ablaze with colour, though. “I mean, why didn’t you just back out of the room when you walked in on me changing? Why’d you just stand there?”

You blink at him. Why didn’t you just leave? “I- I froze up, okay? Don’t bully me!” Your ears are burning.

“Yeah, okay, okay.” Mark raises his hands by his sides, that entertained smile never leaving his lips. “Let’s go back down, okay? I still need to finish my work.”

You chew on your inner cheek. “Yeah, whatever,” you try to find a creative name to call him.

“Yeah, I know. Nerd.” Mark raises his brows at you, still with that amused grin. You wish you could smack it right off his stupidly handsome face.

You huff, turning on your heel and practically booking it to the stairs. Mark catches up to you in no time with long, languid strides. Stupid long ass legs.

“Hey, wait up, loser,” he says, a hint of delight in his voice. He pokes your side and you jump, shoving his hand away and mustering a weak glare at him. “Oh, are you ticklish?”

You gnaw on your bottom lip. “No, I’m not, fatass!” Despite your harsh tone, your cheeks deceive you, blossoming with warmth yet again.

Mark smiles genuinely this time, although there’s no sarcastic edge to it whatsoever. “You getting shy?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Hey, don’t be upset!” The next thing Mark says is nearly incomprehensible, but you hear it. Oh, you definitely do.

“You look cute.”

Your head swivels to look back at Mark, and you realise that he hadn’t meant for you to hear that.

The faintest of smiles teases your lips, before you turn away, denying him the satisfaction of seeing you break out into a grin. “Yeah, whatever, Mark.”

Now, it’s Mark’s turn to be enveloped in heat as a red tint spreads across his cheeks.

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aerynwrites · 5 years ago

Text

Duty and Honor

Oberyn Martell x Reader

Author’s Note: Okay I know I said that I had Ezra and Javi Soulmate AU’s in the works (which is still happening lol), but this idea popped into my head like two days ago and I just felt really inspired to write for it! Plus Oberyn is the character that first got me into Pedro Pascal and his work, so I feel I should finally dedicate a piece to the character that started it all! Hope you all enjoy! <3

Summary: Reader is less than enthused to find out she is being married off to the infamous Red Viper, something she makes very clear. (sorry I suck at summaries)

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: cursing, arranged marriages, angst, fluff.

*Thank you to my wonderful beta readers @anniebombannie and @amberthefiredemon Y’all rock and i love you.*

/////

“I will not do it!”

Your voice rings out harshly in the room you’re currently occupying with your father, Tywin Lannister, who just frowns at your outburst.

“You have no say in the matter. You are betrothed to Oberyn Martell, and you will be married to Oberyn Martell within the fortnight,” he says finally, returning his attention to the papers in front of him, “You are dismissed.”

You felt your blood boil within your veins at his dismissive tone, “No.” Your voice is firm and dripping with venom as you clench your fists at your side and hold your chin high.

Tywin freezes before his eyes slowly lift to meet yours, a look of sheer contempt clear in his eyes, “Excuse me?” he snips out.

“I refuse to marry him father, I will not do it” you seethe.

Tywin finally rises from his chair, “You will do as you are told. Whether you like the command or not. You are my daughter and you will do as I say,” his voice is tight, he’s clearly losing his patience with you, but you don’t back down.

You feel tears start to gather in your eyes now, anger being met with complete and utter despair, “No! I won’t let you sell me off like some piece of cattle, I’m your daughter for god’s sake! Does that mean nothing to you? We are Lannister’s!” you cry, voice cracking.

“Enough!” Your father yells, hands slamming against the table loudly, causing you to jump slightly.

“I am used to this coming from your sister, but I expected more from you,” he bites, “Now you best leave before I decide to marry you off to someone like Loras Tyrell instead,” his voice is eerily calm as he finishes, something that scares you slightly.

So, swallowing your pride, you nod, “As you wish, my lord hand.” You sneer the last part before turning on your heel and all but run from the room.

The door closes with a certain finality behind you and you can’t stop the tears that follow.

----------

You sit stiffly beside your father and sister in the banquet hall, watching as the festivities celebrate the arrival of your betrothed roar throughout the room. You had yet to meet the man you were to marry, and silently, you were thankful for it. You weren’t entirely sure you would be able to keep your tongue if the man came to see you, so you thought it best to put off the inevitable. However, as your eyes roamed over the crowd of people, they finally landed on the one person you were trying to avoid.

Prince Oberyn himself.

You watched as he talked boisterously with Margery and Olenna Tyrell, and you also took note of the beautiful woman latched onto his arm. You furrowed your brow slightly, and Cersei must have seen what caught your eye because she let out a dry laugh before nudging your shoulder with her hand.

“I see you have finally spotted your betrothed,” she says.

You turn to look at her slightly, “Apparently so,” you sigh.

“I just wish he would have left his paramour in Dorne,” she says, disdain clear in her words, “It is rather tasteless.”

Your eyes widen and your heart drops into your stomach, “His what?” you whisper, trying to hold back the bile you felt rising in your throat.

Cersei gives you a sympathetic smile. While the woman was known for her cruelty, she had a soft spot for her baby sister, and she was just as angry at your father for his decision as you were, but she had fought that battle before, and lost. So, all she could do was watch.

“I’m sorry my sweet,” she says sincerely, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder.

You take your eyes from her concerned ones and turn your gaze back to your future husband, only to find him staring right back, a devilish grin on his face as he raises his glass to you. You immediately stand from your seat, almost knocking the chair over in the process, and grab your dress in your hands, ignoring your father’s shocked and angered expression.

“(y/n) what in the seven hell’s-“

You cut him off, trying to ignore the confused expression Oberyn sent your way, “Excuse me for a moment,” you whisper, walking swiftly from the table and out of the room, ignoring your father’s frustrated calls of your name all the while.

You wove through the throngs of people, desperate to get out of the suffocating room. Just as you broke through the crowd and got through the doors of the banquet hall you ran directly into what felt like a wall. You let out a startled gasp when you felt a steadying hand on your low back, quickly stepping away and looking up to see that the wall you ran into hadn’t been a wall at all.

It was Oberyn, with his paramour at his side, both of them smiling sweetly at you.

You couldn’t stop the deep frown that settled onto your face as you took a step back from them both, pushing his hand from you, earning confused and somewhat concerned looks from them both. But Oberyn gives you a polite bow, nonetheless, sending you another award-winning smile.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet my betrothed,” he begins, voice thick with a dornish accent, “Prince Oberyn Martell, and Ellaria Sand” He introduces them both, looking at you expectantly.

You had to compose yourself momentarily, you felt tears bubbling in the back of your eyes, but they were quickly stamped out by the anger at your situation. Part of you knew it was irrational, that Oberyn was as forced into this arrangement as you were, yet you couldn’t stop the frustration from escaping, despite all your lady-like training.

You grip the skirt of your dress in your fists tightly, “I wish I could say the same my prince but I cannot,” you begin, feeling a slight sense of triumph at the baffled expressions on both of their faces. You continue.

“I didn't even know of this arrangement until this morning and then I find out that you were to arrive this evening. Then I sit at dinner all night without a single greeting from the man I’m being forced to marry, and I find out from my sister that you brought your paramour with you?” you scoff, “So Prince Oberyn and Ellaria Sand, I am not pleased to meet you in the slightest,” you bark before turning on your heel to return to your chambers, not seeing the concerned glances the pair share as you depart.

------------

The next day you sit in the gardens for breakfast with Sansa while enjoying lemon cakes and the book you have most recently started reading. Sansa and yourself had become quick friends, you being at her side since she arrived in kings landing all those moons ago. You were several years older than her, only a few years younger than Cersei, but you saw her as a younger sister, and she was just happy to have a friend among the enemies. She was currently doing some needlework while you read, the both of you snacking on lemon cakes, when she spoke up, breaking the silence.

“I still can’t believe you said those things to Lord Tywin and Prince Oberyn,” she says quietly, “Aren’t you afraid of what they might do?” she asks innocently.

You pull your eyes from your book and look at the girl for a moment, taking in her questioning stare as she set the embroidering hoop in her lap, and you sighed.

“As much as Tywin likes to look menacing, he would never hurt me. And as for Prince Oberyn-“ you scoff, “I would rather fight the mountain than be married off to a Dornish prince,” you say, earning a gasp followed quickly by laughter from the young girl.

“No, you wouldn’t,” she says before sighing wistfully and returning to her work, “I think Prince Oberyn is quite charming.”

You frown for a moment, taking in the girl’s words. While you absolutely loathed the idea of being married off to some far away lord, you had to admit that Sansa was right. The first thing that flashed through your mind when you saw him at the banquet last night was his charming nature. His dark hair matched with the well-kept scruff lining his jaw, his deep yet sincere dark eyes, and his albeit inappropriate yet fine silk robes, were all things that you noticed. Prince Oberyn was an attractive man, and to make things even worse for you, Ellaria was an equally attractive woman. Perhaps that is what scared you most.

Yes...scared.

While you try to hide your emotions behind a thinly veiled act of anger, you were terrified. Terrified of moving so far away from everything you knew. Terrified of marrying a man you didn’t know. And now, terrified that you would never be truly loved by your future husband, as it seemed that his love was already claimed by another.

You were drawn from your thoughts by Sansa calling your name, an amused smirk on her face, “Thinking about a certain Dornish Prince?” she teases.

You roll your eyes, “Oh shut up,” you groan, “But you’re right.” You relent, “The prince is quite charming. But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want to marry him.”

Sansa just nods, still sewing, before she speaks up once more, “Are you scared? I know I was scared when I had to marry King Joffrey,” she admits quietly, before looking shocked by her own words and started to backtrack, “But I’m sure you aren’t. That was a stupid question.” She mutters, quickly returning to her work.

You sit up straighter, moving to reassure the girl that it was, in fact, not a stupid question, when you see a familiar figure clad in orange and yellow approaching your table. You let out a small sigh and rested a hand onto Sansa’s gently, stilling her movements.

“I’m quite terrified actually,” you admit, casting a glance at the Prince who was now a few feet away.

Sansa catches your gaze and sends you a small smile before picking up her sewing and standing from her seat, curtsying to Oberyn as she leaves. You watch her go before you finally turn your attention to the Prince standing in front of you, hands clasped behind his back. You lift your book up to block the sun from your eyes, trying to get a better look at him.

“Good morning Lady (y/n),” he greets kindly, gesturing to the seat across from you, “May I sit?”

You set the book down and look at the chair previously occupied by Sansa and sigh, “I suppose.”

Oberyn smiles and takes a seat, hands clasped and resting on the table. Neither of you say anything for a moment. You sit silently tracing the letters etched into the leather cover of your book, while Oberyn watches you quietly. You take in a deep breath before resting both your hands atop the book impatiently, “Is there a reason you ruined my breakfast, or do you just enjoy tormenting me?” you asked snidely.

Oberyn sent you an amused smile before leaning back in his chair, “We are to be married in less than a fortnight,” he says simply, shrugging his shoulders.

You scoff, “I am well aware of that,” you snap, “I don’t see why you came all this way to rub that in my face.”

Oberyn sighed, “I know you are unhappy with this arrangement, but I am no happier than you are,” he begins, “In Dorne we believe in free love. Being with whoever you want and loving whoever you want, so this-“ he gestures between you two, “is not something I desire either.”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks. You should be happy. He just affirmed that he doesn’t want this marriage either, just like you. So why did it hurt so much? Was it the fact that you were destined to be in a mutual disagreement for the rest of your life? Or was it more?

Before you could find an answer Oberyn spoke up once more, “But it is happening. And I would rather not be miserable for the next, however many years of my life. So, if you could at least try to like me, I would greatly appreciate it,” he says finally, sending you another one of those dashing smiles, except this time instead of infuriating you, it makes your heart flutter.

You clear your throat, and glance from the Prince sitting across from you back down to your book, opening it to the page you left off on, “I suppose that’s not such a terrible idea my Prince,” you say casually.

Obery chuckles, “Please, you are to by my wife, Oberyn is fine.”

You only nod at his words, trying to busy yourself with the book in front of you, but he isn’t having any of it.

“Not many women from the north are fond of books,” he notes, pointing to the object in your hands.

You roll your eyes, “This is the south.”

Oberyn just chuckles again, igniting yet another round of butterflies in your stomach, “You have it all wrong my lady-“

“Oh, do I?” you ask indignantly.

He smiles and nods, “this is the north,” he insists, “Dorne is the true south.”

You peer at him over your book, you supposed it did make some sense geographically, but you weren’t going to let him know that, so you shrug, “Yes well, here-“ you gestured around you, “it’s the south and Dorne is just Dorne,” you say simply, attempting to return to your book.

“Have you ever been?” his voice interrupts you once more so you sigh, setting your book down since it didn’t seem like you would get much reading done anyway.

“Have I been where?”

He smiles, “To Dorne.”

You purse your lips, “No, I haven’t…” you pause for a moment before crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair, not wanting to seem too interested but curious nonetheless, “What is it like?”

Oberyn gives you the biggest grin you think you’ve ever seen, before he goes on to tell you of his homeland. The sparkling blue waters, the water gardens, the beautiful flowers and buildings. You spend the next few hours like that. Just talking about your home, his home, and anything else that comes up, and as much as you hate to admit it, you start to enjoy his company. The only reason you end the conversation is because your handmaiden comes to get you to start getting fitted for your dress. As the words leave her mouth you feel a lump form in your throat.

Yes…the wedding.

You had almost forgotten about the dreadful event while you spent the morning talking to Oberyn. He had put you at ease and seemed to make your anxieties melt away. But as the Handmaiden so kindly reminded you, time was of the essence, and the wedding was truly not that far off. You had to fight back the fearful tears as you stood from your chair and gave a small curtsy to Oberyn.

“I’ll be seeing you Oberyn,” you say politely.

He smiles, taking your hand in his own and pressing his lips gently to the back of it, “Good day Lady (y/n).”

All you could manage was a wobbly smile before he dropped your hand and you turned to follow your handmaiden, all the fears from before bubbling back to the surface.

----------

Despite the constant reminders of your impending doom, you and Oberyn continued to meet. He would find you in the gardens or the library or even stumble upon you walking through the castle and you two would end up spending hours together. He would tell you more stories of Dorne, or about his training at the citadel, something you found quite interesting to say the least; and he would ask you about your family, your hobbies, and really anything else about you. you realized as the days turned into weeks and your wedding was only a day away, that you had fallen in love with the Prince of Dorne. A feeling that scared you to no end.

Through these two weeks since you first found out about the betrothal, you had come to love everything about Oberyn. His smile, his laugh, the way his eyes crinkled when he did both of those things. You loved his sense of adventure and his knowledge of seemingly everything there was to know. You loved the way he would hold your hand gently or kiss you on the cheek when bidding you goodnight.

You loved Oberyn Martell.

So, when he started to bring Ellaria along to some of his meetings with you, you couldn’t help but feel jealousy rise within you. But not an anger driven Jealousy – no - this was a despairing saddening jealousy. Because she was a wonderful and kind woman. She had been nothing but kind to you since you met, bringing you sweets, or tucking a flower behind your ear, or braiding your hair. On top of all these overly kind and compassionate gestures, she was beautiful. More beautiful and electrifying than you thought you could ever be. So, you didn’t think for a moment that Oberyn could ever love you when Ellaria was right there. Seven hells, he already had her. He loves her, it was so blatantly clear in the way he looks at her or kisses her or tucks flowers behind her ear. You just knew he would never love you, a thought that made your heart ache so deep in your chest that your throat tightened up anytime you thought about it. Which was most of the time if you were being honest. You had cried yourself to sleep almost every night for the past four nights, even breaking down on poor Sansa one morning at breakfast, forcing the girl to try and console you as you cried into the lemon cakes.

Tonight, the evening before the wedding, was no different.

You had gone to the gardens to try and find some peace from your restless thoughts, hoping the stars would give you some comfort. But as you looked up into the night sky, the crickets chirping and the crackle of the torches filling the air, all you could think of was Oberyn. All you could see were the constellations he had pointed out to your mere nights ago, and the stories Ellaria gave them as he did so. The only thing you would think of as you collapsed, sobbing, onto a nearby bench was the fact that you were about to enter a one-sided marriage, a loveless union with non-mutual feelings. Your chest was aching so fiercely you thought your heart might rip from your chest and it even made your fingers tingle. You couldn’t hear anything over your own sobs, so when a warm hand rested itself on your shoulder you jerked in surprise wiping quickly at your tears as you looked up to identify the intruder. Your heart sank even further when you realized it was the very man you were crying over, sitting next to you on the stone bench, a look of deep concern etched onto his features.

“What is wrong my flower? What has caused you such sadness?” he asks quietly, his hand coming to wipe gently at the tears still streaming down your cheeks.

You sniffle and turn away from him, slightly embarrassed that he found you in such a state, yet unable to compose yourself or stop the tears. You don’t say anything. what could you say? Confess your love to a man who doesn’t love you back? Tell him you are still terrified of getting wed tomorrow? Neither of those options sounded appealing, yet Oberyn seemed to understand anyways. He let out a long sigh, cradling one of your hands in both of his.

“Ah,” he breathes, “The wedding.”

“Yes,” you say simply, throat clogged with too many emotions to say much more.

Oberyn turns to face you, hands squeezing yours reassuringly, “What are you afraid of flower?” His voice is sincere, and filled with concern, and this alone brings more tears to your eyes, and another wave of cries wrack your body as you finally crack. All of your pent-up emotions and thoughts spilling out at once.

“I’m afraid of this marriage Oberyn,” you cry, wiping at your nose with your free hand, “I love you,” you finally admit, “I have grown to love you over this short time, and it terrifies me because you have her.”

Oberyn’s brows knit together in confusion, “Ellaria? What does she have to do with this?” he asks incredulously.

You look at him now, really look at him for the first time since he’s sat down, and you see utter confusion on his face, something out of character for the usually confident and suave man, and you take in a deep, shuddering breath.

“She has everything to do with this,” you whisper, “You lover her.” You say finally, a single tear slips down your cheek as you finally say the words out loud, “You love her Oberyn. Not me. And as much as I love you,” your voice cracks pathetically, “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in a one-sided marriage,” you say finally.

Your words hang heavy in the air and, for a moment, everything is silent. Even the crickets have stopped singing and the only thing you can hear are your quiet sniffles. Nothing is said for what feels like ages, until Oberyn takes your chin between his fingers and gently urges you to look at him.

“It’s true,” he begins, “I am in love with Ellaria,” he states.

You let out a small sigh and close your eyes, your heart breaking in two. But Oberyn’s hands cupping the sides of your face make you open your eyes once more and you are greeted with his dark brown eyes swimming in emotion as he gazes at you.

“But I love you too,” he admits, “You can love more than one person, my love. And I love Ellaria and you. My love for is more vast than the stars in the sky, and I knew it from the moment I met you in that hallway,” his words were laced with emotion.

Even though you could tell he was sincere, the seed of self-doubt was planted deeper than you thought, and you shook your head.

“How can you love me when you have Ellaria?” you ask quietly.

Oberyn smiles, one hand moving down to rest behind your neck while the other stayed on your cheek, thumb wiping away any traces of tears.

“Because you are different from any woman I’ve met,” he whispers, “You are fierce and have a quick wit, yet you are unceasingly kind and compassionate. I love the way your nose crinkles when you disagree with something and I love the way you speak about the things you are passionate about. I love the way your eyes shine when you laugh with Sansa or speak with Ellaria. I love your smile and your humor and your biting edge and your passion – “ he pauses for a moment, just to look at you for a moment longer before he continues, “I love you my flower, all of you.”

Before you can process the whirlwind of emotions his words brought upon you, Oberyn is pulling you in for a passionate yet gentle kiss. And as if his words didn’t reassure you enough, this kiss did. You both said all of the things you couldn’t say out loud during this moment, and when you finally pulled away, you were both smiling the most genuinely happy smiles you had in a long time. And for the first time since you found out about this arrangement, you weren’t afraid. You were excited - happy even - to be lucky enough to marry a man like Oberyn.

He smiles at you sweetly, pressing another quick kiss to your lips and asking, “Are you still afraid?”

You just chuckle and shake your head, “Not in the slightest, my Prince.”

/////

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#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell #prince oberyn #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader

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stardancerluv · 4 years ago

Text

When You Take Care of Each Other

Part 4

Summary: It’s not easy being the King of Gotham’s girl. Perhaps a month after the last chapter.

Warning: Angst, Nudity, Blink its Knife!Play

Today was perfect! The sun was out, Alexis told you how the weather was going to be perfect. You had awoken before Roman, so you had decided to let him sleep in a little longer.

Fluttering off you got ready. You took a leisurely shower. Smoothed on one of your new lotions and perfumed. With a bounce in your step, you went down to check on the picnic the chef downstairs was preparing for the two of you. Roman, had promised you and him would have all of Sunday together. Well, to be honest the two of did whatever the two of you could, to enjoy a Sunday.

It was the one day where Roman wasn’t the king of Gotham. He didn’t wear his usual gloves since he only spent his time with you, nor did he have a knife hidden in a pocket incase he needed. Despite loving, and you did mean love his suits he usually dressed down on Sundays too.

It was just you and him. It gave the two of you to just explore more of each other. Sometimes that meant just staying in bed till afternoon. Other times, you would lounge and watch old movies other times you’d put on some music to dance to and drink and see you would win at pool.

Today, it was the picnic on the good side of Gotham’s rather rocky beach. Perhaps taking a boat and enjoying the one small manageable inlet of water. Last time, you laid there letting the water just lap at the boat and you made out like a pair of giggling teenagers. Right, now this Sunday was incredibly needed. You had been working steadily and had had a lot of deadlines this week. While Roman had a few shipments he had overseen.

So now you fluttered the rest of the early morning away. You had even done something beside wearing a sweet pretty sundress, you braided your hair. Roman had never seen you in a braid. Also under the dress you slipped on a bikini if the water was warm enough maybe you could stick your toe into it. At the very least, you could show off your new bikini to Roman. You felt light and cute.

Plopping into Roman favorite place to perch at times, you lounged there eyeing the time, debating whether you should finally wake him up. Last night at the club had been a little rough.

So...you mused but then a smile spread across your face when you heard the shower. You wiggled in sheer delight. You’d let him get ready. You did however, bring the picnic basket closer to the elevator.

Plopping back down, you finally sent a message to Zsasz.

To V. Zsasz: Rommmmmy! Is finally awake and showering! 😁😁 Are you joining to keep an eye on Roman or will we be by ourselves? 🤞🏻🤞🏻

You had accepted that he had to come. He’d be nose deep and disappear into a gun manual or yet another manual on how to win faster at poker whenever you and Roman reached your destination if it was that kind of Sunday.

V.Zsasz: There has been a change of plans??

To V.Zsasz: The weather is great! The sun is out! 🌞 The picnic is ready to go! 😌I made sure the chef made something yummy for you in case you were joining!

V.Zsasz: Oh...

To V.Zsasz: 🤔 What??

V. Zsasz: ....(it took a few moments.) Talk to Rommy...fuck...I mean Roman.

You felt knots form in your stomach. Not the good ones. You didn’t even giggle at Zsasz’s mistype.

To V.Zsasz: Ok. 👍🏻

You put your phone and taking a breath, you began to walk back towards the bedroom. You stopped half-way, you heard the familiar sound Roman’s footfalls made when he was in his spats or otherwise the shoes he would wear with a suit, not for a day at a rocky beach other a small boat.

You watched as he turned to walk into sitting area, it was too elegant to be down graded to be labeled a living room. He was looking for you.

He was dressed in one of his very smart, flawless suits that usually made your heart skip a beat. It would have right now if it wasn’t already sinking. Looking down you saw that he had already slipped on an equally elegant and matching gloves.

You knew that it meant Sunday no longer belonged to the two of you. You would be sharing Roman with Gotham.

“Babygirl?” You could barely hear him say in the silent penthouse.

You walked over and tried to give him a brave face. “I’m right here.” You managed to croak out.

He turned sharply like only he could do. A smile he used to sometimes charm or apologize to you was across his face. It wasn’t the one he used in business but it did little to help. At least he knew. You saw it falter and fall.

“Oh baby. Look at you.” He softly cooed, his gloved hands came up and cupped your cheeks.

You turned away, partially because you were exceedingly saddened and partially because you didn’t want him to see just how upset you were. You did know how important business was but you didn’t have to be happy or pleased.

“Baby, come now. You know, I am not happy about this.”

Your eyes prickled and you looked at him. “Do I?”

“That’s not fair.”

“I wasn’t asking for fair, I never have. I just wanted a sliver of you. Of time where its just us.” You said, you were shocked you didn’t cry. Inside you felt shaky.

He pressed his lips together. “I warned you.” His voice rose.

“I know.” You sighed and just slumped. “I know, I just...”

He let go of your cheeks and gestured to you. “You look incredibly sweet. Hey, this is new!” He reached and tugged at the braid. You gave him a weak smile.

The elevator dinged, hearing steps come out you knew it could only be Zsasz. You swallowed.

“I..I wanted to look special.”

“You do.”

“Boss, we gotta go.” Zsasz said once closer.

Annoyance and irritation filled you. Whenever, Victor rushed Roman in front of you it made you feel cheap. You felt like one of bimbos that are just around to fuck and occasionally distract their men from their real lives.

“Victor, you could have waited.”

You cut Roman off. “Go. Whoever is waiting. I don’t want issues to arrive because of me.”

You tugged at your hair tie and began undoing the braid. You walked away, not paying attention to the direction but away from Roman and Zsasz.

“Y/N, you know...”

You turned. “I know what he means.”

He closed the distance, a for a moment you thought your raising annoyance had pushed him too far. “Come ‘ere give me a kiss for good luck.”

When you realized you didn’t you pressed your lips together and pressed a kiss on his cheek. The scent of him, his cologne almost mad you cry.

“That’s my baby.” His eyes met yours but you looked away. A sigh came from him. “Look, go do something. Shopping. Maybe the spa. In order to hold onto all of this,” He made a fist. “Those fuckers steal my Sunday.”

“Ok.” You replied flatly. You knew he was right but sometimes, it really bothered you. “See you later.”

“Y/N?” You looked, annoyance was splashed across his face. “Fucking, fuck!” He exclaimed before turning and walking towards the elevator. “Don’t say a fucking word, Victor.”

******

Roman, sat in the back seat of the Royals Royce. Opening and closing his knife. Zsasz, thankfully and remained fucking quiet. Why did those fuckers have to steal this fucking shipment, like this particular one. Also why on fucking Sunday. Didn’t anyone want a fucking day off.

However, what the fuck. Today would have been an absolutely brilliant day. You looked so delightful. Like an amazing mix of lovely and cute, in only you could do. He had almost said fuck it, the shipment wasn’t that huge. But no, those fuckers had to pay. You don’t fucking steal from Roman Sionis!

*****

“So, I think she is just his fuck toy.” One girl screeched.

“What makes you think that?” The other one sounding bored replied.

“You never see them dancing or even touching!”

“He probably just fucks her in the dark.”

Giggles came from both of them.

You were seething.

“If I had him, he couldn’t keep his hands off me. I’d take care of him all the time.”

“Sure, is that in between the face peelings or his voilent outbursts at the club.”

Both burst into giggles.

You had enough, you stormed out letting the door to the dressing-room swing back with a clang.

“Take me back to the penthouse.” You told Tattoo.

*****

Once up in the penthouse, you opened the picnic basket and grabbed one needed to be in the refrigerator. After that, you took the bottle of wine.

Halfway to the bedroom, you pulled out the cork. You took a few hearty gulps. You stopped and grabbed your book from the sitting area. You took a few more swigs from the bottle as you settled on your side of the bed and opened your book.

*****

“You fucking fucks! What made you think you could steal my shipment!” He bellowed at the three men who were bloodied and tied to chairs. “Who employed you?”

The one guy started sputtering, I guess the last blow to his face had woken him up.

“Victor, I think the man finally has something to say. Let’s take the duck tape off.”

“Please don’t hurt me, I..I..” The man’s voice cracked.

“Look just fucking talk.” Roman moved his knife from one hand to another.

The man swallowed before looking at the others. “He’ll rip us apart or work have us ripped apart.”

Roman sighed. “Seriously? Give me a straight fucking answer.” He bellowed.

******

You were giggling through your mystery when you realized that you were a few gulps away from finishing the bottle of wine. So you did.

Rolling over, you rolled onto Roman’s side of the bed. The scent of his cologne enveloped you. Your heart sank lower. But rolling again and on wobbly feet you found yourself at one of his private bars, smiling you popped open a bottle of champagne.

You put the bottle on Roman’s nightstand. It was a sight that made you giggle. Stretching, and reached under the dress and managed to keep the dress in place but took off bikini. You tossed them onto a chair that sat in one corner. Laying back on your tummy you continued to read from your book.

*****

“Fucking Killer fucking Croc!” He bellowed in the back seat. “My Sunday was ruined because of Killer Croc. Cut his power supplies. He needs to fucking suffer.”

*****

Roman was fuming as he paced in the elevator. When, the doors opened he saw the basket was still here. He shed his gloves, and dropped them down the chute.

“Baby?” He called out.

As he continued to look, he undid his suit jacket and pulled his shirt from his slacks. “There you are!” He said happily.

You barely looked over.

“Baby! I’m home. Finally!”

“Welcome home.” You giggled but then went back to your book.

“You will never believe who almost ruined our Sunday.” He tossed his suit jacket onto the chair and stopped. He picked up your bikini. “What is this?”

You looked over again and giggled. “That’s my bikini.” You sighed. “I wanted to strip dress off for you to show you but oooh well.”

There was something a little off with you. “Baby? What’s going on?”

You giggled and kept on looking at your book.

He grabbed your ankle. You wiggled free and giggled. That’s when he saw it. An empty bottle of wine. “Did you drink all of that bottle?”

“Maybe.” You replied but didn’t look over at him.

“Are you going to talk to me? Don’t you want me to tell you what happened?”

You shrugged.

Exasperated and losing his patience over your bratty act, wrapping his fingers around your ankles he pulled you to him. A yelp came from your lips, he smiled when you finally did look back at him. “You are being awfully bratty!”

He finally said. Reaching up, he brushed side your summer dress. “Oh, well look at you!” He exclaimed.

His eyes fell over your delightfully curvy and soft ass, but he didn’t wait long, he gave you a resounding smack. You yelped again and jolted in his grasp. Enjoying the response he did it again.

He may have been annoyed if not a bit angry over his day being ruined and dealing with you when you acted like this, you still were everything he wanted and he wanted you.

As you still were grasping for a breath. He flipped you over. Brushing your hair aside, your eyes burned as you looked him. “What?” He asked dryly as he pulled closer.

When the dressed you were wearing stopped you from getting closer, he took matters into his own hands and slipping his hand into his slacks pocket he took out one of his knives.

“Roman?” Your voice was the clearest since he came home.

Placing a knee between your legs, he grabbed a handful of the dress and in a few moves it was slack after settling back on your body. He shook his head, still kneeling there between you legs.

Silently, you looked at each other as he tossed his closed knife away. Leaning down on one hand he drew close.

“Are you going to stop being a brat now?” He went in for a kiss, you moved your face aside and pushed at him. He pulled back. “Yes?” He rose his eyebrows.

You were breathless. “That was a new dress.”

“Yeah, and I’ll take you shopping and get you another dress.”

“I liked it.”

“I’ll buy the same one.” He sighed. “You did look good in it. Can I have a kiss now?” He rose an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

He relaxed as he kissed you, gently moving against you loving how soft you were. You broke the kiss, feeling a little exasperated. He wasn’t used you being this bratty. He leaned back on his knee that still rested between your legs.

“You’re very hard.” You finally spoke.

Your sudden interest confused him. “I am.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “You’re very good at having this effect on me.” He smirked, he reaching he placed your hand against it, pressing your hand against it, a deep sound came from his chest.

“Why do you barely touch me downstairs?”

He thought about. “I wrap my arms around you from time to time or lay a hand on these.” He let his fingers graze your thigh brushing aside the material that had once been a dress.

“You barely kiss me. You hug and schmooze the guests more then me.”

“I need to schmooze them, they are fucking business.” He was not used and had never enjoyed having his actions questioned. “No one in Gotham needs to know how we kiss or how I am when I’m between your legs.”

“I suppose your right. I wouldn’t want those kind of pictures splashed everywhere.”

He nodded and sat back. “Exactly! You are mine. I don’t want to share you with all of them.”

With a breath, he was over you once again. “Now listen when you sit beside me,” He trailed his nose along your hair line. He loved how you smelled. “There is nothing I’d love more then slipping my fingers up and seeing how wet you are.” He whispered in your ear, he smiled when he felt your fingers in his hair.

He turned and looked at you.

“Kiss me.”

Your lips met then.

@spn-obsessed-dean @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @ewanfuckingmcgregor @zodiyack @angel98624 @frenchgirlinlondon @nebulastarr @emyliabernstein @thepeachreads @itsknife2meetu @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @nomnomnomnamja @poe-kadot26 @babydoll97 @hazel-nuss @vcat55 @feelthemadnessinside @brookisbi @peachthatdrinkslemonade @johallzy @foreverhockeytrash @frostypenguinoz @starwarsslytherin @proffesionalclown @chogisss @shantellorraine @xxinvisiblexx @mxdx8 @blondekel77 @saphic-susperia @drarrylov3r @i-cant-hear-you16 @mlordships @deadlymistress24 @yesqueenofthelight @lemairepstuff @generallj

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threeletterslife · 5 years ago

Text

01 | Illegirl

→ next chapter

→ summary: Excelling in every school subject, acing every math test and conquering the academic world is something you do as easily as breathing. As your residential social outcast nerd, you live rather as a recluse, talking to almost no one except for your dear ol’ cousin and that sweet boy in a few of your classes—Jungkook? was that his name? Befriending your ʰᵒᵗ AP stats teacher was the last thing on your high school senior agenda…

→ genre: 90% fluff, 8% crack, 2% angst | teacher!au & f2l!au

→ warnings: profanity (like y/n really needs to tone it down lmao) & kissing/making out

→ wordcount: 6.2k

With your head tucked under the pages of a textbook that's literally heavier than twice your weight, your hand furiously flies across the surface of your messy, but meticulous notes. At this point, you've been writing for so long that you don't feel the pain of hand cramps anymore.

Curse your fucking philosophy teacher for not succumbing to technology. Your notes would've taken you thirty minutes to complete instead of three hours had you been able to type them out.

But it's not like you're complaining about the workload. You lowkey like learning, therefore you like school. Besides, you're a diligent person. Once you start studying, there's really no turning back until you finish. In fact, nothing can distract you from your studies. Well maybe except—

"Hey, Y/N!" Seokjin screams from the kitchen.

Your head jerks up so fast hearing your cousin's voice that you wince from the neck strain. Cursing profanities under your breath, you shout back, "What?!"

"It's about dinner!" Seokjin yells.

You perk up. God, you weren't really the sporty type but Jin told you using your brain burns more calories than running a mile. But what can you expect from a theatre major? Still, you would use any excuse to eat as much as you do.

"I've invited a friend over to eat with us!" your cousin hollers.

Slightly frowning, you wonder since when Jin had friends that had come over. Your frown wavers away. Maybe you should be happy your cousin was socializing for once and not worry about the idea of some stranger coming to your house to eat.

You sigh as you push away from your desk, standing up to make your way to the kitchen for a more elaborate explanation.

"Who's the friend?" you ask, casually. "I mean, more importantly, what are you cooking?"

Jin's back was turned from you, his arms moving swiftly across the stove in a graceful manner you know you can never master. But you hear him chuckle at your priorities.

"Today's menu is steak," Jin says heartily.

Ah, steak. Why hadn't I been able to guess? The tender and cordial aroma should've pointed all fingers to your favorite meal.

"And the friend? Park Jimin," Jin answers dreamily and you can tell your cousin's just falling in love with his steak sizzling on the pan. He's always like that (dramatic and passionate).

"Park Jimin?" you repeat, sliding into a chair next to the kitchen island. "Doesn't ring a bell. So where'd you meet him?"

"Well, he's my co-worker." Jin shrugs nonchalantly as he places the sizzling steak on a platter, seasoning it passionately.

"Huh? Co-worker?" You frown. "Wait he's a teacher too?"

Jin was your school's arts and drama teacher, always staying out late for theater practice and unfortunately dragging you out with him because "you can't survive on your own."

"Yeah. Maybe Mr. Park might ring a bell?" Jin suggests.

Your eyes enlarge at the familiar name and the realization hits you like a big, fat freight train. "Mr. Park?!" you screech like a barn owl. "My math teacher?!"

Your cousin's head snaps up from smelling his precious steak. "Oh? He's your teacher?"

"Um, yes!" you yell, throwing your hands aggressively in the air. "Oh my GOD. This is gonna be so awkward! Jin! Just because you live a Hollywood life, doesn't mean you can drag me into that crazy shit too! Really? A student eating with her fucking teacher? What kind of fucked up fuckery is that?!"

"Language!" Jin warns. "You're just over-dramatizing things, baby cousin," he laughs. "I told you, you should pursue acting."

"I'm not joking!" you seethe, your face turning red as you imagine the future awkwardness that would ensue between you and Mr. Park. Not that you have anything against him.

Jin just rolls his eyes. "Then just stay in your room," he says. "Besides, you better get used to him being around. Jimin's a chill dude, I'll be hanging out with him a lot more. I'm sure he won't mind you."

You sigh. "Yeah, but I'd rather not take the chances... I mean, not when this man can change my grades with one button."

Jin chuckles. "And why would he do that? You're probably his best student. Isn't math that class you have over a hundred in, right now?"

"Well, yeah, but you never know," you protest.

"Wow, what a nerd."

"Um, not a nerd," you reply. "Just smarter than you."

Jin scoffs, placing a delicate hand to his chest as he mocks offense. "Excuse me, baby cousin, I happen to be almost a decade older than you."

You laugh out loud. "A decade doesn't seem like it helped you much," you tease, never losing an argument, no matter how small and pathetic. "But anyways. Are you sure Mr. Park will be chill? I'm that weird kid in his class that never socializes but sets the curve for every test, you know? I'm that nerd..."

Jin chuckles. "You worry too much. Don't you know teachers love students that excel in their class? Besides, Jimin knows you're my cousin. It'll be okay," Jin chirps as he grins at his piping hot steak. "It'll be fine..."

"It'll be okay, he said, it'll be fine, he said!" you grumble. "Fucking idiot!"

Normally, Jin would've yelled at you for your profanities, but at the moment, he was too wasted to give a fuck. "Maybe I shouldn't have drunk my stress," he giggles. "Jimin, your beer is delicious."

"Yee, boi," Jimin answers, waving his arms around drunkenly.

You can't believe your eyes, or ears for that matter. Your usually formal, sharp, calm and collected math teacher had first shown up wearing severely ripped jeans, a loose, black t-shirt and jewelry. And now he was drunk.

Originally, you had been stuck in your room, quietly and innocently, you might add, eating a piece of steak. Honestly, you were pretending like you didn't even exist. It was only when you heard the loud clinkings of those beer cans when you knew you would have to take action sometime. Your cousin was not a good drinker.

Your teacher, who usually looks like a Mr. Park for god's sake, with his ties and button-up collar shirts now looks like a Jimin with his choice of stylish garments and a pair of dangly earrings. Jimin runs his fingers through his messy black hair that's usually so well-combed and gelled. Then, his alluring chocolate eyes fixate on you.

"Baby girl, why don't you have a drink?" he asks you, waving his (empty) beer can at you.

You have a wordless reaction, staring at your teacher in absolute horror. You're 110% sure he doesn't remember you're his student.

Goddamn, he's so wasted.

"Jin, my man, she's hot. Who is she?" Jimin asks as he flashes a charming smile at you, throwing in a wink as well.

You have no idea why your stomach flips. But you're pretty sure it has something to do with the seductive way your teacher is looking at you. You would've never thought Jimin could have this sort of side to him.

"No touchy, touchy, my dude," Jin slurs. "She's my baby cousin."

Jimin winks at you again.

And of course, you feel at least a hundred butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. Had you known Jimin was this attractive? No. But did you know now? Hell yeah.

Still, he's your teacher... "I'm your student," you sigh, staring at the drunken man in pity.

"Ooh," Jimin grins flirtatiously. "Kinky."

Now it's your turn to run your fingers through your hair. "T-That..." you sigh. "That's borderline perverted," you murmur.

Jin giggles. "Y/N, you have no—" your cousin pauses his sentence, suddenly holding his stomach and frowning. "Ooh, I don't feel too good," he announces. Then, he curls up and with such obnoxious noise, wretches out the steak he'd consumed.

You instantly jerk your head away, afraid you'll vomit if you catch the sight of Jin's half-digested food. Yes, you like food, but not when it's in that kind of state.

"Oh my god, Jin!" you whine, annoyance and some form of anger coursing through your veins. "I told you not to drink, goddammit!"

Your cousin only grins, swaying his body back and forth to a song that's not even playing. Sighing, you hurriedly grab a wet rag, cursing profanities and saying 'ew' every three seconds as you attempt to clean up the vomit. You're literally forcing your stomach to stay calm at the disturbing sight and stench.

You're even more ticked off that your cousin is just smiling like a total buffoon right next to you. "I'M A FUCKING DECADE YOUNGER THAN YOU SO WHY AM I ACTING LIKE A FUCKING MOTHER RIGHT NOW?" you shriek as you throw the rag to the side to glare at Jin.

Except, he was passed out. You scoff. "Unbelievable!" You push Jin over with your hand. "Jin! Wake the fuck up!"

"Ooh, baby girl, I didn't know you had such a dirty mouth," Jimin purrs, taking hold of his can of beer and Jin's, clinking them together and laughing as if it were the funniest sight in the world.

You glare at your so-called teacher. "If you weren't in charge of my grades you'd be dead," you seethe.

"What's that, baby girl?" Jimin asks. "I think you might have to be closer for me to hear you." And with that, he grabs ahold of your hand and pulls you down into his lap.

Momentarily, you're too shocked to have any sort of reaction. It takes a while for you to even realize you're sitting on your teacher's lap. "Ji—I mean, Mr. Park!" you shriek, trying to scramble up.

But Jimin holds you firm, staring deeply into your eyes as if he could see your soul. And something about that stops your squirming. You are still.

"Beautiful," Jimin mumbles as he softly touches the side of your cheek.

Your heart is beating fast and you can feel your cheeks starting to heat up. Why was this making you feel so... weird?

"Beauty is from the outside," Jimin states, moving his head closer to yours. That surely ruined the moment.

You frown. "I think you mean beauty is from the inside," you correct.

"Whatever," Jimin mumbles, continuing to admire your face. "Who are you?" he asks. "Such a beauty..."

"Your fucking student," you reply smartly, scrunching your nose. You? A beauty? I don't fucking think so.

"Kinky," Jimin says again. He slowly intertwines his fingers with yours. "I like you."

What. The. Fuck.

Now you're just internally screaming. Yes, you admit your math teacher is rather... hot. Yes, you admit that he has some sort of magnetic field that attracts you. And yes, you admit you don't feel too bad sitting in his lap (oh boy). But you know, in the back of your head, this is somewhat illegal. After all, some internet research (a.k.a stalking) showed that Jimin was 24. You're 17. It just isn't going to happen.

"Cool," you respond. "Glad that I'm liked. Um... Imma get going now..." you try to smoothly escape from Jimin's lap. But it's just not your day.

Jimin tugs you back, his hand wrapped around your wrist tightly. "No." He grins. "You." His hand holds yours. "Will." His other hand cups your warm, flushed cheeks. "Stay." His lips meet yours.

He does it so quickly that you have little to no time to stop him. And once in the kiss, there was no turning back.

Your teacher tastes like beer as his tongue explores your lips, sucking and even biting softly. And as the love-deprived person as you are, you don't stop him. Instead, you respond by wrapping your arms around Jimin's neck. Then before you realize it, or even stop yourself, you're kissing him back. The heat of the moment thing, you guess.

Jimin pulls you closer to his face, the hand that had been holding yours is set on your waist, securing you.

That's when you realize this is not some random dude named Jimin. This is Park Jimin, your mathematics teacher.

"Fuck!" you shriek as you aggressively break the kiss—or more like make out session—your lips leaving your teacher's with a little 'pop.'

Jimin stares at you in confusion, his eyebrows scrunching over his wide, curious eyes. "Fuck already?"

You bury your face in your hands, then realize you're still sitting in your teacher's lap. "Fuck!" you repeat as you scramble away a good two feet.

"Already?" he asks once again.

"You... you.. pervert!" you scream, flapping your arms faster than a hummingbird. "I'm 17!"

Jimin cocks his head. "How old am I again?" He grins foolishly. But cutely. His black hair is messed up even more and his soft, plump lips are slightly wet. Oh boy. You don't even want to get started on his alluring eyes.

Fuck! You shake your head, panic taking over your whole body. Not the time, Y/N!

"You don't know my age either?" Jimin asks, staring at you with puppy dog eyes. You think you're going to faint.

Get it together Y/N!

"24," you grit out. "You're 24."

At that, Jimin frowns. "Shit. You weren't lying when you said you were my student," he slurs, squinting at you as if he were looking at the sun.

"You thought I was fucking lying?!" you shriek. "Snap out of it!"

"Shit," Jimin deadpans, his dark eyes flickering. "You're Yoon Y/N," he realizes. "I'm actually fucked."

Then, his eyes roll to the back of his head and he passes out on the floor, right next to your dumbass cousin.

You can't move. You just kissed your fucking teacher. No, you made out with him. But the worst part—you think you had enjoyed it.

You wake up in your bed with the biggest migraine you've had in a month. It's almost as if you were the one that had passed out drunk yesterday.

The morning rays are shining through your thin curtains and you sigh out, looking at the bright sight. Thank fucking god it's a Saturday. If only this migraine would go away.

Then, you realize something that makes the pain in your head amplify by ten-folds. Yesterday, you'd made out with your math teacher—in the same room as your overprotective cousin, mind you.

"Well fuck," you whisper, placing a cool finger to your lips. The very same lips that had kissed your teacher. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!" you mutter aggressively.

You remember it all as if your brain had shot a movie on the spot—your teacher tugging you into his warm lap, making sexual comments, kissing you... Your face burns red. Not to mention you feel like some annoying garden gnome is hammering his huge mallet right in your head.

Fuck my migraine.

But your migraine wasn't the worst of your problems at this point. In fact, it seemed to be dwelling in your poor head because of your problems.

"How the fuck am I supposed to face him in school? Oh god, will he remember? Holy fuck—how will I cope if he doesn't recall?" you talk to yourself frantically, habitually flapping your arms around in panic.

You try to take a deep breath to calm yourself down but that doesn't work. Instead, you end up burying your face in your hands, crashing back down on your bed. "I actually don't want to go to school anymore," you say. But maybe a bit too loudly.

"Y/N, DID I HEAR YOU RIGHT?" a voice practically screams from the kitchen. "You LOVE learning!" Jin screeches. "Did something happen? Are you getting bullied?"

"What? No!" you yell, exasperated. It was always up to your cousin to make a mountain out of a molehill.

"THEN WHAT HAPPENED?" Jin shouts.

You sigh. From all the yelling going back and forth, it looked like by the end of the day, your throat would hurt as much as your head. Sitting up from your bed, you make your way to the kitchen to explain yourself without having to scream your lungs out.

"Y/N, honey, you look sick," Jin says as soon as turns around from the stove, catching sight of your messy hair and dead eyes.

"Migraine," you sigh.

"I've gotchu," your cousin declares dutifully as he places an orange pill and steaming hot rice porridge in front of you. He sits down in front of you, watching with his warm eyes as you dry swallow the pill and dig in to your breakfast. "So... what happened?" he asks as you finally pause from your eating to take a breath.

"Huh?"

"Why don't you want to go to school?" Jin repeats, taking a napkin and wiping your wet chin.

You shrug. "I dunno," you lie. "It's just one of those moods."

Jin lets out a sigh of relief. "Oh, just that? I thought it was something serious, Y/N! You had me worrying!"

You roll your eyes but smile. The warm and toasty porridge paired with the painkiller was really working miracles. You felt much better already.

"You always worry, Jin," you chuckle. "Shouldn't I be worried about you? You literally threw up last night."

"Yes, I know. You did a pretty bad job cleaning it up," Jin laughs. "Thanks for the attempt, though."

"Well, I was..." you attempt to explain yourself. "...Distracted."

Jin laughs, getting up to fetch your favorite dish of kimchi, placing it right in front of you. Once he sits down he watches you eat again.

"Sorry, Y/N," he apologizes suddenly, just as you shove a huge spoonful of rice and kimchi in your mouth.

"For what?" you sputter, bits of half-chewed food dribbling down your mouth. "Oops," you mutter, clumsily reaching for a napkin. But Jin was already ahead of you, dabbing at your chin once again.

"I don't know... I threw up, you tried to clean it up... You were probably annoyed that we were being so loud. Oh right, and we were both drunk..." Jin sighs.

You shake your head. "I'm not mad. You don't have to feel bad," you say.

If anything, I'm mad at myself for kissing my teacher.

Speaking of your teacher...

"So, where's Jimin?" you ask, blood immediately rushing to your cheeks just saying his name.

Oh god, why did I even ask? Now I'm going to sound suspicious.

"I'm the worst person to ask that. I don't remember much—everything's so hazy. I really shouldn't have drunk so much last night..." Jin sighs. "But why do you ask?"

"Oh, it's nothing," you respond quickly.

If Jin had no recollection of his drunk night, then that would mean your teacher wouldn't remember... right??

"Y/N, you responded too quickly, something's up," Jin laughs, stretching back in his seat. "What happened? Spill the tea."

Well, shit. Channel your inner actress, Y/N. You've got this.

"Oh, I don't know, it was nothing, really. It was just funny to see my math teacher get wasted and faint then disappear without a trace the next day, you know?" you say casually.

"Jimin probably ditched 'cause he got embarrassed," Jin chuckles, shaking his head.

Ohohoho, you have no idea.

"Yeah, well, thanks for the breakfast, Jin," you say, getting up from your seat. "I've got a quiz in his class on Monday. Gotta study."

"Wow, how diligent," your cousin teases lightly. "Have fun," he sarcastically calls as you walk towards your room.

You roll your eyes but smile. As dumb and dramatic and drunk he could get, you can't deny that you love your cousin.

As somewhat of a nerd, you had always passed school with flying colors—especially being gifted in mathematics. On the day of Jimin's math quiz, you finish thirty minutes early and take the leisure to stretch a bit and play around with your lucky pencil.

Normally, you'd look up to see if your teacher was grading quizzes from the previous period, but today, you were doing everything possible to avoid his eye contact. Maybe you were overreacting... but that kiss, er, make out was something you couldn't just forget so easily.

Are we just going to forget that shit even happened? Then, you realize, probably yeah. Jin didn't remember what happened when he got drunk—maybe Jimin would too.

Well, shit. That's just better for me. I made out with my fucking teacher and he doesn't even remember. God, I feel like I'm in a high school romance drama.

You cringe at your inner thoughts then force yourself to focus back on your quiz.

Time to check answers.

Thirty minutes later, as soon as the bell rings, you zip right up, about to bolt from the classroom when Jimin just:

"Everyone who hasn't finished the quiz, please turn it in now! Y/N, I'll see you after class."

Your blood runs cold and you freeze. Why? WHY? WHY?

"Probably for some nerdy math geek thing," students whisper. You pray that they're right.

God forbid he remembers what happened Saturday night.

Students file quickly out of the classroom—a little too quickly. All too soon, you and Jimin were the only ones in the room. You gulp.

Jimin stands up from his desk, his fingers racing up to habitually loosen his tight, black tie. He looks so different in his school clothes and when he's sober. Your teacher coughs lightly as he walks over to your desk awkwardly.

Or maybe the awkwardness was just your stupid imagination.

"Hey, Y/N," Jimin says. "How was the quiz?"

"Uh, good," you quickly respond, turning red just facing your teacher. Please don't come any closer.

You curse inside your head as Jimin literally crouches down to your eye-level, leaning in as you automatically lean back. Your heart beats in your head as you realize your hands are sweating. Yeah, no, you didn't want confrontation. Not today, at least.

"Um... Mr. Park, I have to get to lunch," you lie, abruptly pushing back your chair and springing up from your seat. "Er... Mr. Jung, my literature teacher wanted to talk to me."

Jimin looks at you with suspicion. "Hm... I was hoping to discuss something with you," he sighs.

Goosebumps blossom on your skin. "It's urgent," you fib. "He'll get really mad at me if I don't get there in the next minute."

Jimin frowns while glancing at the class clock and sighs again. "Well then, I guess our talk can wait."

You almost cheer out loud at your victory, but calmly start to walk away from your teacher. "Thank you, Mr. Park!" you call behind you as you practically bolt out of the classroom.

Your teacher stares at the door and cocks his head. "I've never seen Jung Hoseok get mad at his students in my entire life," he mutters under his breath while shaking his head.

You're at home, stretched out on your bed, your homework finished and your tests taken. But you're still worried.

"Goddammit," you cuss.

"Woah there," Jin calls from the kitchen, his second bedroom. "Did Y/N get her first B?"

You roll your eyes. "Not possible," you call back.

"Then do you have an excuse for your profanity?!"

"Nope, not really," you sigh. "Sorry, I'll watch my language!" you shout before Jin can remind you again. Then you groan as you bury your face into your plushy pillow.

You were dreading the next day. Although you weren't sure what Jimin wanted to discuss with you, you weren't going to take any chances.

It was Tuesday.

"Y/N, I have to talk to you," Jimin says as the math class is dismissed.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Park!" you say quickly. "Girl problems, I gotta get to the bathroom!" you lie.

It was Wednesday.

"Y/N, may I talk to you?" Jimin calls as soon as class is finished.

"Sorry, Mr. Park!" you say as you're already halfway out the door. "I have to see the nurse. Cramps, you know!"

"You don't seem like you're in pain!" Jimin calls as you run out.

It was Thursday.

"Y/N, we really need to talk," Jimin says as he blocks your way of the classroom.

You sigh. "I wish I could, but I need to turn in a philosophy project for Mr. Kim," you fib.

"During lunch?" Jimin sighs. You nod convincingly. "Alright, then," Jimin says. "We'll talk tomorrow."

"We'll see about that," you mumble under your breath.

It was Friday.

"Y/N. No excuses. You've been avoiding me for almost a week," Jimin says as he squats in front of your desk, literally compelling you to stay frozen in your seat.

"But Mr. Park, I kinda have to go... My cousin's taking me on a trip for this weekend and I have to leave right now."

You pat yourself on your back for this lie. Nice one, Y/N! Jin always pulls you out of school to take mini weekend trips so this was totally plausible.

Jimin laughs. "Oh, Y/N. I'm very close to Jin, you know," he says. "He can't be taking you on a trip now if I'm supposed to be going with you guys."

"What." You shake your head in disbelief, jaw practically dropping open. "No!" you deadpan.

"Yes," Jimin answers. "I've been trying to tell you this whole week, you know. Jin wasn't going to tell you until last minute because he knew you'd make some excuse not to go."

It was official. Jin had definitely lost his marbles. Trip and teacher did not go well together and you'd think someone as capable as Jin would know this. Besides, the last time you and Jimin had been together outside of school... You shudder. Nope!

"I'm going to kill my cousin!" you shriek, exasperated out of your mind.

"I mean, now it's a bit too late, don't you think?" Jimin chuckles. "We're leaving right after school."

The words hit you like a freight train. Why? Why the fuck? What the fuck? How? But most importantly, where? You swear to god if Jin had so very conveniently planned a beach trip you were actually going to murder him. Bikini and teacher are two words you don't want to see in the same sentence.

You take a deep breath, tilting your head back to pinch the bridge of your nose in an attempt to calm yourself down. When you feel like you're not going to drop f-bombs in a classroom setting anymore, you face your teacher: "So, uh, where are we going for the trip? I swear to god if it's at the beach—"

"Camping," Jimin answers quickly.

"Oh, whew!" you exclaim, placing a hand to your heart in all gladness. But apparently, you had been glad way too soon.

"Oh right, Y/N, I still need to talk to you about another thing," your teacher says, scratching his head rather awkwardly.

You freeze, your heart beating in your ears as suddenly your stomach feels like it shrunk twice its original size.

Jimin coughs awkwardly. "But, um... I think it can wait for later," he sighs. "It's not very... classroom appropriate," he whispers lowly.

Well fuck, he remembers. Fuck my life. At this point, you wonder if things can even end up worse than this. Sighing, you do the only thing that you do best: leaving.

"If it's not classroom appropriate, it's probably never appropriate," you quickly mutter as you swing your backpack over your shoulder. "Thanks for the heads up about the trip," you say. "Now, excuse me so I can go yell at my cousin."

Jimin chuckles. "Yeah, see you, Y/N. Best of luck with that."

You almost scoff. This was going to be one long weekend.

The moment you barge into familiar territory, otherwise known as Seokjin's drama classroom, you finally let your rage loose. "THE FUCKING HELL! JIN, I HATE YOU!"

Your raucous outburst startles your cousin who nearly drops a golden crown prop. You don't even give him time to react before you're ranting. "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WERE KEEPING THIS FUCKING CAMPING TRIP FROM ME!"

"Woah, there, Y/N. Slow down," Jin says in a soothing tone as if he were trying to calm a wild horse. "The camping trip?" he questions, cocking his head.

"YEAH! THE ONE WHERE YOU SO CONVENIENTLY INVITED JIMIN!"

Jin's confused face flashes with recognition as he nods. "Oh yeah, the camping trip. Sorry."

"Sorry won't fucking cut it!" you shriek. "And really? With Jimin too?!"

Jin sighs. "Well I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier but I just wanted some bonding time with my best friend. You know that I've haven't had friends in years. And I would've just left you home, but you also know that I care too much about your meals to do that. You'd literally starve to death Y/N, you really can't cook!"

His words make you feel bad for your outburst. In a way, he's right. Jin literally doesn't have a social life because of you. When you're stuck studying your ass off every day, he's the one who makes sure you get your meals. When you're in a particularly bad mood due to fluctuating hormone levels (curse puberty), he's the one who can calm you down with a good joke and a bowl of ice cream. When you had thought no one in the whole world cared for you, he's the one who swooped in and gave you the love and reassurance you needed.

In other words, you owe Jin. Big time. You know full-heartedly that your cousin decided to take you on this trip so you wouldn't be crouched in your room 25/8, skipping meals and being dangerously alone. So the least you can do is to go on the trip without complaining like a little bitch.

It'll be awkward, yes, considering it's with your teacher that you've potentially done such illegal things with. But you do have a heart, and your heart tells you it's about time to owe up to all the good Jin has done for you. It's also telling you to bite down your pride and apologize to your dear cousin—but apologizing has never really been your thing.

You sigh, scratching your head awkwardly. "Um, I guess I'm... I'm... sorry then," you mutter, looking down at your feet. God, you really don't like to admit things when you're wrong.

Jin chuckles. "You should be. Your yelling made me age a decade!" he teasingly claims. "And besides, I'm pretty sure you woke up the dead with all that cussing," he says disapprovingly. "No profanity, Y/N! At least, not in school."

"Okay, okay, sorry," you say quickly, looking down with slight shame.

You feel Jin's warm hands pinching your cheek, making you look up at him. "Thanks for understanding so quickly, you're the best Y/N." He literally giggles as he pats your cheek.

Rolling your eyes, you lightly swat your cousin's hand away. "I guess I'm just happy you're finally attempting to be social," you respond.

Jin chuckles. "Yeah, I'm trying to be a role model for you, Y/N. But anyway, now that you're here, wanna eat lunch with me?"

You give him a weird look. "Why though?"

Your cousin raises his eyebrows. "I know you eat lunch alone all the time."

Now it's your turn to raise your eyebrows. "And what if I like to eat alone?" you say defiantly.

Jin shakes his head. "Y/N, you don't like to eat alone."

You sigh in defeat. Curse Jin for knowing me better than myself! "Fine. But just this once."

"Good," Jin smiles. "I'll just tell Jimin to eat with Hoseok or something."

"Hoseok? Mr. Jung? My literature teacher?"

"Yeah, he and Jimin are close too," Jin tells you. "Jimin's so close to everyone. I wish I were like him."

You laugh. "You're amazing just the way you are," you say as you sit down on a desk and pull out the lunch Jin had made you. "I still can't believe you're choosing to eat lunch with me and literally canceling on Jimin."

Jin shrugs. "You're my baby cousin."

You smile. "And you're like the good family I never had."

As soon as you get home, you try to find your suitcase to last minutely pack for a trip you'd just been told about. But you can't find your suitcase.

"Don't bother packing! I've done it for you!" Jin calls from the kitchen. You follow his voice out and watch him as he shoves in hoards of food into fifty different bags.

"Wow. You packed for me?" you ask. "So exactly how long were you planning on keeping this trip from me?"

"As long as I could," Jin replies as he starts to cut watermelon. "Get in the car, Y/N. Jimin's probably waiting already."

"Fine," you sigh as you drag your feet to the car. You really don't want to face your math teacher. The last time you two met outside of school... it had ended quite illegally.

"Hey, Y/N," Jimin says, tugging down his dark sunglasses to give you some cute eye smile.

"That should be fucking illegal," you murmur as you slide into the back seats, seeing that Jimin had taken shotgun. You can't dare to look at your teacher without remembering that hot night.

"What should be illegal?" Jin asks as he slides into the driver's seat. "School? Wait. You're a nerd. You love school."

You roll your eyes. "Drive, asshole."

"Yes ma'am!" Jin salutes, grinning at you foolishly.

"You two are hilarious," Jimin chuckles as he leans his chair back. "I can't believe I can actually witness this for three whole days."

"Yeah, lucky you," you mumble sarcastically. "Wait—Jin. Isn't the camping place over there?" you point to the spot that Jin had passed by.

"Uh..." Jin laughs. "Silly. We're trying a different camping spot this time."

"Okay," you chirp, stretching out in the backseat. "Wake me up when we're there then."

"Sure thing," Jin says. "Sleep well, baby cousin."

You roll your eyes but smile, then you fall into a deep, peaceful slumber.

You were supposed to wake up to see a cold, damp environment with towering trees surrounding the area. You know, the kind of environment you're supposed to see when you go camping. Instead, you get the bright, hot sun beating down on you. Oh, and also, sand.

"What the f—"

"Rise n' shine, sunshine," Jin sings. "Welcome to paradise."

You laugh, attempting to straighten out your disheveled hair and discreetly as possible wipe away the bit of dried drool on your face. "Ha. Haha. Very funny, Jin. Why are we stopping by the beach to have lunch? That's so fu—freaking extra."

"Stopping by?" Jimin says from the driver's seat. Oh, what the heck they must've switched seats when you were clonked out.

You see Jin and Jimin exchange some nervous looks.

"Wait a minute... No. No... NO!" you shout, hands grasping bits of your hair, almost as if you'd pull it out any second. "This is bad. This is so, so bad."

"We didn't even say anything yet!" Jin laughs at your reaction.

"I know what you're going to say! I know where this is going!" you shriek. "We're not going camping! We're going to stay at the beach! Motherfu—"

"Now, now, Y/N. Calm down. It's the beach. It's beautiful! You can swim, we'll have a barbecue, go to nice restaurants with nice views!"

"I can't do that!" you hiss angrily.

"Why is that?" Jin asks innocently.

You kinda wanna punch his innocent-looking face at the moment.

"Because," you say, pinching the bridge of your nose, "my fucking teacher will be here," you say slowly, enunciating every word to get through your cousin's thick head. "I can't wear some bathing suit in front of my teacher!" You point accusingly at Jimin, who raises up both hands innocently.

"BOTH HANDS ON THE WHEEL!" you shriek which sends Jin snorting in laughter.

"Y/N! Honey! For real, calm down! It doesn't matter. Just don't think of Jimin as your teacher, then you'll be fine," Jin says in his soothing voice.

"Yes, it does matter," you argue. "What if someone sees? What if someone reports?"

Jin rolls his eyes. "Relax, Y/N. We're at least six hours away from home. I highly doubt anyone we know will see us and report."

"Agreed," Jimin says. You feel slightly better that he has both of his hands on the wheel. "I promise, we won't even get drunk like last time. I didn't bring any alcohol."

"Oops," Jin giggles. "I did."

"Jin!!" you and Jimin both cry in unison.

"Your alcohol tolerance is actual shit!" you yell. "I swear to god if you get drunk again I'm gonna run you over with this car!"

"No, not my car!" Jimin shrieks, gripping his steering wheel harder.

Jin throws his head back and lets loose the largest laugh yet. "Bro, you're worried about your car but not me?"

Jimin shrugs. "Well, priorities."

You can't help but laugh as well.

So what if these two bimbleheads lied to you about this weekend vacation? You honestly hate to admit it, but having company was fun. Especially bickering company. Maybe, just maybe you'll enjoy the trip. (If you can survive the awkwardness that is.)

And maybe, just maybe, you'll be able to avoid your teacher's confrontation.

Maybe.

—next chapter

—masterlist

#jimin #park jimin #jimin fanfiction #jimin imagine #bts #bts fanfiction #jimin fluff #jimin crack #teacher au #jimin fanfic #illegirl

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marril96 · 4 years ago

Text

Explicit Affairs

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Rowena’s affairs are getting harder and harder to handle.

A/N: Set in season 12.

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian

*****

They were at it again — third time tonight, an absolute record for the past few months. Unlike the others, this guy had stamina. Vigor. Virility. He could handle a woman like Rowena. If anything, she was the one who had to pick up the pace to keep up with him.

Your stomach churned at the thought, at the images that flooded your brain despite you begging them not to. Rowena and him. Naked as the day they were born. Moaning. Gasping for breath. Bodies slick with sweat. Sheets drenched with fluids.

No. No, no, no. You shook the thoughts off, but the unpleasant images remained seared into your brain, made even more vivid by the moans that echoed from the room next door. The walls were thin; you could hear practically everything, every squeak of the trashing bed, every smack of flesh on flesh, and every night you cursed yourself for putting yourself through it.

It would be so easy to shut it out. A bit of sage, a few magic words, and your room would fall into silence unbroken by even the birds chirping happily on trees underneath your balcony.

You couldn't do that.

You had to listen. Had to hear everything, to the tiniest detail.

It was only fair.

Rowena was doing this for you — for the both of you. If she could engage in intercourse (you refused to call it sex or, gods forbid, making love. That was what you did with her) with old men for your benefit, the least you could do was listen to it.

But, gods, you hated it.

It had been her idea to seek this way of making profit. It was foolproof, she'd said. She'd done it a few times in the past, and it had always worked out in her favor. All she had to do was find an older man, marry him, and wait for him to die. Maybe speed up the process, in some cases, but for the most part, they tended to die just fine all on their own.

It wasn't ideal, far from it, but, after weighing all the pros and cons, you'd agreed to it. As much as you hated the idea of sharing Rowena with others, with sweaty, old men the mere thought of disgusted you, you needed the money. Living the high life wasn't cheap. Rowena was used to certain luxuries in life, the kind you couldn't afford, not even with your magic. Just because she was now dating you didn't mean she had to give up her lifestyle.

You couldn't bring yourself to even ask her to. You'd only recently become her girlfriend, after a year of pining for her. It was an honor. A privilege of the highest order. The last thing you wanted was to ruin it, to send her running.

At least this way, she was still yours. She could flirt with and kiss and fuck other men, but her heart belonged to you. She was your girlfriend.

They would never get to have her, not the way you did.

So, to Rowena's utmost delight, you'd said yes.

It wouldn't be that bad, she'd told you. A flutter of her lashes, and they would be hers, helpless, squirming prey in a spider's web. Easy-peasy.

If only it was.

It turned out, not many rich, influential men wanted to date women with baggage — a daughter, which was your role, and you played it exactly as she'd instructed you. Those who did Rowena found to be lacking in other areas. They overstated their wealth, or outright lied about having it. Or, in the case of Ben, wanted their needs met without offering anything in return. Without even trying.

A heavily sedated walrus, Rowena once called him. It made you laugh as much as it offended you. Not everyone got to fuck Rowena MacLeod. Didn't he know how lucky he was, how privileged that you were willing to share her with him? How could he not try?

The next guy started hitting on you the moment she turned her head. He was dead as soon as his hand slithered down to your ass; as ironic as it was, Rowena wasn't keen on sharing, and she was even less keen on creeps.

The one after that, who had managed to last long enough to upgrade to fiancé, had been unfaithful, and had ended up getting blown into pieces by Crowley. It was a shame for his house, big and spacious and adorned with the finest art, was magnificent, but seriously — cheating? On Rowena, of all people? He didn't know how good he'd had it.

There was a time you would've killed to be with her.

She chose him — with nefarious purposes, but still — and he still wasn't satisfied.

What was going on in these people's heads?

Her newest lover, Maximilian (because of course his name was Maximilian), seemed to be following a similar path. He'd invited her to move in only a month into the relationship, and Rowena was confident he would propose soon after. He was wealthy enough, and he seemed trustworthy; not the cheating kind, though you couldn't tell with a hundred percent certainty for the guy before him had kept a good facade for a while himself. He liked you, and not in a creepy way. He was sweet and charming, and, as it turned out, insatiable in bed.

You hated him for it. Despised him. Loathing burned in your veins with the intensity of a million suns. Who was he to moan her name like that? Who was he to thrust in and out of her, to kiss her, to claim her?

She was yours.

After months of daydreaming about it, of fantasizing about her arms around you, her lips on yours, her whispers in your ear, she was finally yours.

Why was she fucking another man in the room next door, then? Why was she calling his name amidst her screams of fake orgasms?

Because you let her. Because she'd asked, and like a fool, you'd let her because, even after all this time, you still couldn't tell her no.

She could ask you to jump off a bridge and you would have a hard time declining.

Tears pricked at your eyes like needles. You let them fall, let them drench your skin. Let them burn your already seething cheeks. With each new guy, it was getting harder to tolerate it. You thought you would get used to it, but the more you listened to her screaming names that weren't yours, the more you pictured her, naked and writhing, in other men's arms, the more it hurt. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

But then, when was life fair, anyway?

Was keeping Rowena worth this pain? This complete and utter feeling of helplessness, of rage, of envy that it wasn't you in that room with her, making her scream for real for she never had to fake it with you? Was it worth crying yourself to sleep night after night and not having her there to comfort you, to hold you and tell you it would be okay when it clearly wasn't?

It couldn't — wouldn't — be okay until this stopped.

Would it ever stop?

Would Maximilian's money satisfy Rowena, or would she hop right on to the next guy once she was done with him?

Would she care that you didn't want her to? Would she care what you thought at all?

You thought living through Lucifer's betrayal and, as per her own admission, witnessing God and Amara's cosmic angst that not even their immense power could fix had changed Rowena. Had given her a new outlook on things, on life.

Maybe it hadn't. Maybe she was still that cruel, cold-hearted person who didn't care about anyone but herself.

That person who didn't care about you.

A whine tore from your throat. You quickly clasped your hands over your mouth, quieting an onslaught of sobs, each more painful, more soul-crushing than the last. She couldn't not care. Right? She couldn't. She wasn't that person anymore.

What if she was? What if she always had been? What if she could never change?

What if the woman you loved, hidden behind a protective wall of ice and cruelty, didn't exist? What if you'd imagined her, seen what wasn't there — what had never been there to begin with?

"Maximilian, darling," she gasped. Exaggerated, forced. A painfully, almost embarrassingly obvious lie for, despite what she believed, she was never a good liar.

His chuckle told you he bought it.

Gods.

She wouldn't have to lie with you. She wouldn't have to pretend. She could just be. You had no money, no wealth of any kind to your name. But you were honest. You were real. You loved her.

Why wasn't that enough? Why weren't you enough?

Would you ever be?

Rowena laughed, almost gigled. Ecstatic. Elated. "You naughty boy," she purred, and then they both moaned as their lips met in a kiss that meant nothing to her, but fooled Maximilian enough to give into it, to give himself over to it. Give himself over to her, heart, body, and soul.

You couldn't blame him. Rowena had that effect on people. She could do the cruelest things and still make you fall in love with her. She could rip your heart out and stomp on it with her dainty little foot until it was nothing but a bloody mush, and you would still adore her, still treat her like a queen.

Rowena MacLeod's power went beyond her magic.

You hated and loved her for it all at the same time.

*****

You waited until Maximilian headed out for work before emerging from your room. You'd spent the night tossing and turning, begging for sleep to come, to take you over, but it never did. The moans and the groans from the room next door plagued your mind like a bad echo, a rerun you couldn't turn off no matter how hard you tried to think of something else.

Even as Rowena and Maximilian drifted off to sleep, the horrible sounds kept replaying in your mind. Her screaming his name. Him moaning hers. Her gasps as she came. His laughs as she talked sweet nothings to him.

A knot twisted in your stomach at the memory. Bile burned at your throat. It's fine, you told yourself. I'm fine.

You weren't a particularly good liar, either.

As she did every morning, Rowena awaited you in the living room with a cup of steaming tea, prepared exactly the way you liked it. Her mouth widened in a smile at the sight of you, a genuine one, no falsehood in sighs.

Having her, the real her, for yourself used to be a comfort. Now, it felt as though you would've had it better with a lie. Maimilian certainly did.

"Good morning, my darling," Rowena said happily. She went to kiss you, but you turned your head and her lips barely brushed against your cheek.

You couldn't kiss her. Not after tonight. After she'd fucked him three times in a row and kissed him countless times more. He'd gotten all the good stuff, and you, it felt like, were getting leftovers.

Hurt flickered over Rowena's face at the rejection, but she quickly smoothed it over. "I made you tea."

"I can see that," you said a tad harsher than intended. Instead of the sweet, delicious aroma, though, the stench of minty cologne attacked your nostrils. You wrinkled your nose, stomach turning with disgust.

Gods, she even smelled like him.

"Sleep well?"

"Not really," you said, because what would be the point of lying? There was enough lying going on as it was. "I couldn't sleep."

"Poor dear. You must be exhausted."

She laid a hand on your shoulder.

Unconsciously, you shook it off and turned your head before more pain spilled over her features.

Rowena pulled her hand back and stepped away, and you breathed out in relief. It was easier to sulk without her in your personal space. Easier to pretend everything was okay despite it not having been for months now.

"I'm fine," you said curtly.

"Could have fooled me," Rowena mumbled.

Really? Really? "I might've slept some if you and your boy-toy kept it down."

"We weren't that loud."

"Could have fooled me," you spat the words back at her, an echo filled to the brim with venom, potent and deadly.

"What has gotten into you this morning?"

Right. Blame you, because what else would she do? Rowena MacLeod never took responsibility for anything.

You whipped around to face her, eyes flaring, cheeks burning. "What has gotten into you tonight?"

Rowena looked at you as if you'd just admitted to seeing a flying pig.

Before she could utter another useless retort, you said, "Three times! Three fucking times, Rowena!" You held up three fingers in emphasis.

"That's what this is about?" She chuckled, incredulous. At complete and utter disbelief of your outburst. "Alright, I admit — we might have been a bit loud. Our dear Maxi boy is insatiable."

Understatement of the century.

"The word 'no' is still in your vocabulary, right?"

"What?"

"You didn't have to go along with it."

She didn't have to fuck him. She didn't have to let him fuck her. She didn't have to scream his name and feign orgasms to the point where they almost — almost, but not quite — sounded real. To someone who didn't know her, they probably did sound real.

Rowena grit her teeth in frustration. "I've already explained to you how this works, Y/N. More than once."

She could explain it a thousand times more; it wouldn't make it hurt any less. It wouldn't make your shattered heart any more whole. Wouldn't put the broken pieces of your soul back together.

Words couldn't correct what actions destroyed.

"Right," you said. "You explained it. That makes it okay, then."

"What do you want me to say?" Rowena exclaimed.

"Nothing! That's the thing — nothing you say is gonna fix this."

"I wasn't aware anything was broken."

Of course she wasn't. She was too busy hanging on her dear Maxi boy's arm and daydreaming of his money in her account to notice something was going on.

Too busy to notice you.

The realization stung. Tears welled up in your eyes, and this time you held them back. There was no need to cry. You could — would — handle this like an adult. Just because you pretended to be Rowena's kid didn't mean you had to act like one.

"You're right," you said, giving up, because that was what adults did. They didn't fight losing battles. "Nothing's going on. I'm just in a bad mood."

Rowena wanted money, and in order to get it, she needed to sleep with other men. She needed to sleep with Maximilian, needed to fuck him three times in a single night, if that was what he wanted. Why did it matter what you wanted? Rowena was the one running the show here. What she said, went. What she decided, happened. Fighting her on this, insisting on some justice, was futile.

Her needs came first. You came second. That was how this relationship worked, wasn't it? It was how everything worked, from the moment you'd met her. Becoming her girlfriend didn't change that.

You were foolish to think it might have.

Rowena raised an eyebrow, skeptical of your sudden defeat. You turned around, tears slipping free. She wouldn't see you cry. You wouldn't let her. Not here. Not now. Taking a sip of your tea, you flinched; the liquid burned at your throat, the sensation equal parts welcome and unpleasant. A perfect distraction from the issues at hand.

The tears were from the tea, you told yourself. Begged yourself to believe it. You weren't crying because of Rowena. You were crying because your tea was too hot.

"Y/N Y/L/N," Rowena said, tranquil fury personified, "don't you dare turn your back on me."

You drank some more tea. Savored the delicious heat.

"We are going to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about." What was the point? She would still want the money. She would still want the grand house and the social status. There was nothing you could say that would change that.

"I beg to differ," she said.

You shrugged.

"Y/N." It was a growl. A warning that she wasn't in the mood for games. "There is clearly something you wish to say, so say it."

You couldn't help a bitter chuckle. "What's the point? It's not like you care."

"If I didn't, I wouldn't ask."

Maybe. But still… "No matter what I say, you'll still do what you want."

"Why don't you let me make that decision?"

"I did!" you snapped, slamming the still steaming mug down on the table. You glared at her, frustrated, angry. Pissed to high heavens. "That's all I've been doing for months! You've been making decisions for us, and I never complained!"

Rowena flinched as if struck, caught off guard by your outburst. You almost felt bad — almost for the anger bubbling up inside you swallowed every last sliver of sympathy. You couldn't hold the turmoil back anymore. Couldn't contain months worth of frustration, of sheer hurt that you wanted — needed — her to understand, needed her to feel even at the cost of causing her pain.

You'd been quiet for too long, your silence having festered into something wicked, something dangerous, and it wanted out, and you had no intention of restraining it.

"You never even bothered to ask what I wanted," you said, and the words — the cold, hard truth of them — spilled a new batch of tears down your face. "You think I like to share my girlfriend with sweaty old guys? I fucking hate it!"

You hated their eyes on her. Hated their hands holding hers. Hated seeing their lips kiss her, and hearing them whimper her name through paper-thin walls. Hated imagining her tiny, beautiful body, bare as the day she'd been born, nestled in with theirs.

She was your girlfriend.

None of them had any rights to her, not like that. Not so intimately.

"You said you were fine with it," Rowena said.

You snorted. "What was I supposed to say? I know you, Rowena. You love the high life. I couldn't expect you to settle for less because, well, I know you don't settle. It was either this charade, or this charade without me in the picture."

"You're wrong," she said, and she looked so sincere, so heartbroken you wanted to forget the argument and wrap your arms around her until she was better. Until the hurt — the hurt you'd caused, purposely — went away. "When I asked for your permission, I wasn't giving you an ultimatum."

"It sure felt like it."

"Well, it wasn't. If you'd said no, I would have found an alternative."

"Right. Come on, Rowena! You want the money, and fucking rich dudes is the fastest way to get it."

"It is not the only way."

"Since when do you take long roads over shortcuts?" You sighed. "I'm not stupid, okay? I know you. I admit, I did think us getting together might've changed things, but that's on me. Wishful thinking and all that. You never made me any promises. You don't owe me anything. And I'm not asking for anything. I just… I can't go on like this any longer."

Sleeping alone. Listening to her with other men. Watching her kiss them the way she kissed you. You couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't stand aside and let strangers parade your girlfriend around as if she were a piece of meat.

As if she were theirs.

Lately, it felt like she wasn't yours, either. As if she'd stopped being so the first time she went on a date with another man while you cried your eyes out in your hotel room, terrified she would never come back, that she would choose the stranger with money over her faithful companion — her girlfriend — with nothing.

"I can't be with you," and, gods, the words stung worse than a hornet bite, "if you're with them. I thought I could, I tried, I really did, but I can't."

Rowena's lower rip trembled. Hurt, open like a bleeding fresh wound, flashed over her face. In a voice barely held together, she said, "You really think that low of me?"

"I—"

"You think I would choose these Neanderthals over you?"

"I'm not asking you to choose—"

"You think money is all I care about?"

"Isn't it? I mean, you're into some pretty high end stuff. Which isn't a bad thing. I just… I can't provide you that kind of lifestyle."

Rowena looked offended. "I would never ask you to. I do love wealth, but it's not the most important thing in my life. You—" She cut herself off, lips pressing into a stern, thin line. Clearing her throat, she reformulated, "I don't prefer it to you."

You are. That was what she wanted to say, wasn't it? That she cared. That she felt something for you — something other than usefulness, other than mere infatuation. She had true, genuine feelings for you.

Feelings she used to brag she wasn't capable of.

"I don't care about any of these men," she said. "I wanted to provide you the kind of life you deserve."

"I don't want it," you told her. "Not like this."

She nodded, taking your words in. "I want you to be happy, Y/N. I want us to be happy. It's been a while since I…" She swallowed a lump that had blossomed in her throat. "I wasn't enjoying it, but I thought you did. I thought, if I wasn't happy, the least I could do was make you happy."

Your heart swelled, guilt inside it, roiling and coiling like liquid fire. Here you were, assuming the worst, ready to give her up, and all she wanted was you. All she wanted was a better life for you.

"I should have known it was a mistake." She chuckled, a derisive, bitter sound. "If God and his sister can't be happy, what hope is there for me?"

You reached for her hand. Squeezed her fingers like you always did when you wanted her to listen, when you wanted her to know you were there. "Who says you can't be happy?"

She looked up at you, devoid of hope, of any sliver of it. It broke your heart.

"Maybe you just need to try something different. You've been living like this for centuries. Maybe it's time to change things up a bit."

"How do you suppose I do that?"

"Settle down, maybe? Instead of hopping from hotel to hotel, from mansion to mansion, why don't we find ourselves our own little place?"

It had been a longtime dream of yours. A house. A yard. Rowena's laughter echoing through the halls. The smell of tea and coffee filling up the house in the morning. A warm fireplace to curl up in front of in the coldest of winters.

Rowena quirked up an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Why not?" you said with a shrug. "When's the last time you stayed in one place for more than six months?"

She had to ponder on it. "It's been a while."

"Exactly! So why not try that? See if you like it?"

She considered it for a moment. Then, tentatively, "Maybe…"

Your lips widened in a happy grin.

Rowena smiled, equally joyous at the prospect. "I never meant to hurt you, darling," she said. The closest to an I'm sorry that you would ever get. She didn't apologize; she never did, no matter how wrong she was. But she wanted to make this right for you. Wanted you to know that she was sorry, that she meant it. "If I'd known—"

"I know," you cut in, believing her every word. Knowing, deep down, that she would never toss you aside like trash, no matter what your insecurities said. "Let's just get out of here. Before he comes back. I don't want this to be awkward."

Rowena chuckled. "Let us finish our tea, at least."

You glanced toward your half-empty mug. "Okay."

"I was thinking," she said, sipping on her tea. Cold, but still delicious. "There is a way for us to make some money without shagging rich men."

"Uh-oh." What did she come up with now?

She ignored your reaction. "Have I ever told you I'm excellent at gambling?"

You stared at her, incredulous. "You? Gambling?"

"Aye.," she said proudly.

For some reason the thought made you laugh.

"I'm serious," Rowena said. "I can play a wicked game."

"Or cheat wickedly?"

"Both."

Of course. "Are you sure? Those guys can be dangerous."

"More dangerous than me?"

She had a point there. "Fine," you conceded. "But only until we get settled. I don't want you making a business out of it."

"Alright," Rowena agreed.

It wasn't the kind of thing you wanted her to be involved in, but it beat sleeping with other men. Besides, it was only temporary. Just until you found a better, less dangerous way of surviving.

And you would survive. You would be happy.

So long as you were together.

*****

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#rowena #rowena macleod #spn #supernatural #spn family #fanfiction #my fics #rowena x reader #rowena macleod x reader

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siriusmuch · 5 years ago

Text

Friday I’m In Love | Chapter Four

series masterlist here

word count: about 1.8k

warnings: violence, cursing, and threats

taglist: @interestingthingsthings @siriuslysirius1107@scaredofvscogirls @lizlil @themihala @mainstreambitchlife @phenylethyllamine @jellyfishbeansontoast @accio-rogers @blackpinkdolan @nickangel13 @witchywrter please message me or send an ask if you’d like to be added to the taglist! if you didn’t receive a notification, it’s because i can’t tag you.

a/n: if you got a notification for this already, it’s because i accidentally posted it too early!! i forgot to update the taglist and warnings and word count and edit it oh my gosh. anyway, please enjoy this update!! sorry for how little it is :(

The crowd in the Great Hall was as loud as ever — even more so with all the staff and ghosts present. The Hallowe’en Feast was something almost everyone looked forward to, and you were no exception to that. You were practically buzzing with joy. No Sirius Black or howlers could stop you from enjoying today.

Currently, you were in a black dress, licking a giant lollipop happily. You rarely got to enjoy sweets when you were home, and you were taking full advantage of this situation. Every year, for the last four years, you’d managed to sneak a large bag (thank god for extension charms) full of candy back to your room. Stress eating sugar was the best way to go.

Next to you stood Snape, who was staring at you with disgust as you inconspicuously tried to shove as much candy as you could in your bag.

“You’re not making that any less obvious,” Snape commented.

“Always a downer, huh, Sev? None of the teachers are commenting on this. I can see a handful of other students doing the same.”

“Doesn’t mean they can’t see you doing it.”

“Nothing wrong with taking advantage of free food.”

Snape shook his head at you, which caused you to burst into laughs. The two of you both knew that he was going to mooch off of you and eat the candy you took anyway, but it didn’t stop him from laughing at you. Finishing your pumpkin juice, you raised your cup at him.

“I’m going to go get refills, want anything?”

Snape shook his head no, and you nodded. Leaving Snape behind at the table, you swiftly made your way through the crowd, ignoring any of the murmurs. Despite the fact that it’d been a week since you’ve gotten your howler, it seemed like none of the other students were allowing you to forget the incident. They knew one of your vulnerabilities now, and you were constantly wary about being alone for too long in case anyone tried confronting you about it.

As you poured yourself a glass of pumpkin juice, a tap on your shoulder makes you direct your attention elsewhere. Your eyes meet cold ones, and you grimace.

“It’s a pleasure to finally catch you alone, (Y/N) darling.”

“My presence is of the highest value. What do you want, Mulciber?” You raised your eyebrow, “If you couldn’t tell, I’m busy. I have to get back to Sev.”

“My, my. No need to be snarky. I just wanted to talk. I’m sure your precious Snape could wait a while, there’s some... things that I wanted to discuss.”

“Can’t this wait? I’m having fun right now, and you make it boring.”

“That attitude is what got you that letter from dearest daddy, you know. If I just happened to let it slip to him that you were being rude to your own house...”

Mulciber trailed off, and your fists clenched. There was no running from whatever he wanted to say, and you just hoped he wasn’t stupid enough to do anything that exposed either of you. Hoped that whatever mission your parents sent him on wasn’t going to ruin whatever stabilization you’d built up in the last week.

“Not playing games anymore, huh, darling? Glad to see it,” He smirked, “Anyway... I just wanted to let you know that the next meeting is in two weeks. Don’t be late, or else what happened to your sister is just going to...”

Before he even had the chance to finish his sentence, a loud smack rang across the hall. Everyone had quieted down to stare at the two of you, but you didn’t care. You were already annoyed by his presence. He was a git who didn’t deserve the time of day, and he dared to bring up your sister.

“You don’t get the right to talk about her. I can’t believe you. What’s the point of doing everything you possibly can to please them? Are you trying to get in an arranged marriage with me since I’m the only girl who won’t knee you in the nuts if you call them darling? Fuck off. Couldn’t have made it more obvious that you were being a pain in the arse.”

The look on Mulciber’s face darkened as he stepped closer to you. Within a split second, his hands grabbed tightly onto your neck, and you squirmed. Gasping to take a deep breath, you struggled against his grip.

“What did you fucking say to me, cunt? You think you’re better than me? One wrong move and I could easily destroy you. Your parents adore me, and don’t think I don’t know what happened to her.”

Your glare intensified, but you were saved by the presence of Professor Slughorn. “What is going on here?” Mulciber relaxed his grip and released you, and you rubbed at your neck. There was no doubt there were going to be marks, but it was nothing that a glamour charm can’t fix.

“I don’t want to see anyone’s hands on each other in such a threatening way, Mister Mulciber. 30 points from Slytherin. Now, are either of you going to explain what happened?”

“Professor, (Y/N) started it. She slapped me after I was making conversation.”

“What?” You turned to look at him in shock, “Professor, that’s not true!”

“What do you mean, it’s not true? I was just telling you about the meeting in two weeks!” Mulciber glared at you, and you only growled at him.

“Bullshit! You were threatening me, for Merlin’s sake! You talked to me about my bloody dead sister and telling me that if I don’t go, you’ll make sure the same thing happened to me! So sod off and stop trying to charm the professors with your dirty personality!” You threw up your arms in frustration, turning away from Mulciber and seething in your spot.

Professor Slughorn’s eyes flickered between the two of you, and you sighed to try and calm yourself down. “You know what? 70 points from Slytherin instead of 30. No one should be threatening any other student, nor holding them in a chokehold. Or even mentioning things that are sensitive to other students. Miss (L/N), detention tomorrow after school. As for you, Mulciber, detention once a week for the next month. I hope I don’t see this happening again. I expected better from both of you.”

Your gaze was downcast as you looked down, but you nodded.

“Both of you can go enjoy the rest of the feast, but I hope you both understand you are to be on your best behaviour.”

As Professor Slughorn left, you watched with an empty look on your face. Turning away from him, you walked back into the feast, ignoring all the looks people gave you, making your way towards the Slytherin Common Room. You couldn’t be here any longer.

Your night was plagued with nightmares and your father’s voice. It was haunted with the tingling sensation of your arm, the screaming of your sister’s voice, the feeling of being lost in your own emotions. So by the time morning came, you looked like a raccoon.

“Heard you slapped Mulciber across the face yesterday,” Regulus smirked at you as you slid in the seat next to him.

“Should’ve given him more, don’t you think?” You nudged him with your shoulder. Although you felt tense, Regulus’ presence was soothing for you. You knew Mulciber and Regulus were friends. Somewhat.

They got along fine, although their friendship wasn’t anything like yours. Their friendship was mostly for survival purposes, whereas the two of you depended on each other. And despite that they were friends, it wasn’t stopping you from laughing at Mulciber. Not when you knew the kind of person he was.

“Are you feeling okay, though? I didn’t know your sister was...” Regulus trailed off once he saw your confused expression.

“Was what?”

“Was, um. Dead.”

“How did you know that?” Your eyes narrowed at him, body tenser than it was before. How did Regulus find out?

“You... said it. Last night.” Regulus spoke softly, watching your expression carefully. His hand reached for yours, and you shook a bit. He smiled sadly at you, and you sighed.

“Huh... I guess I did. I remember that now,” You leaned your head onto his shoulder, “I didn’t want anyone to know. I guess it just slipped. Nothing I can do about it now.”

The two of you sat in silence for a bit as you found comfort for Regulus. Part of you wished that you could stay like this forever, but you’ve come to learn that good doesn’t last forever. Not for you, anyway.

Regulus’ shoulders started shaking as you looked up at him in concern. He nodded in the direction of the other end of the Slytherin table, and you looked over. Your mouth dropped as you stared at... Mulciber?

He was covered all over with some sort of red substance, and in front of him was something that resembled some sort of breakfast sausage. You couldn’t see it, but someone had charmed a dungbomb into looking like a sausage, and when it was cut open, it’d splashed Mulciber in paint. You couldn’t help but burst into loud chuckles either.

You and Regulus looked at each other and couldn’t help getting louder. As the two of you continued in hysterics, you felt your worries washing away.

Remus had joined you for detention. You had absolutely no clue why, or even why Professor McGonagall wasn’t administering it, but the two of you were polishing the pictures of Professor Slughorn and various other figures who you assumed were students associated with some sort of power. They were all from the Slug Parties that he hosted often, and although you were invited, you’d only been to a handful.

The two of you worked in awkward silence. You hadn’t felt this uncomfortable around Remus since the day you met, and you could tell that he wanted to bring up what happened last night. Part of you wanted to say something, anything, to kill this silence, but you were at a loss of words.

By the time you’d finished, it was halfway through the detention. You took a seat at one of the desks, watching Remus finish up polishing the last frame.

“I have a question to ask, Rem...” You started, watching him jolt a bit in surprise. “Why did you... You pranked Mulciber, right?” You asked. You frowned when he paused, “You don’t have to come up with an excuse or anything... I know you and your friends prank people constantly, so I’m not angry. It was funny, but... Why?”

When Remus didn’t answer, you tilted your head. You were about to speak again, but the squeak of the floorboard from behind you made you twist around.

“You’ve got the wrong person, Princess.”

word count:

warnings: violence

taglist: @interestingthingsthings @siriuslysirius1107@scaredofvscogirls @lizlil @themihala @mainstreambitchlife@phenylethyllamine @jellyfishbeansontoast @accio-rogers @blackpinkdolan @nickangel13 please message me or send an ask if you’d like to be added to the taglist! if you didn’t receive a notification, it’s because i can’t tag you.

a/n: