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fanttasttica · 7 months

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One plus one makes three

Rhysand x reader

After your one night stand with the High lord, you hadn't expected to see him ever again, but fate had other plans. You are pregnant, carrying the High lord's first child and you need to tell him. How is he going to react? And what will that mean for you?

Warnings: nothing (I think.. If you find anything, please let me know :D )

Words: 4129

Authors note: Thanks for participanting inthe voting! Since this idea got the most votes, i wrote it first. My next story will be on theme "enemies to lovers" :D

You weren't that type of a girl who got drunk every weekend and had a sex with males whose names you haven't bothered to learn. No.. So why was the universe punishing you for this? It was one night, only one. You were celebrating your birthday with some friends at Rita's, when you spotted the most beautiful male that ever existed. He was tall, seemed strong and there was this dark aura around him. He was undoubtedly powerful, but instead of fearing him, something dragged you to him. After some time you were watching each other from afar, he came up to you and asked you to dance. It was during your time on the dancing floor, when you found out it was no other than High lord or the Night cour, your High lord. It was the first time you saw him, the first time you talked to him and you thought it would also be probably the last. Maybe you ended up in his bed that night, but it was supposed to be only a one night stand, but fate decided otherwise.

You weren't feeling well for a couple of days. Your friends were pushing you to see a healer and today you finally gave in. You visited your healer on the other side of the town, thinking she will brush it off, tell you to rest for another couple of days and eat chicken broth, you hated, but no. This wasn't only some illness you could get rid of after a few days. This would last for at least a couple of months and then the real fun would begin. You were pregnant. Carrying an heir to the Night court in your womb. Your stomach was still flat and if it weren't for your morning sickness and tiredness, you wouldn't have noticed you were pregnant yet. After finding that out, you thanked and said goodbye to your healer, leaving in a hurry. As if running from her would also mean that you would run from your situation. Unfortunately for you, that didn't happen. Symptoms still bothered you in the following days, reminding you about how screwed you were.

“What are you going to do?” Your friends were curious, of course. And honestly you were too. “I have no idea. I am.. I only saw him once.” You answered her while running your hand through your hair. “Yeah, you saw him once. You slept with him once and you ended up pregnant.. I can't believe your luck.” It was hard to say if she was speaking ironically or not, because you wouldn't call yourself lucky. This wasn't some blessing. You weren't against children, you actually liked them and hoped one day you will have one, this was simply quite early for you and certainly with the wrong man. He maybe was a High lord, but you were an ordinary fae. He probably already forgot about your existence. “I don't even know how to contact him. Should I go back to Rita's in the hope I will meet him there? Should I send him a letter and tell him about this? And what should I write in it? Do I really have to tell him?” Not telling him anything and running to another court was an idea you were also toying with. “You can not possibly mean that! He deserves to know. And besides that, lies or secrets are always exposed in the end. He is the most powerful High lord of all times.. Do you really think you can keep this as a secret your whole life? Your kids' whole life?” You sighed in defeat and shook your head. “No, that's stupid.. I.. I just need another few days to collect my thoughts and think about ways to contact and tell him.”

Few days passed by and you still weren't sure what to do. Why does it have to be so complicated? If he weren't the High lord, you would already have told him. It would make everything so much easier for both of you. It was pointless to cry over a spilled milk, but you couldn't help yourself, blaming it on your hormones. One day, you had enough of it. Enough of hiding in your room, crying and cursing on him and yourself. You were determined to find him, tell him about this and return home, so you could finally have some good rest without constantly thinking about this, because currently you were losing your head. You decided to try to find Rhysand again at Rita's. It seemed better to ask him for a minute there than marching to his house and demanding he would see you. You friends were supportive, not leaving you to be all alone. There always was at least one of them by your side, although you weren't finding it necessary, it was a nice gesture you appreciated. The first night you spent here looking for you, you hadn't had any luck, likewise the second or third night. But after sitting on the bar stool for the fourth night in a row, you finally saw him. He was talking to his friends, with a smile on his handsome face, unaware that his life was about to change drastically.

Your heart started beating faster than ever before. In normal situations, you were a calm person, but obviously not today. “You should hurry and go speak to him, before other girls start to throw themself on him.” You swallowed hard.“Yeah.. I am going right now.” You tried to put on a neutral face and started walking towards him, even though everything in you screamed to run away. Suddenly, you were standing right before him and his friends, who were measuring you with interest in their eyes. You simply nodded at them in greeting and looked at the High lord. “You probably don't remember me, but we met here a while ago.. And I need to speak with you. It's urgent. ” At first you were worried he was going to send you away. He raised one eyebrow, but nodded and put away his drink, following you outside. Cold air hit you immediately, so you hugged yourself, before turning to face him. “I remember you, don't worry.” You weren't expecting that. “Yeah.. that's good.” It made a few things easier for you. Now you know there isn't a need to explain to him when you met and what you did together that night. “So? What did you need to tell me?” He was curious, of course. Maybe expecting you to try to seduce him, as many girls certainly did in the past, but there was nothing that could prepare him for this. “I am pregnant and it's yours.”

There weren't many people who managed to surprise the High lord of the Night court. And even the least people managed to surprise him so much that he couldn't think of a reaction for the first few seconds. He was stunned, looking at you as if you were from another unknown world, so you took word once again. “To be honest.. I expected a worse reaction..” You sighed and looked at the ground. “I don't want anything from you. I want and will keep the baby, but if you don't want to, you don't have to be involved in the baby's life. I have people who will help me and also have enough money to take care of it. So.. It's up to you.” And with that, you left him standing outside alone, returning to your friends.

“How did it go? Did he take it well?” Immediately after your return, you were flooded with questions. You shrugged and drank water from your glass. “He was clearly surprised. I told him I don't expect anything from him and assured him it's his choice, if he wants to be involved or not and then left.” They laughed. “You told him this and just left him standing there alone? Oh my Cauldron, I would pay to see his face.” Maybe you would also laugh at this, only if it weren't you who was in this situation. You put one of your hands on your stomach. It was weird and also.. magical, knowing that right now, you are creating a new life. “He returned to his friends and is talking with them.” Your friend whispered to your ears. You could feel several pairs of eyes watching you. Shaking your head, you smiled at them. “Let's talk about something else for a while and try to enjoy this night.” You desperately needed some distraction and opportunity to think about anything else. In the end, the reason why you were here today was done and you deserved some break from this too.

The next day, you were woken up by the Sun. After you forgot to close the curtains last night, there was nothing that could stop morning rays from tickling your eyes. Like any other day before, you were thinking, if you weren't dreaming this whole time, but morning sickness was clear evidence that in fact you were not. After brushing your teeths and hair, you dressed up, put on black leggings and your favorite jumper, you were ready for the day. For the last couple of days, you took time off from your job. It wasn't that hard,since you were running a small bakery with your friends and they almost forced you to stay at home. But today, you were determined to return. You wanted to start living normally again. There isn't a chance that you will spend a whole pregnancy locked in your room. You will take things slowly, so there is no chance for something to happen and it will all be good.

Your day has been going just fine. After coming to work, you could finally be able to feel like a few weeks ago, like nothing was going on. Well, that was until the bell rang, announcing the arrival of another customer you should greet. After you look up, you find no one other than the High lord himself. “Shouldn't you be resting?” You raised your eyebrow. “Hello to you too.. I assure you I am rested well enough.” He came closer, the only thing between you was a counter, behind which you stood. “You don't need to work. I will take care of both of you.” You shook your head. “There is no need for that. I can work, what's more important, I want to work. I love my job.” Something in his face told you, he took this as a challenge. “You are pregnant with my child. I think I should have a say in this matter.” This whole conversation was uncomfortable for both of you. You both were very determined to do it in your way. And the fact that you were strangers had not been helping at all. You didn't know how to treat each other. “Then I guess we need to find some compromise.”

You weren't exactly thrilled with how some things turned out in the end, but on the other hand, it could be worse. After a long talk with Rhysand, how he told you to call him, you end up agreeing to stop working when you are halfway through your pregnancy, but that is not all. During those few weeks you will still be working, there will always be someone with you, during your shift. Practically, members of Rhys's Inner circle were supposed to babysit you. You knew it would be very unusual for you, but you were hoping that in a couple of days you will be able to ignore them or befriend them. You also agreed on moving in with Rhysand and his Inner circle, three weeks before the baby was supposed to be born and staying for at least a couple of months. “Honestly, I am surprised that you want to be so involved..” You mumbled. You two were talking almost your whole shift, which was coming to the end right now. “It's my baby, of course I want to be involved. We have to take care of her or him. Which brings me to my last point today.” He took your silence as a cue to continue. “We should get married.” You weren't sure what you were expecting, but this was certainly not it. Almost dropping a tray with two last gingerbreads, you turned to face him. His face was serious, there was no sign that he was just kidding, but you laughed lightly even so. “Good one. I am not marrying only because I am pregnant.” But he didn't let you brush that off so easily. “Why? It would be better. You would live in luxury for the rest of your life and I would have an heir.” Without this union, this baby would only be a bastard in the others eyes, you were aware of that, but you couldn't do this. “I already told you, I am comfortable with the life I am living. I don't need jewelry or fancy dresses. I was always determined to marry for love or not at all. And I am not changing my mind.”

The weeks passed one by another. As Rhys promised, from the very next day, his friends started accompanying you, during your work. Sometimes, it was Morrigan you befriended quite quickly. It was because of her friendly personality. She was treating you like a friend from the start, promising you to always help you with the baby. Almost every time she came, she was bringing something for you or the baby. You It almost didn't make sense for you to go shopping for things for the baby since she was the one doing it. Then there were Cassian and Azriel. They also were friendly, but it took a little longer to get used to them, but after you started feeding them sweets from your shop, they warmed up to you and you were chatting like an old friend. The last person who you saw maybe two times was Amren. She wasn't rude, but when she was there, she was doing her own work and since you didn't want to disturb her, you hadn't talked so much. As for Rhys, he was visiting you every other day before and after your shift. The communication between you two was better and sometimes, you caught yourself staring at him, when he was talking to his friends and since that was exactly what got you into this situation in the first place, you weren't happy with yourself.

“This is your last day, isn't it?” Morrigan was sitting on a table, smiling at you as you were counting the money before closing the register. “Yeah.. I still can't believe it.” You were half through your pregnancy and your bump was already showing a little. Fortunately, the morning sickness and tiredness have passed you by now. You were feeling great. “I don't know what I am going to do with my free time.” She shrugged. “You can read.. Paint.. Shop for the baby..” You chuckled at the last thing. “Thanks to you, the baby has more than enough clothes. And I pursue all my hobbies even when I am working.. Rhys is thinking that I will only lay in bed, eat and sleep, but that's simply not possible. I would lose my head after one week.” She smiled at you sympathetically. “My cousin behaves sometimes like a mother hen. I believe you, when you say it's annoying.. But you have to endure it only for another couple of weeks..” That wasn't helping. “I am not like a mother hen. I don't know what you two are talking about.” You only noticed Rhysand, who was leaning against the door frame, now. “Yeah, you are worse.” You mumbled, after recovering from the shock he gave you. “You are hurting my feelings, dear Y/N.” You pursed your lips at him. “How are you going to recover from this?” His laughter filled the room and forced you to chuckle a little bit too. “When will you two finally get together? You are perfect for each other.” Neither of you answered her.

As you expected, you were bored only after a week of not working. Sure, you had your friends and also new friends from Inner circle, but it wasn't enough. They also had work and their lives. So you decided to go bother the man who was responsible for your boredom, Rhysand. You already visited his home, he gave you permission to come and go as you pleased, so you decided to pay him a visit today with some sweet desserts from the bakery for him and a jar of pickles for you. The other symptoms of pregnancy passed, but this one, love for pickles, remained. You knocked twice on the mahagon door that led to his office and waited for his response, before opening them and walking in. “I am bored and it's your fault.” Rhys leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes. “How is that my fault?” He obviously wasn't understanding your logic. Maybe it was because he was a male or maybe because his brain was not affected by hormones. “You didn't want me to work anymore, so I don't have anything to do and in addition to that, I am already sick of some things that I normally like! It's frustrating.” You sat on the chair across from him. “I need to finish these papers, but once I am done, I actually know what we could do together.. Until then, you are welcome to stay.” You thought about it for a while and nodded. “Okay, I will wait. And I would almost forget. This is for you. Morrigan told me you like this.” You moved the dessert tray across the table in front of him. He looked surprised and also very happy. “Thank you, it's nice of you, but you didn't have to do that.” You shrugged, picked up one pickle and ate it before replying to him. “I wanted you. Sweet is good for the nerves. And you'll need a lot of nerve to put up with my moods.”

There was a comfortable silence. Rhys was working, you were eating pickles and watching him. During this time, you found out some other new things about him. For example, every time he tried to concentrate intensely, he furrowed his brow, when he was thinking about something, he tapped his pen on the table.. “I didn't know I was so interesting to you.” You blinked a few times, before you realized he probably noticed that you were staring directly at him for the past few minutes. “I was just thinking how can I protect our child from inheriting your crooked nose.” He chuckled and looked at you, still smiling. “Your love for me is touching.” You rolled your eyes playfully. “Are you almost done? I am running out of pickles.” He put the papers aside and nodded. “Lucky for you, yes. We can go now.”

You had to admit that his house was beautiful. It was so spacious, but cozy at the same time. It felt like home. During the tour Rhys gave you, you were imagining your life here. Imagining a little girl running around the corridors and Rhysand following her, while they are both laughing.. “There are only two other rooms I want to show you.” You offered him a small smile, “Okay, lead the way.” After climbing a few stairs, you reached the next floor of the house Rhys walked to the end of the corridor. “This is my room and right next to it..” He opened the door and let you walk in first. You gasped at the sight before you. It was a nursery. The walls were white and decorated with painted gold stars. Everything was ready. Closets full of baby clothes and other necessary things. Crib was in the middle of the room, filled with some stuffed animals and more blankets than needed. Tears welled up in your eyes. “It's so beautiful! Did you do it by yourself?” You asked, turning to Rhysand who was watching you with a happy expression. “Most of the things, although Cassian and Azriel had to help me to build the crib.. I am the most powerful High lord, but that thing is terrible.” You laughed at the idea of the three strongest Illyrian warriors having trouble assembling a crib. “And Morrigan got the clothes.” You nodded, recognizing some pieces. “Thank you, really.” He walked towards you and carefully took your hand to his. “You don't have to thank me. I was happy to do it. After all, I promised you that I would spoil both you and the child.” The fact that your child was going to be spoiled was certain. And probably no amount of strictness couldn't prevent that. “As for spoiling you.. I also have room ready for you.”

It wasn't until Rhys pointed them out that you noticed a door not far from the crib. “This door leads to your room. And the door opposite.. to mine, so I can come and help you with the baby during the night or you can easily come to my room, if you would need it at any time.” It was practical, better than having to run to the hall and knock on his door there. “Are you ready to see it?” With this, he caught your attention once again. “Of course.”

You fell in love with your room the first second you walked in. Rhys made sure the walls were painted in your favorite color. There was a table, not so far from the window. On the other side is a bookcase with a rocking chair next to it. The walk-in closet was the same size as your bathroom, which was as luxurious as everything else. “Okay.. Now I am really looking forward to moving in here.” You joked and lay on your big bed. Blanket was so soft you wanted nothing else than getting tangled up in it and never getting out. Rhys sat on your bed, watching you with a grin. “And I thought you said you didn't need a life of luxury..” He said playfully. As a response, you slapped him gently on his hand. “I don't need it. But I have to admit, it's nice.” You sat up and rested your head on his shoulder. He hugged you, with one of his hands, around your waist and placed his hand on your stomach, stroking it gently. “Only the best for you.”

Many weeks passed and now.. As you predicted, you were holding a baby girl in your arms. Your and Rhysand's baby girl. Your birth was quite easy, thankfully. You were happy. Rhys was all over the moon, not leaving you alone for one minute. The others were not better, they pushed each other away, only to get a better view of her, before Madja told them to leave, since you need to rest. So now, it was only you, Rhys and your little star. “I know I already said it.. But thank you.” You looked in his eyes and smiled. “I thank you. Afterall, this takes two.” Although most of the job was done by you, Rhys was amazing to you this whole time. Treating you like a queen. “I am really.. glad for this. Finding out I was going to be a father was shocking, I will not lie, but.. I am just really happy.” Hearing this made your heart jump with joy. “Yeah.. I am too. I am glad I met you. And I have to admit.. I grew fond of you.” He chuckled deeply and kissed the top of your head. “Does that mean you will marry me then? And I assure you.. I am not asking out of some obligation, because we have a child together.” Rhys was ready to give you time to think, but you didn't need it. It wasn't love at first sight with him. You were falling in love with him for a while, but now you were sure that he was your happy ending. Well.. him and your daughter. That's why there wasn't a trace of hesitation when you answered him, “I will.”

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #acotar series #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of mist and fury #rhysand imagine #rhysand fanfic #rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #rhysand #cassian #azriel #morrigan

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carolmunson · 8 months

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wake up slow | barista!steve harrington

entry for my fall frenzy requests this request comes in from @superblysubpar: 'there's a scenario with bookstore / library date AND a dialogue prompt that says "what are you reading?"' with steve harrington summary: it's 1990. you're on the opening shift at the bookstore you work at, only to be surprised at a newcomer claiming to be up for an interview for the open barista position in the cafe at the back. sort of put off to start, it's no surprise when things start to bloom over time, and i'm not talking about coffee grounds. tl;dr carol writes a mini romcom.

tw: minors dni, there's nothing too out of whack in this one but i still don't want minors in here. reader is a little sassy but also like, pretty normal overall.

That damn key jams every time it rains -- doesn't help that you left your umbrella at home. Doesn't help that the 'light mist' turned into a heavy downpour the closer you made it to the book store. Doesn't help that you had to park a street over because of street cleaning and had to walk a block in the rain. Now the damn key.

"Come on," you grumble, jiggling an wiggling to no avail. Insert, r-insert, slight tilt to the right, jiggle, pull out a little, turn a little left and then -- nothing. You take the key out only for it to fall to the ground with a fairy like tinkling.

"Come -- the fuck -- on," you nearly growl under your breath while your coat gets heavier and heavier with rain, hood soaking through and dripping water onto your face. You bend down to get the key with a sigh meant for people with back pain, coming back up again to see the coffee bar manager on the other side of the glass door. He chuckles, salt and pepper beared thick over his chin and cheeks. Ruddy skin beams red even in the cool grey light of the morning, 30 years a butcher who pivoted into coffee when he turned fifty and had a really good knack for it.

"Easy morning?"

"Does it look like one, Carl?" you ask, stepping in when he opens the door. He laughs again, a hearty belly laugh that might as well have transported him into a Santa suit in December. "What happened to you?" he asks, following you into the back room where you start putting your stuff in your cubby. You switch out your wet sneakers and socks for the platform loafers and knee highs in your bag. Now that the fall weathers hit, it's all corduroy and knit sweaters, circle skirts and tall socks. If you're going to be on your fifth year working at an idyllic bookstore, you might as well look the part.

"Weather app lied, street cleaning, forgot an umbrella," you shrug, "Just another manic Monday, y'know?" "I know," he nods, "Gimme one second." Carl comes back with a white paper cup and black lid that makes you smile from the inside out, "Is that what I think it is?" "Isn't it always?" he smiles, "I got it ready the second I saw you on the schedule. Caramel latte, hint of cinnamon. Since its -- ya know, fall officially, I put a little maple in there, too." "You spoil me," you sigh, taking the cup from him and letting the warmth radiate through your hands.

"I do," he nods, "But, that latte was the last of my regular milk so I need to run out and grab a few gallons before we open up. You okay to be hangin' out by yourself?"

You nod, of course you're okay to be hanging out by yourself. You take the first sip, letting the caramel flood your tongue. The maple is a good addition. You're about to tell Carl to add this to the seasonal menu but he's already out the break room door with his coat before you can. You hear the jingle of the bell and the lock of the door and eventually the silence settling into the store around you.

You start to re-organize the window display which should've been done last night but 'last night you' said that 'this morning you' could handle it. You wish you could punch last night you in the face, but this is what you get for taking an assistant manager position.

You stack the back to school reads next to your knees where you're sat on them. The dust billows when you move them, making you sneeze with each turn of your head. You rub at your eyes, realizing at that very moment that the mascara you put on this morning has now definitely smudged -- you can't even find the emotional capacity to check considering the store opens in forty five minutes. You wipe down the display shelves, letting the oak gleam under the spot lights. The color is a warm reminder of the cozy moments to come the way that they do this time of year. As you start separating the 'cozy reads' from your 'spooky reads' in the pile on the other side of your knees you hear a knocking at the door --that's not very like Carl to forget his key.

You look over your shoulder, not seeing Carl at all, and if it is, he had some kind of Seventeen Again magic happen to him in that time at the store. You stand up, wiping off your knees and straightening your skirt before getting to the door where the rapping continues against the glass. "We aren't open yet!" you call out.

"M'here for Carl!" you hear, muffled through the panes. "For the barista spot?" you yell back. The guy nods under his hood, the rain picking up in heavy sheets. You sigh, unlocking the door and letting him in. "Carl's not here, he ran out to get some more milk but um, you're welcome to wait in the break room if you want," you explain, wiping a palm over another display through the main hallway and wiping the dust off on your hip. "Thanks," he says, hood coming down to reveal a head full of thick chestnut hair. A gold ring shines on the the hand that runs through it, looks like a family crest type, right on his middle finger.

"I'm Steve," he says with a smile, hand now outstretched to take yours. You look at it and then at him, finally taking in the sight before you. Prominent straight nose, warm amber eyes, lips that definitely use chapstick regularly. He has a nice smile, the kind you read about in the romance novels in the back of the store, the kind people write about.

You take his hand and introduce yourself, he has a business major handshake and you only know that because you dated a handful of them back in college. You try to stifle a chuckle but it comes out airily out of your nose.

"Something funny?" he asks when you both let go. "No, no, sorry, I just thought of something from the other day," you shake your head, "Don't worry about it." He nods, taking off his coat and closing his umbrella following your lead to the back, "It's a cute place."

"Yeah, it's nice in the morning," you nod, "I normally close but -- doing a favor for a key holder today; so you have the pleasure of seeing the troll of the store in her natural habitat."

"What?"

"Nothing -- nevermind," you shake your head, cheeks burning with a wave of embarrassment when you look back and notice that he's genuinely very handsome. You get to the break room, pointing out the spare cubby where he can hang his coat and umbrella. He's in a sweater you swear you've seen on the Cosby Show -- dark green and patterned, a perfect combination of colors against his skin. It cuffs at the wrists, you can see a sliver of his white t-shirt underneath at the collar, a whisper of a gold chain tucked beneath it.

"Yeah um," you start, feeling your heart start to patter in your chest when he takes a seat at the table by the cabinets, "You can just wait here. I'll let Carl know when he comes back."

"Okay," he smiles, "Thanks."

You nod again, heading into the employee bathroom to collect yourself for a moment -- seeing your reflection. You forgot you had rubbed your eyes, masacra smudged in black smears nearly down to your cheeks. "I look insane," you whisper in horror, "Oh my fucking god."

You cover your face for a moment, trying to hide yourself from the embarrassment racking your chest. Definitely looking like the troll of the store, you silently scream into your palms, another dramatic whisper of, "I should just fucking kill myself."

Despite the humiliation, you know it's funny. This would happen to you. This hot guy would come in when your mascaras a mess and your hair is fucked up from the rain, when the weather is bad and your tights have a run, when your allergies are rampant from the dust. Of course he would!

You wet a paper towel and do your best to wipe off the smudges, happy to look a little less insane after a dab of tinted lip balm makes it onto your lips and cheeks.

When you re-emerge he's fiddling with his CD player and his over ear headphones, working on a knot in the wire. You go back over to the counter and take a sip of your forgotten latte.

"What do you drink?" he asks.

"Carl makes it special for me, it's not on the menu," you tell him over the black plastic top before taking another sip. He grins, a soft nod moving his hair with him -- so it's like that. "I didn't ask if it was on the menu. I asked what you drink," he says, leaning back in the chair. His eyes lingering on you sends a zip up your spine, wondering if he's giving you a once over or not.

"It's a caramel latte with maple and cinnamon," you tell him. His confidence both intruiges and enrages you, both making you want to tell him to get out but also learn more about this hot guy that wants to be a barista with a Wall Street handshake, "So why do you wanna work here?"

"Is this the start of my interview?" he laughs.

"No, I'm just wondering," you shrug.

"I'm back in school about twenty minutes away," he says, "Did it for a little when I was in high school -- coffee, I mean. Ice cream shop after that, video store after that. Went to school, took a break, back in it. My dad thinks having jobs like this builds y'know -- character and whatever."

"Jobs like this?" you ask, jaw tensing with annoyance.

"Like, y'know, jobs with the people," he tries to explain, pink building on his cheeks when he realizes he might've said something shitty, "They're not like bad jobs, that's not what I mean -- I mean like, y'know -- not suits kind of jobs. Regular shit."

"Regular shit," you nod, biting back what you wanna say. That gold crest ring should've been enough to tip you off, but your next question is the ace in the hole, "What're you back in school for?"

"Getting my MBA."

Of course.

"Nice," you lie, fake smiling into your next sip -- the latte going cold as your insides when you come to the conclusion that he's just some hot grade A asshole, "Well, good luck."

"Thanks," he calls out while you make your way back to the floor, "I really like your name, by the way! It suits you."

You try not to let that compliment change your mind.

He gets the job, but you don't see him a lot. He opens an then goes to classes at night, you close most of the time -- only catching him really in the first hour of your shift and the last hour of his. You're both too busy to be finding time to talk; him with his mid-shift clean and you with your hourly sales goals and mid-day schedule re-adjustments.

But he does wave when you come in. He calls out your name when you bustle past the coffee counter and weave through the tables to get to where you need to go. It's nice of him, you guess, but the stain of him explaining that the job he's doing is just for regular people taints it for you. Maybe he thinks you're just some menial worker bee that he only knows for now, since his daddy probably has a job lined up for him once he pays through his masters degree.

Job with a suit where the bookstore will be a distant memory for him, whereas you're on a two year track to becoming the manager and likely future owner when the owners get too old to manage it. Job with a suit where he'll pass by the store and shake his head at 'how stupid it was', a 'can you believe people work there?' head toss to a coworker while he get a coffee somewhere else. Meanwhile, it's your entire life, and so are all the stories inside.

A few weeks pass and the days get a little colder, the nights starting earlier as they go. You have an opening shift that chills your bones, hugging your wool coat tight to your body while you fiddle with the key at the door, groaning at the tinkling of it hitting the concrete again.

"Rough morning?"

You look up to the door opening, seeing a pair clean white Nike Air Force 1's singaling who it is.

"It is now," you mumble, grabbing the key and bustling inside.

"Surprised to see you here," he says, following you to the back, "You're not on the schedule." "Last minute switch up, Rochelle has a christening," you say, hanging your coat in the cubby and switching out your sneakers for platfoms again.

"Oh, nice," he grins, "So why is it a rough morning? 'Cause I'm here?"

"Sorta kinda," you shrug, "Did you alread--"

"I got sales report from yesterday on the check out desk, yes," he crosses his arms, leaning against the door frame.

"And th--"

"And the inventory report, and before you ask, yes I checked that all the milk is in stock and that we aren't low on beans. I've been here for a month, honey, I know what I'm doing," he mutters.

"Gross," you pull a face at him over your shoulder, "Don't call me honey."

He shrugs with a smirk, "Rochelle likes it."

"Can you go skulk to your caffeine den and leave me alone?" you snap, "I'm trying to open a store, here."

"Skulk, huh?"

"Too big of a word for you, Harrington?"

"You're on fire this morning," he smiles, that smile they write about.

"I kinda like it," he adds before turning out of the door and back into the warm light of the store towards the coffee bar. You swallow while you watch him leave -- I kinda like it ringing in your ears and floating down to your chest where is settles in, cozy and kind.

The reports are where he said the would be, neat and organized like he was the manager and Carl was his employee. You normally spent at least thirty minutes trying to figure out what Carl had written in chicken scratch on the forms, but Steve's sharp and elegant script was easy to read and perfectly spaced. Annoying.

Even his signature was handsome.

After you get the registers counted and ready you file the forms and mark the reports so they'll be ready for your manager when they get back in store. You check the list of what needs to be done, the chilly late October air swooping in from the cracks under the door. Your face sours while you make your way over to the coffee bar in the back, seeing Steve set up the pastry delivery in the cases on the side.

"Did you come back here to yell at me about something?" he asks, focused on the task at hand, "I got all morning."

"You didn't turn the heat on," you cross your arms, "That's like, the first thing you're supposed to do."

He scoffs quietly, shaking his head, popping back up to lean on glass of the case, "Did you read your morning report or just sit there and admire my handwriting?"

"Excuse me?" you bite back.

"Heats fucked," he shrugs, ducking back down to finishing his display, "They're sending someone to take a look at it later today."

"Whatever," you grumble, turning on your heel to go dust the front shelving and reshelf the returns from yesterday.

"Hey," he calls out, waiting for you to turn around before he continues. Your eyes catch his amber ones, sparkling with a mischief reserved for school boys who are mean to the girls they like, "You look nice today."

You look him over, sucking in your cheeks to kill the smile growing on your lips. His navy sweater hugs a bit across his chest and shoulders, giving way to billow slightly over his midsection and arms. Kahki chinos cut just at his ankles so his sneakers don't even look stupid paired with the outfit, socks just the right height to look cool and not forced. Awful.

"Yeah, you too Harrington," you agree quietly before walking away; and while you killed the smile, he was able to catch that crease in your eyes, the twitch in your shoulders. You thought that was nice, he wonders if he can make you do that again.

You head over to the back of the cafe during your break, no windows near your designated 'break chair'. It's close enough to the fireplace that it always feels like a rainy day even when it's nice outside. Now that Carl started his shift he got your drink ready to go the moment you walked over.

"Well la-di-da," Steve cocks his head when Carl walks over to greet the customer at the register, rag in his hands wiping up the pick up counter, "Expert service and you're not even gonna tip?"

"Here's a tip: leave me alone when I'm on break," you bite. Why did he have to be so handsome? Slight pink on his cheeks from the heat of the espresso and coffee machines, the lights overhead. The heat finally works again and it's almost working too well from the small bead of sweat forming above his brow. He runs a big hand through his hair again, the same way he did when you first met him. You try to ingore the way his bicep bulges in his sleeve when his arm stretches.

His tongue runs over his teeth, settling between them for a second before looking straight at you, "Good one."

"That's what you get when you read books," you say sarcastically, "You should try it sometime."

"You should teach me," he leans over the counter, resting his chin on his palm, "Bet you're a great teacher."

You bite your tongue, pulling in your lips and squinting your eyes to keep the smile from brewing a second time. You pick up your mug and sip your latte while he crosses his arms over his chest. "Nothing this time?" he asks, waiting for you second blow. You shake your head no, occupying your mouth with the rim.

"No?" He asks, you shake your head again, somehow glued to the spot under his stare. He slings the rag over his shoulder, still looking at you. "Well I don't wanna keep you standing here," he teases, offering you a wink that is so soul crushingly charming you could just die, "Enjoy your break."

You've never turned around so quickly in your entire life.

The following week you take another opening shift, happy to settle into the quiet of the cafe now that the morning rush of moms, dads, students, and aspiring writers have cleared out. The fire crackles just right, the leather warmed up to your body heat while the book sucks you in further an further. Thirty minutes pass when you hear a shift infront of you, the subtle squeak of leather being sat in with a soft crunch.

"What're you reading?"

You peer over the top of the spine to see Steve sat in the chair across from you, legs open wide while he leans his forearms on his knees. His long fingers slide together, gold ring shining in the light again to remind you of who he is and where he comes from. As handsome as he is today in his black henley and white t-shirt combo you'll never quite forget the fact that some MBA bro is perched in front of you like a puppy with nowhere to go.

"Sound out the cover, that should tell you," you boredly mumble before tucking back into the chair. His fingers peak over the spine, pushing the book down from the top. He pulls the leather chintz closer to yours with ease -- of course he does.

"Or you could tell me," he says with a softness you weren't ready to hear. Your chest gets warm again, creeping up your neck to your cheeks.

"It's Pride and Prejudice."

"S'that your favorite book or something?" he asks, elbow driving into his thigh so he can rest his chin on his fist.

"One of them," you shrug, "I always read it this time of year, kind of fits the mood of the season."

"Hm," he nods, like he's really listening, "What's it about?"

"Basically," you start, thinking of a way to describe it in two sentences or less, "It's like -- hm -- it's about two people, a love story. One guy is some super rich asshole and he's a jerk because the girl isn't as rich and him. And the girl isn't from the same social standing so she's a jerk because she already assumes that he's a super rich asshole. Like...I don't know, idiots in love who are too stubborn to love each other."

"Hm," he nods again, grin splitting his face, "Interesting."

"What's your favorite book?" you ask, wanting to wipe that smug grin right off his face. His dumb handsome face with that perfect sloped nose, and eyes that look like they're looking directly into you.

"I don't have one," he shrugs.

"You have to have one," you balk, "Like, even if it's one you read in school or something." "Hmm," he sits back up, leaning back in the chair with his hands resting just under his chest.

"You have to know how to read to run a business," you shrug.

"I know how to read, honey," he laughs, "I just don't have a favorite book."

"At least try," you ecourage, albiet annoyed. He taps his fingers on his diaphragm, one knee bouncing while he thinks about it. His shirt rides up just a smidge in the back, revealing a sliver of skin you didn't think you'd ever see.

"Shel Silverstein," he says finally, "Where the Sidewalk Ends."

"You didn't strike me as a poetry guy," you say, closing your book over your finger to hold your place.

"My mom went through this poetry phase -- and I'm my mother's son, so I had a poetry phase with her," he shrugs, "We wore that book out, think we had to get a second copy cause the first one was just like -- destroyed."

"Well that's...you know," you lean your head from side to side, "That's nice. It's cute."

"You'd know, right?" he smiles, that god damn smile Shel would write about in a new book. You'd bring back book burning just to throw it in the flames after it was published. He gets up, disappearing behind you for a moment and reappearing with your favorite green mug. He gingerly places it on the side table next to you.

"Compliments of the chef," he says, presenting it like a Michelin star meal.

You look at it, a perfect pour -- the cream rosetta leaf striking against the warm brown espresso. You can smell the caramel and maple already wafting off it, cinnamon sprinkled delicately on top.

"Um, thanks," you say quietly, taking the mug to your lips. He looks down at you eagerly when you take a sip, waiting for your reaction.

"Did you do something to it?" you ask before you take one.

"No I'm just -- damn, come on. I'm excited to see you try it," he sighs, "I worked hard on it."

"Fine, fine," you murmur, letting the latte flood onto your tongue. Its -- regrettably -- one of the best iterations of you've had in a while. The perfect creaminess without being too milky, enough caramel and maple without being too sweet, the espresso's bitterness cuts the sugar in just the right way to make it smooth. He knows he did it right by the way you go for a second sip without saying anything.

"I did good?" he quirks a brow.

"You did good," you nod.

"Good," he smiles, tapping the top of your chair, "'Cause Carl's putting it on the menu starting in November."

"How come?" you ask into your third sip, the steam billowing over your cheeks.

Steve lets his eyes flicker over your face slowly, offering a half shrug, "I told him to."

November brings the first pre-season snow, not that it mattered now that your favorite drink was a regular menu item now. Caramel and maple always in stock, espresso machine always on first thing in the morning.

You open twice a week now, seeing Steve more often than not. Dropping your key became less common now that he was normally at the door when you'd get there, ready to let you in.

"Another great day, right?" he'd tease.

Now that the holidays were in full swing the bookstore was busier than ever -- sales, bundles, events. You even started carrying children's coloring books and crayons in the kid's section; a whole set up just for kids to sit and color while their parent's browsed.

The stress was getting to you, constantly checking and rechecking the end of day sales versus last year, wanting to make sure everything was on a steady incline with a nice cushion for the next. It helped that the cafe seemed to be absolutely climbing in numbers since September. More and more people wanted to spend time over there, and the more time they spent the more time they looked at books or started reading. It wasn't shocking to see people checking out at the counter with a second coffee and a new book or two in hand.

You don't want it to be true, but you're sure the new barista had a play in what makes so many people stick around. You'd see the way Steve would flirt when he took orders, how he's listen to them intently, make every customer feel like they were the only person in the room.

At least that's how he'd make you feel when he caught your gaze from over the shelving, helping find books for new patrons from the college nearby. You both started to wave at each other at each passing glance, each look caught by surprise, each accidental yearning stare.

Mid-November greets you with a bitter chill, the very early morning doesn't even have the decency to greet with you the rising sun. It'll be atleast another half hour until then.

For the first time in a long time you don't drop the key, pushing into the store with ease. You waste no time turning the heat on, making sure the radiators bled a bit before hand. You rub your hands together while they settle in, putting your coat away in the cubby and switching out your shoes in the break room.

Opening on a Saturday morning isn't common for you, but it's the first event you've planned by yourself. A very simple read-along story telling with some kids from the neighborhood and their parents. You collected three solid winter time reads: The Mitten, The Snowy Day, and A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. A solid hour of reading while the parents could peruse, or sit and watch while their kids tuned into a book instead of cartoons on Nick Jr.

Once you've given yourself the onceover for the morning you feel more confident about the upcoming next few hours. Your knit tights fit snugly over your legs, a touch sheered out with the stretch over your thighs but the pleats in your plaid maroon skirt cover that just fine, hitting just above your knees -- still covered, still sensible. Still cute enough to snag a single dad if one were to show up.

Your feet stay tucked in a pair of worn in platform mary-janes stolen from your sister's New York City closet when you went to visit her over the summer. The chunky knit sweater over the whole ensemble completes you, a spitting image of a 'caught on the street' look you saw in a Seventeen magazine that you still get delivered to you despite being well past the age group.

You thrifted the sweater with Steve in mind, it looked like something he'd wear.

Anyway.

As you set up the 'reading rug' in the cafe area you hear the familar unlocking of the door. The sun finally starting to seep in in golden shards through the panes, leaving squares of light on the wood floors and carpets below.

"Hey Carl!" you call out, "I got everything up and running for you."

You hear the keys jingle but not his smoker's cough, not his heavy steps finding their way to the cafe area. Instead you look up to see Steve with his hands on his hips, watching you struggle to move the leather chintz to the back wall as your reading chair.

"Redecorating?" he asks, looking around the cafe. Under his shearling lined aviator jacket is an open hunter green flannel you wouldn't expect to see him in, his white t-shirt underneath hugs tights to his chest and stomach. You unfortunately noticed how great of a view that is for you.

"Um," you started, looking around the room and the dissaray you seem to have made without realizing, "Why are you here?"

"Same reason your here," he says, stepping forward to shoo you away from the chair, "I'm on the payroll."

"You don't work weekends," you say, crossing your arms over your chest while he lifts the chair over the rug with a soft grunt.

"I do today," he says with a slight strain, "Where do you want this?"

"Uh," you start, "Just right in the center against the wall so everyone can see me."

"Oh, so you're reading to the kids this morning?" he laughs to himself after putting the chair down. He wipes his hands off on each other, shrugging off the jacket and holding it in one arm, "Bitter Betty is gonna entertain the young minds of Main Street?"

"Bitter Betty, huh?" you challenge, following him into the back room, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what that's supposed to mean," he shakes his head.

"I am very sweet," you tell him, a serious edge to your voice, "There are so many customer reviews saying how sweet I am."

"Sure," he nods, putting his coat away in his cubby, "I bet there are; since y'know, you're selling them something."

"I'm not just nice when I'm selling something," you say softly, arms coming protectively across your chest. A frustration bubbles in your chest while you look at him, following him back out into the cafe so you can keep getting the place ready before the families start to show up, "You think you know everything."

"I don't," he shakes his head, smiling while he checks over the machines and gets the first pot of coffee started.

"Yeah, you do. You walked in here two months ago and swear you know everything," you huff, getting the cafe back to a place of organized coziness.

"Okay," he chuckles, "Whatever you say, boss."

"You're infuriating," you mumble under your breath.

"Got that caramel latte coming right up for you, by the way," he says warmly.

Your head turns to see him watching you, he smiles, "Maybe you're a little nicer after you've had a coffee."

You smile back, unable to stop it this time.

"So that's a yes, right?" he cocks his head, fingers drumming on the counter while he watches you. That Harringtom charm pumping out at full speed.

"Y-yeah," you nod, "Whatever. You gonna go chop down a tree, Harrington? What's with the flannel?"

He looks down at his shirt and then back up at you with a soft shake of his head, "I better hurry up and get that started for you."

The kids look up at you with starry eyes, their parents smiling along with their coffees, lattes, espressos, and pastries. The Mitten was a hit and The Snowy Day is so far showing up to be a great follow up.

You take your time to really point out the pictures and adding on to the story since all three of them are pretty short. However, you're finding that kids between two and five are pretty easy to entertain if you do enough counting and make enough sound effects. Maybe you should've been a kindergarten teacher -- or maybe not. Maybe you should just keep doing book events.

You're halfway through when you show the illustrations to the group again, listening to them ooh and ahh at all the snow.

"Did um -- Miss -- did you know -- it snowed? It snowed at my house," one of the older kids announces, arm straight up in the air.

"It snowed last week, Michael, that's right," his mom pipes up, "Daddy had to shovel outside."

"Has everyone else seen snow? Raise your hand if you've seen this much snow!" you announce in your perfect parentese, watching while the older kids and parents raise their hands. The two year olds don't really get it so they just sit there and laugh.

You look up at all the hands, an enthusiastic 'Wow!' coming out of your mouth -- but you barely hear it. Behind the hands are a set of warm amber eyes looking at you from the coffee bar, soft and gentle. Enthralled even. You swallow and lick your lips quickly before smiling, catching his smile back as you look back at the book to start again.

After each couple of pages you catch each other, the pink on his cheeks rising when he looks away -- pretending to be occupied with something else. Cleaning, organizing, resetting the espresso machine. He can tell you're flustered by the way you clear your throat whenever you start to read again.

After The Snowy Day you take a ten minute break so that the parents can take their kids to the bathroom or re-up their beverages. The tip jar is full to bursting because nobody knows how to make a single mom feel like Steve Harrington does; and husbands will pay anything to get him to leave their wives alone.

You reset your chair, making sure the books you're reading are on display for purchasing on the shelving close by in your Winter Children's Bundle for a discounted price. As the ten minutes closes up you feel a soft tap on your shoulder.

"Here," you turn around to Steve with a green mug in his hands, "It's just regular coffee this time, but -- figured you could use it."

You take it body first, reaching around for the handle only to feel his fingers brush against yours at the hand of. The soft touch isn't electric like it is in the books, it's like that but better. Warm like an oven, the gooey parts of you rising in a slow bake when you see him look down and turn away -- running that same hand through his hair on his way back to the counter.

"Thanks," you say over the chatter of parents and kids coming back to sit.

"Can I have something ready for you for your break?" he asks back.

"Surprise me," you shrug, sitting back on your chintz chair and taking the final book onto your lap. The kids cheer when they see Snoopy on the cover, a well loved favorite cartoon to finish off their morning. With the crack of the spine you can already smell the sales coming once this little event is over.

You work through your break, ringing up and helping customer after customer on easily one of the busiest Saturday's you've seen in a while. It normally doesn't get busy like this at least for another couple of weeks.

The stress of working through lunch barely matters though because your event was a bigger success than you could've hoped for -- logging in the notes for Rochelle that you should probably start doing this throughout the season just for good measure.

It's starting to get dark by the time your shift ends and the store closes -- early on Saturdays at a tight 4 PM. You let your sales girl go a little early, wanting to take the time to close up the store properly since you were the one who made it such a mess this morning. As you start to put the chairs back that had been moved from the cafe to the children's section you hear him, fingers tapping on the counter.

"You didn't come by for your break," he says, "And I put a lot of effort into that drink."

"Sorry, we can't all be flirting through our shifts like you can, Harrington," you snark with a grin, flipping the last chair over onto it's accompanied table.

"You don't have to clean up the coffee part of the store," he says, coming around with another mug in hand, "That's my job, y'know."

"I know," you say, "But I kind of fucked it up this morning so -- just doing my part."

"Well, here," he says, mug outstretched in his large hand, gold ring gleaming back at you, "For doing your part, I guess."

"You guess, huh?" you laugh lazily, taking it -- he places his fingers in a way that you have no choice but to touch them. You wonder if he did it on purpose, "What do you call this one?"

"'Surprise me'," he replies in a mocking drawl, flipping the rag over his shoulder again and leaning against the counter's edge. The first sip is unfortunately one of the most even temperatured hot drinks you've put past your lips.

"You're good at this," you blurt out, almost offended.

"Well don't look so upset about it."

"I am upset about it," you nod back over the lip of the mug, taking another sip. Mocha -- something. It's like hot chocolate and espresso but better, still caramel, still cinnamon, like a hug from your past but caffienated like your present.

"Consider me surprised," you nod, licking your lips again, "It's good -- it's um -- yeah. It's really good."

"Thanks," he smirks, "A few of the mom's thought so, too."

You let out a sigh through your teeth, rolling your eyes. He expected that, taking a step forward when your gaze comes back to center. You can smell the left over wraiths of his cologne and Old Spice deodorant, count the moles on his neck adorned with his hidden gold chain, see the hair on his forearms from his rolled up sleeves.

"You know something," he says quietly, "If I didn't know any better -- I'd think you like me."

"Like you?" you balk, eyes widening, "You wish."

He clicks his tongue when you get so defensive because it just proves him right. He crosses his arms with another step forward, head cocking to the side slightly while he sizes you up. Why did his creator need to make his forearms so beefy? So perfectly sculpted that you can't look at them without losing your train of thought? Stupid.

"I don't think I have to wish, honey," he says softly, Doc Martins creaking on the wooden floors, "I think...uh, I think I must allow you to tell me how ardently you admire and like me."

Your mouth falls open, staring at him with eyes as glassy at the kids who watched you read this morning.

"You -- no -- you read it?"

"Maybe," he says, another step forward, his arms bumping against your chest.

"Maybe?" you ask back, brow quirking.

"Yeah, maybe I did," he runs a hand through his hair, falling back away from his face to show off his sturdy brow bone, watching you with admiration down the slope of his nose.

He reaches down and takes the mug out of your hand with smooth finesse, arm long enough to reach back and place it on the counter behind him. When he leans back in place he's closer than before, toe to toe, nearly nose to nose.

"Maybe I bought it the day you told me about it," he shrugs, "Maybe I thought it was pretty close to something I had goin' on with a girl I know."

"A girl you know?" you challenge. You know exactly who he means, but it might be fun to hear him say it. "Yeah, sometimes I only see her like, an hour a day. But sometimes I get to watch her read on her break, sometimes I get to close with her on Saturdays," he explains warmly, the timbre of his voice deep against the crackling of the fire in the back corner of the cafe.

"This is the only Saturday you've closed with me," you counter, head tilting up slightly, close enough that the tip of your nose brushes his.

"Who said I was talking about you, honey?" he murmurs back, mischief in his eyes that are half hidden by his eyelids. You feel a puff of his breath over your top lip, still minty fresh like he just brushed his teeth.

"We both know you're talking about me," you smirk, self satisfied while his gaze flickers to your lips and back to your eyes. He steps at an angle, making you step back so you're against the pick up counter.

"So sure of yourself," he he scoffs quietly, leaning over you and getting into your space. Each hand coming to the side of you to lean on the granite, caging you in, "I like that in a pretty girl."

"Most do," you shrug matter of factly.

"Yeah," he nods, "Think that's what I like about you."

"Maybe that's what I like about you, too," you nearly whisper out.

"Maybe?" he asks, lower lip ghosting over yours. "Mayb--"

The hand he uses to run through his hair finds itself flat over the back of yours, sliding down to over your cheek and jaw where he keeps you angled just right. He closes the millimeters between you, warm lips catching yours in a kiss that feels like passion but a power play you want to match.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, heads moving in soft tilts when you change angles. When you find yourself sat on the edge of the counter he uses the leverage to pull you close to him, hips between the fullness of your thighs.

His tongue skates over yours when it slides into your mouth, free hand ridding up the soft material of your tights, tips of his fingers inching under the hem of your skirt in an innocent tease.

Even the way he breathes through it is sexy, leaving you with a lingering guess of what he can do when he presses his lips against your neck. Tongue flitting and striping while he nearly nips a bruise onto your skin. You let out a gentle gasp, enough to admit defeat to him -- much to your chagrin. Steve comes back up to your lips to meet you with a few final deep kisses before you break apart.

He steps back once, the deep golden light of the sun setting cracks through the panes of the back window in the cafe, adoring him in a glow that shines of his hair and eyes. The kind of glow they write about, the kind of glow you read about.

You both take deep breaths, eyes hungry for each other -- unsure if you should go for more. He lingers, coming forward again to rest his hands on your thighs.

"I didn't read it," he confesses. "Pfffft. Why am I not surprised?" you huff, exasperated.

"But! But, but, but," he argues back, pecking you feverishly, "I had to go to like, five different places to find the movie from 1980 so -- I did actually put some effort into it."

"I love that one," you say back.

"I get points for that, right?" he asks expectantly.

"Yeah, fine. You're luck you're cute," you explain, "But you do definitely have to read it, at some point. If you wanna keep making out with me in the cafe after closing."

"Oh, absolutely," he grins, hand reaching to pull you in by the back of the neck for a final searing kiss, "You'll have to teach me, remember?"

You of course start closing together every single Saturday.

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #barista!steve harrington #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington imagine

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roosterforme · 8 months

Text

The Younger Kind Part 32 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley is used to feeling comfortable around you, so when he arrives home and things feel strained, he wants to understand why. The more you tell him about what has you so upset, the more he wants to try to fix everything. But you don't know if he can do anything to mend your confidence.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, and age gap (18+)

Length: 5600 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Nat called and texted the next day to check in with you and Noah. It didn't matter how many times you lied and told her that you were just fine, she said she wanted to be sure. But you knew you were barely holding on, and the next two days without Bradley were going to be really hard.

Because now it wasn't just the USB drive. It was also your hand. And the broken glass. And the way Noah cried. You were currently curled up in Bradley's bed with Noah sound asleep in your arms, and you didn't even want to go to work tomorrow. Your hand was aching, and the gash looked terrible. Even though you had done your best with it, you knew you should have gone for stitches. But you also knew it was too late for that now.

After a moment of contemplation, you decided to keep Noah in bed with you for the night. You opened up your email one more time with the arrival instructions from Bradley even though you had them memorized. But you didn't want to mess this up.

When you got to work the next morning, while you were still trying to decide if you should report the break in, another layer of embarrassment was added. Dr. Kelly pulled you aside and glanced down at your hand as she said, "Would you like me to take a look at that?"

You'd done a pretty terrible job of bandaging it up on your own. "Sure," you said softly, and she unwrapped it and winced.

"This didn't happen at work, did it?"

"No," you replied quickly. "At home."

She met your eyes with startled ones. "This is a nasty, irregular cut. You live with your boyfriend, correct?" When you nodded, she added, "If there's any sort of issue with... violence at home, please know that you can always come to me."

Your jaw dropped open, and you gasped. "No! He's not even here, he's deployed! It was an accident!"

"Okay," she said right away. "I believe you. Let me get it cleaned up. It's looking angry, and you should have probably gone somewhere for stitches over the weekend."

Instead of responding, you silently followed her to one of the exam rooms where she carefully disinfected your palm and applied an adhesive that would work on your skin. "I can reapply it later this week for you."

"Thanks." As you got back to work, you were starting to think you should have reported the incident with the police. Panic rose inside you as you were instructed to prepare some vaccination syringes for the ten year old in exam room five.

Should you wait until Bradley got home on Wednesday? Should you call the police after work today? Your cut up hand was bad enough, but Noah could have been the one who got hurt. And you'd honestly never be able to forgive yourself if something happened to him. You had protected him from Meredith in the park, so why was this any different?

You rushed back to Bradley's house after work and ran inside, completely exasperated by his old man tendencies. You had to search for the list of phone numbers he gave you which would have been much better if he just saved them to your contacts in your phone.

Noah needed to be picked up in the next forty minutes, and you didn't know how long she would be in her office, but you tried to reach Tracy anyway. When you gave your name to her receptionist, you were shocked that he put you right through to Bradley's lawyer.

"I hope Bradley thanked you for me. The Red Bulls were very sweet of you."

You laughed at Tracy in spite of the fact that you felt like crying. "It's the least I could do." Then you took a deep breath and said, "I was wondering if there is any way you can help me? I don't want to end up with Bradley having to pay you if you give me advice over the phone or anything like that. But I think I need some help right now even though he should be back on Wednesday."

"Your boyfriend basically has me on retainer for you. What do you need?" Tracy asked.

"Retainer?" you asked. No, that couldn't be right.

"I was given explicit instructions to help you with anything you might call about. We're not going to worry about any billing, because he certainly wasn't worried, okay? What can I do for you?"

You sucked in a deep breath as you paced around the kitchen. You felt defeated. That damn USB drive was on top of the refrigerator. The coffee machine you could barely figure out how to use was on the counter. The list of phone numbers in Bradley's handwriting was on the table. So you walked out back and forced yourself to say, "I think Meredith broke into my rental which I had already moved out of. And I saw her at a gas station before that."

There was a long enough pause that you were about to repeat yourself, but then she said, "I think that if she did break into your rental, it was purely out of spite. Because I actually have some news about Meredith that I was waiting to tell Bradley. But I think you and I should have a conversation first, and then you should decide if you want to call the police."

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

Bradley just wanted to get off this aircraft carrier. He had one night left in this fucking bunk with Carl, and then he could go home to his cozy house and sweet son and your warm, welcoming body. Maybe you'd let him snuggle with you and Noah on the couch, and then after Noah's bedtime, he could take you to bed. He couldn't stop thinking about every single way he wanted to have you. And then he could fall asleep with you wrapped up in his arms and your soft breath on his skin.

He was almost getting hard just thinking about it. It had been a long time since he had someone to come home to, someone who was waiting just for him. He felt like he wanted to reward you for it. God, he wanted to give you everything. He had to tuck his hands up behind his head in his bunk and force himself to try to go to sleep. But he dreamed about your voice and your fingertips on his face.

The following day went quickly as they docked in the afternoon. Once he was able to text you, Bradley was pleased to see that you were more responsive.

I'm docked, Princess. We got in a little early, but I haven't deboarded yet. I know you're at work, but I can't wait to see you whenever you can come pick me up.

My Princess: I'll be there by four with Noah. We missed you so much!

When he was able to finally collect his things and start down the ramp, Bradley's heart was thudding in his ears. It wasn't four o'clock yet, and he knew he might have to wait for you to get there, but then he was pleasantly surprised. As he started walking along the fence to the parking lot, he spotted his Bronco in the last aisle. You had parked it away from everything and everything else, and that brought a smile to his face.

And then he saw you, carrying Noah and hurrying toward him in your new work scrubs that he hadn't even seen yet. A smile broke out on his face as he rushed to close the distance. "Noah! Princess!"

"Daddy!" Noah squealed with delight, practically jumping from your arms to his. Bradley wrapped Noah up in his right arm and kissed him all over his face, reaching for you at the same time with his free hand. "I love you, Bub. Did you have fun with Princess?"

But you hesitated. And when Bradley met your eyes, he was still reaching for you, but you were only very slowly stepping toward him. "Come here," he rasped, slipping his arm around your waist until you were snug at his side. "I love you." Those words seemed to do the trick as you melted against him, and your chin tipped up as you looked at him.

"I missed you so much," you told him, your voice soft and maybe a little sad? And Bradley kissed you hard and heady in front of everyone including Noah, letting his hand rest on the swell of your butt. He didn't care. You belonged with him. He wanted you there forever.

But even though you were clinging to his uniform shirt now and returning his kisses with a soft moan, he could tell you were holding back. He trailed a few kisses along your jaw back toward your ear and whispered, "I love you, Baby," and you shivered for him. But when he reached for your hand, he found it was bandaged up. And you looked at him with barely concealed frustration. He could just tell something was wrong.

"What happened?" he asked, repositioning Noah in his arm and letting his son's cheek rest on his shoulder. He kissed your fingers and ran his thumb along the bandage. "What's wrong with your hand?"

You tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn't let you. "Can we talk about it later? Tonight?"

"Yeah," he agreed, suddenly even more apprehensive. "We can."

"Great," you replied, leading the way to the Bronco with your fingers loosely tangled with his. And while Bradley walked with his lips pressed to his son's forehead and his duffle bag on his back, he was worried about you.

You were still quiet when the three of you pulled into the driveway and headed inside. "I have a lasagna ready to go in the oven," you told Bradley when he followed you into the kitchen. "Should we start doing your laundry?"

He laughed softly as he put Noah down in one of the chairs and dropped his bag to the floor. "Princess," he whispered, reaching for your soft cheek. "Baby, I don't care about my laundry. I don't even really care about dinner, but I love that you have something ready to go. I just want you to tell me what's bothering you."

He watched you swallow hard, and he thought he saw your eyes dart toward the top of the refrigerator. "Bradley," you muttered.

"You know I thought about you nonstop, right?" he whispered, remembering how it felt to have his fist connect with Carl's face as he made sure he got his polaroid back. "On repeat. I just wanted to be home." He kissed your lips over and over again, stroking your soft skin with his thumb. "So I'll take care of whatever has you upset. You know I will."

You just nodded and let your eyes flutter closed. And all you offered him was one word. "Later."

After dinner was eaten and cleaned up, Bradley spent some extra time giving Noah a bath. The tub was absolutely filled with toys, and Bradley ended up removing his soaking wet undershirt, kneeling on the floor in just his underwear and service khakis. "I missed you so much," he said, kissing his son over and over again. "But I know you had fun with Princess."

Noah held out a green duckie for Bradley to take before he said, "I want Princess to be my mommy."

Bradley met brown eyes that matched his, and he easily said, "I do too, Bub. She would be really good at it." You already were good at it. But something was wrong, and he needed to figure it out. The two of you weren't acting the way he had hoped you would after being apart for weeks. And now he was questioning whether or not you'd actually want to marry him someday.

It was late. Definitely after Noah's usual bedtime. He was yawning now, but Bradley had been so excited to see him, he let him stay up. With one more big yawn, Bradley scooped his son out of the tub with a towel and drained the water. Then he stopped in the living room where you were sitting on the couch, and he let Noah give you a goodnight kiss. And he leaned down and kissed your cheek as well. "I'll be back out in a minute. We'll talk."

"Okay," you said softly, and then Bradley was thankful that Noah was already falling asleep as soon as he was in bed. On his way back out to the living room, he stopped in the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of merlot and a bag of Skittles he had stashed away.

After he opened the bottle and took a sip, he met you in the living room. Your gaze took in his naked torso as you bit your lip, and when he handed you the wine with no glass, you took a sip from the bottle as well.

"Let's talk?" he asked, settling down next to you. He opened the bag of candy and patted his thigh. "And snuggle? I've been saving the wine and Skittles for our reunion, but you'll have to remind me which color goes best with merlot."

He could tell you were trying not to smile as you scooted across the couch and onto his lap while you sipped the wine. "Red, Daddy. Red Skittles pair with merlot."

"Yes," he rasped, kissing the side of your neck. "That's right. Now that I'm all yours again, just like I'm supposed to be, why don't you tell me what's bothering you?"

You handed him the bottle in favor of the candy, and you crunched on a few pieces before you said, "I moved all of my stuff in. And I used your address for my new hire paperwork."

Bradley had to hold back a moan. That sounded so fucking perfect to him, he wanted to take you on the floor right now, right in the middle of the area rug. But instead he just tightened his arm around your waist. "Mmhmm, you know just want to say to make me happy. And you did so great with Noah. I knew you would be perfect, Princess."

But then you met his eyes and held up your bandaged hand. "I had to call Tracy on Monday," you said, and Bradley's heart dropped.

"Why?"

You pressed your lips together and looked down at the bottle of wine before taking it from his hand and drinking some more. "I saw Meredith at the gas station near Noah's daycare," you whispered, your voice soft and harsh.

"She broke the restraining order?" he growled. "What the fuck?"

"It was just a gas station," you replied quietly. "And I think she was already there when I pulled in." Bradley was about to rage, but then you kept going. "But then someone broke into my rental, and I cut my hand when Noah was with me. And it must have been Meredith, so I called Tracy, because you weren't here, and I wasn't sure what to do." When you took a deep breath there was a little sob with it that made Bradley clench with the need to protect you.

"Shit! I wish you didn't have to do this by yourself," he replied, heart skipping faster. "But I'm proud of you. What did Tracy say about Meredith?"

"She helped me file a police report, and they said they are looking for evidence, but my landlord is pissed off that the window is broken. He was supposed to have a new renter move in this week, and he's threatening me about paying for another month. He told me to fix the glass, but the police won't even let me. And you and I are supposed to go meet up with Tracy tomorrow." You hiccupped when you finished talking.

"Shh," Bradley said, setting the bottle down on the end table and pulling you to his body so your cheek came to rest on his chest. "Baby, I'll take care of it. But back up, and go slow. Did Meredith threaten you or Noah?"

You shrugged against his body, and Bradley focused on every single word you had to say about the gas station and your broken windowpane and the note that was left. And how the police and Tracy both agreed that there's probably not enough evidence to prove anything one way or the other. And then you seemed wrung out as a tear slid down your cheek when you said, "Tracy did tell me that Meredith was on trial for the fraud charges I brought up against her during the custody hearing. When I saw her at the gas station, she told me I ruined her life. And then my window was smashed, probably just because she's such a horrible bitch."

"Make sense," he mumbled against your hair. No wonder he had several unread emails from Tracy that he knew he still needed to go through. Shit. You'd dealt with an awful lot in his absence. He wondered if that meant Meredith was being sentenced. "And we have an appointment with Tracy tomorrow?"

"Yes," you whispered, curling up tighter against his body. "During my lunch break."

"Okay." He kissed your forehead and ran his hands up and down your back. "I'm still off tomorrow. I'll drop you off at work in the morning, and then I'll come back for you whenever you want. And we'll go talk to Tracy, and I promise you, I will take care of everything." You were practically shaking as he added, "Because you take care of us."

You were nodding as you finally looked up at him, and as angry as Bradley was about more bullshit from Meredith, you and Noah were safe. And Tracy would probably have more information for him tomorrow. But right now, you needed someone to take care of you for a minute. "I love you," he promised, considering how exhausted you looked. "Let's take a shower and get in bed?"

Whether you were nodding in agreement or because you were still shaky, Bradley wasn't sure. But he carried you into the bathroom and set you down gently as he turned the shower on. Once you were undressed he helped you in and carefully unwrapped the bandage on your hand. There was a jagged cut on your palm that made his heart lurch. "I'll clean it and rebandage it, Princess," he said, trying to hide the anger in his voice. You didn't deserve any of the shit you'd repeatedly gone through since you met him.

"Okay," you whispered, and as soon as he was out of his khakis and underwear, you were pulling him in with you. Bradley was helpless in his feelings for you. Very carefully, he took his time and washed you so you didn't irritate your cut further. And he let himself just enjoy the feel of your body against his as he gently held your hand.

When he turned the shower off, he wrapped you in a towel and carried you to the bedroom. Everything looked exactly as it should: your purple crown was on his bedpost, everything was tidy, and the bed looked inviting. But you still didn't look relaxed as he helped you into his gray sweatpants and a soft undershirt before bandaging your hand again.

"What will make you feel better?" he asked, pulling on clean underwear as you climbed into bed. "Tell me, and I'll do it. I just want you to know how much I missed you and how happy I am that you moved all your stuff in while I was away."

You peeled the blanket back on his side of the bed and whispered, "Snuggle with me?"

You looked so perfect and innocent, and Bradley slid in bed with you and collected you in his arms. "Come here, Baby. Let me tell you how much I love you."

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

You started to fall asleep in Bradley's arms while he rubbed small circles on your back through his undershirt which you were wearing. You had been on the brink of erupting into tears all night, and you hadn't even mentioned the USB drive. And now that he was home, you didn't know if you were strong enough to bring it up at all.

If he knew it was in that box in the attic, then you were going to make a fool of yourself. And if he forgot about its existence, he was going to think you were snooping through his things even though he gave you permission to use the attic. Either way, you weren't going to mention it, at least not yet.

There were too many other things to think about anyway. Like whether or not the police found anything in your rental. And how you were going to fix the window. And if Meredith was actually going to attempt something with you or Noah, or if she was just bitter that she might be facing jail time.

"Daddy," you whispered, and Bradley's arm tightened around you as he kissed the top of your head.

"Just sleep, Baby. I'll be right here."

As you dozed off, you realized you didn't have to be on full alert at the moment. For the first night in so long, you could just sleep and know he was with you and Noah. And then you were out.

Next thing you knew, it was light inside the bedroom, and Bradley was waking you up with gentle kisses on your face. You reached for him, and then his body weight was on top of you as he chuckled. "Baby, we'll be late."

"Good, I want to stay in bed all day," you whined, but soon you were dressed in your scrubs and making breakfast while Bradley got Noah ready for daycare. You hated the way you felt like you were holding back being as physical as you wanted to be with your boyfriend.

And then a flash of panic shot through you. He must have been expecting you to have sex with him last night, when instead you fell asleep as a bundle of nerves. You were still a bundle of nerves, but now you felt like crying as well. But he was acting so normal when he brought Noah into the kitchen to eat pancakes. "Just leave the mess in the sink, and I'll take care of it later," he said casually, reaching for your good hand to give you another kiss.

But you were thinking about the USB drive, and your meeting with Tracy and your job. And you barely kissed him back this time. "Okay," you agreed before picking at your breakfast.

Bradley looked concerned now, and he continued to look concerned a little later as he pulled into Noah's daycare parking lot. "I can take him in," you muttered, but he had already turned off the Bronco's engine.

"Let's go together," he replied, eyeing you skeptically as he climbed out to get Noah. And when you were walking in, side by side, Bradley asked, "Will you tell me what else is on your mind?"

You just shook your head, because you didn't want to get into this right now. But he took your hand anyway. And of course the same girl was working at the front desk with her clipboard.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw! Good morning!"

"Hi, Casey," he replied smoothly, his fingers laced with yours.

"How was your deployment? We really missed you here." She gave you some serious side eye, and you just knew she wished you weren't even around.

"It was fine," he replied, setting Noah down and kissing him. And then Noah turned to you for a hug before he walked back to the playroom. Then Bradley tugged you a little closer to him and wrapped his arm around you before signing the clipboard with the back of your body snug up against the front of his. He kissed your neck while Casey watched. "Let's go before you're late for work, Princess," he whispered next to your ear.

He handed the clipboard to Casey without even looking at her, and you were so mixed up inside, you wanted to scream. Five minutes ago, you were dreading the idea of being intimate with Bradley without showing him the USB drive first, and now you wanted to fuck him in the front seat of the Bronco.

"Listen," he said, voice stern as he pulled out into traffic and headed toward your medical complex. "Something is bugging you. I want you to be honest with me. After we talk to Tracy together, you and I are having a conversation later today. And by the end of that conversation, I want you and I to feel the way we are supposed to feel again. Because you moved all your stuff into the house, which I think is us officially taking the next step in our relationship. And I'm used to feeling comfortable when I'm with you. Okay?"

You pressed your lips together. There was no getting around it now. "Yes."

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

"I really like Tracy and all, but I was hoping I'd never have to come here again," Bradley said as you and he rode the elevator up to her office.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, running your hands down the front of your now wrinkly scrubs. "It's probably my fault."

Bradley did a double take. "Your fault? How would this possibly be your fault, Baby?"

You sighed and exited the elevator, and Bradley just wanted you to look happy again. "Because I'm the one who mentioned all of Meredith's insider trading and shady deals in the first place."

"Hey," he said, leading you down the hallway with his hand at your back. "This is one hundred percent Meredith's fault. And the fraud charges were probably coming whether or not we said anything about it during the custody hearing."

Then Tracy's receptionist was waving the two of you past his desk without question, and Bradley thought that was either a very good or a very bad sign.

"Meredith is in custody," Tracy announced as soon as her office door was closed behind Bradley.

You gasped and said, "She's in prison."

"Yes. Now have a seat," she replied, pointing to the small conference table. "Because we have some things to discuss. Welcome home, Bradley." Then she set down a copy of Meredith's mugshot and arrest information.

"What a warm welcome," he muttered, skimming the paperwork. "She turned herself in?"

"She did," Tracy told him, taking the empty seat across the table and cracking open a Red Bull. "Probably broke the window at your place for fun as her last hurrah before turning herself in."

"Did the police find anything?" you asked her. "My landlord is so mad about the window."

Tracy just kind of shrugged. "Like I told you before, it's probably a lost cause. Nobody picked anything up on a doorbell camera, and it's impossible to tell exactly when it happened since you haven't actually been living there for a few months." You nodded, and then Tracy asked, "But if they do find evidence, would you like to press charges?"

"No," you replied immediately, and Bradley leaned in a little closer.

"Are you sure? We can absolutely press charges if you want to."

"Come on, Bradley," you said quietly, even though Tracy could still hear. "I don't want to cost you any more money. And I can't afford Tracy on my own."

You looked at him with pleading eyes, and he leaned in even closer to you. How many times had the two of you had this fucking conversation? Too many for him to keep track of, and it annoyed him every single time. "Look at me," he whispered when you started to turn away. As soon as you met his eyes again, he kissed you softly. But his voice was rough around the edges as he said, "I would defend you with my life. Why would my money be any different? Why is that the thing that is always too much for you?"

With a soft gasp, you gaped at him. "Your life?"

"Yes, of course," he said, brow furrowed. "So I really need you to stop making a fuss about everything else. Because it doesn't matter compared to you. Or compared to Noah. Or compared to us. And I'm getting pretty fucking sick of having this conversation over and over again with you."

"Bradley," you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck. He chanced a glance at Tracy, but she was simply scrolling on her phone now. And he could hear tears in your voice as you said, "Money isn't as important as you either."

"Exactly," he growled, holding you tight. "Fuck, Princess... don't cry. I didn't mean to make you cry. I'm sorry. But if you want to press charges, if there's even a reason to press charges, I will gladly pay for Tracy. She's expensive as hell, because she's very good."

"That's right," Tracy murmured, still scrolling.

You pulled away from him and kissed his scarred cheek a few times before you said, "Can I think about it? I mean, Meredith was probably just acting like a petty bitch because she could."

"We can wait for a police report," Tracy supplied, setting down her phone. "And I can get more information about Meredith as well."

You nodded and looked up at Bradley. "That's what I want to do."

"Then that's what we'll do," he agreed right away.

"Tracy, do you know when I'll be able to replace the window? My landlord is threatening me with another month of rent."

She just snorted. "Send me a copy of your lease agreement. I'll make him cry."

When the three of you stood, Bradley could tell you seemed more relaxed, and he kissed the now dry tears from your cheek. "How much do I owe you for today?" Bradley asked Tracy as he took your bandaged hand in his.

"No worries. I'll bill you."

"Worth every cent," Bradley told you once again as you rode the elevator back down.

You had your head resting on his chest as you pulled out your phone, and he could see your screen as you said, "Dr. Kelly texted me. She told me to just take the rest of the afternoon for myself."

"Do you want to head home?" he asked as you tucked your phone away again.

"Yeah, I'll make us lunch."

"Perfect," he replied. "And then we can talk."

And you seemed fine on the way home, changing radio stations in the Bonco and talking about how you hoped Meredith would have to serve the full fifteen years she was being threatened with. Bradley didn't really give much of a fuck about Meredith as long as you felt safe and happy. As long as things went back to normal for the three of you.

But as soon as you walked into the kitchen, you seemed apprehensive once again. He watched you carefully get some butter and cheese out of the refrigerator, claiming you were in the mood for a grilled cheese sandwich. But then you tossed everything onto the counter and spun to face him.

"I can't take it any more, okay?" You were nearly shouting at him, fists clenched at your sides. Your pretty face was all pinched like you were in pain.

"What?" Bradley asked, rushing to you. "What's wrong?" And then he saw one rogue tear streak down your cheek. Something was making you cry again, and he needed to know what it was.

"She's so many things that I know are horrible, but she's also so many things that I wish I could be... but I'm just not." You took a deep breath and reached up on your tiptoes to take something down from the top of the refrigerator. "I just want to know why it's here, okay?" you asked him, your hands shaking as you reached out with a blue USB drive on your bandaged palm. "Just don't lie to me about why you have this, Bradley. I know it's a few years old, but I just don't understand why you had it in the attic with Noah's baby clothes."

He took it in his own hand, and it seemed familiar. When he looked up and met your eyes, you were crying and trying to swipe the tears away. "I'm confused..."

You pointed at his laptop which was charging on the table, and said, "Just tell me the truth," as you sobbed.

Bradley opened the computer and tried to keep a wary eye on you at the same time. But as soon as he inserted the USB drive and the folder automatically opened up, he heard you softly say, "I can't," before you rushed out of the room.

He was still baffled as he tapped on the video thumbnail. And then he wanted to throw the computer across the room. His blood ran cold as he remembered making this video. The details were hazy, but when he heard himself tell Meredith that he loved her, he wrenched the drive back out of the laptop and heard it clatter across the floor as he ran after you.

"Princess!"

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

Fix it now, Daddy!! You better fix it! I hope you enjoy your babysitter story @beyondthesefourwalls and thank you @mak-32

PART 33

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lackadaisicallizard · 7 months

Text

Sundays

Growing up, Regulus hated Sundays.

Sundays were mornings spent in church, pretending to the world that they were a perfect family. Sundays were stuffy clothes and tight ties wrapped around throats spouting nothing but lies about the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black.

Sundays were carefully coordinated games disguised as family lunches, the entire extended family coming together to outdo each other in just how well they were doing. Sundays were masterclasses in manipulation, lies and deceit.

But now, fifteen years later on the most ordinary of all days, Regulus can hear voices coming from the kitchen.

“I think that’s enough eggs, Haz, why don’t you add more flour now?”

“How much do I need to add?”

“I have no idea, just pour until it looks right.”

Sliding on his slippers, Regulus makes his way out of the bedroom and down the hall, stopping in the doorway of the kitchen. He leans against the doorframe for a moment, watching the scene in front of him.

“How’s it going there?” His husband peers into the mixing bowl that seems to have more eggs in it than any hen could feasibly lay in a year.

“The flour won’t come out of the bag,” Harry says with a frown.

“Try banging on the end of it,” James suggests and before Regulus can even consider stepping in to stop him, their son does just that. He is far too much like his father for his own good sometimes.

Flour ends up everywhere.

“Papa’s going to kill me,” Harry groans through a layer of white dust.

“Papa doesn’t have to know,” James says, “you finish the batter and I’ll clean it up.”

Harry stirs it, a puff of flour rising into the air. “I think it may be beyond saving now, Dad.”

“J’en ai marre,” their heads whip around at the sound of Regulus’ voice, both faces a similar mask of concern. “You two are useless.”

He steps into the kitchen now, holding out his hand for the bowl, which Harry passes him with a guilty expression. “I love you?”

Regulus’ own expression softens completely at that and he places the bowl on the counter before holding out his arms for his son. Harry moves into them without hesitation, being pulled into a warm embrace and leaning into his father. “Tu es la lumière de ma vie,” Regulus says, pressing a kiss to the top of Harry’s soft curls before pulling back and looking at him in the eyes. “That doesn’t mean you can get flour all over my kitchen though, compris?”

“Oui papa, désolé. We were just trying to make you breakfast in bed.”

“It’s true,” James cuts in, a smile pulling up the corner of his lips, “we know you’ve had a long week so we thought we’d make some pancakes.”

Regulus smiles back, he can’t help himself. “I’m not sure which one of you thought you could pull that off considering the great scrambled egg fiasco last month.”

“Those eggs were delicious and you know it!”

“I had to go to the store for more and make them myself.”

“… my comment still stands,” James says with a grin and Regulus rolls his eyes at his husband.

“Harry, go and fetch the chocolate chips from the cupboard and I’ll attempt to salvage this.”

Harry disappears into the pantry and as Regulus starts to decanter as much flour as he can from the very floury bowl, he feels arms wrap around him from behind.

“I’m sorry about the flour,” James’ voice is low in his ear.

Regulus hums. “I would say I’m surprised, but I’m not.”

A soft chuckle followed by lips against his hair. “I’m also sorry for ruining your Sunday, love. I know it’s the first day you’ve had off in a while.”

But the thing is, he hasn’t.

Because Regulus knows what a bad Sunday feels like. They’re ingrained into his brain.

But this right here? Making far too much batter to even out the mountain of flour that he can’t salvage from the bowl. Allowing his son to add almost an entire bag of chocolate chips to the mixture. Watching his husband smother a tower of pancakes with syrup and whipped cream. Cleaning up an incredibly messy kitchen together as a family after they’ve done.

Well, this is what Sundays are now. They’re not perfect, or proper, or in the least bit civilised.

And he loves every one.

#marauders #james potter #regulus black #jegulus #jegulus raising harry #jegulus dads #I'm obsessed with them

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unseededtoast · 15 days

Text

Shadow of Obsession | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Part Three

Series summary: In which you find that love is an obsession that can quickly spiral out of control.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted!

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

"I don't care what it takes or what it costs, I'm going to find who is doing this and I will make sure they never see the light of day again."

Spencer gets to the office unusually early after receiving an ominous text from Derek the previous night asking if Spencer could come in before anyone else gets there.

Ever since that text Spencer has been trying to think of things Derek would need to speak to him so privately about. He went back through his memories with a fine-tooth comb and came up short. He sits his bag on his desk and looks around, seeing nothing but an empty office.

His eyes drift to your desk where he sees both bouquets of flowers and he frowns. Part of him wants to get rid of them for you, but the profiler part tells him to leave them be for now. If the stalker is someone who has building access the removal of the flowers could easily upset him.

A little voice in the back of Spencer's mind scoffs at the idea. He's tiptoeing around a stalker's feelings while you're so obviously torn up about all of this. In a twisted way Spencer feels like the stalker's feelings are being placed above your own and that makes him feel guilty; but he knows in stalking cases that they must be handled very meticulously.

His hand find his phone in his pocket and he debates whether he should text you or not. But before he can decide, Derek steps into the office from the break room with a somber look on his face. Whatever he called Spencer here for is no light matter. Spencer's stomach drops and his chest fills with anxiety as Derek walks over to him.

"Why don't we sit down over here?" Derek says with a sigh, gesturing with a nod to his desk. Spencer follows him wordlessly and pulls over a seat.

"What's going on?" Spencer is able to break through his anxiety to ask the obvious question. Derek picks at the lid of his coffee for a few seconds before he looks up to Spencer.

"What I'm about to tell you is in full confidence, okay?" Derek asks and suddenly Spencer's mouth feels like the Sahara desert.

"Okay." Spencer agrees, his heart pounding in his chest. Derek licks his lips and sighs.

"I found something yesterday, something that implicates her." Derek's eyes sweep to your desk. Spencer's eyebrows furrow, he doesn't quite follow what Derek's saying.

"What do you mean?" Spencer's palms start to feel sweaty, the anxiety lingers heavily in his chest.

"Why don't you take a look for yourself?" Derek says and hands Spencer a folder from his top desk drawer.

Spencer's eyes scan the documents inside and his stomach turns. It doesn't make sense. No, surely it can't be? There's no way.

Spencer closes the folder after looking at every page and hands it back to Derek. His mind is racing at a million miles per second and for the first time in a long time, Spencer is speechless.

"Don't say anything to her I'm still collecting evidence. The others only know a little bit, so let's just keep this between us for now." Derek says as he places the folder back in his desk. Spencer abruptly stands from the seat and nods. He has to get out of here, the air is suffocating.

After Spencer excuses himself he finds a secluded room and takes some deep breaths. He feels like he's stuck between a rock and a hard place; between the truth and a mountain of lies. The only issue is that he can't distinguish truth from lie.

His mind tells him that you can't possibly have done what Derek is accusing you of. There's just no way. But then again, if Spencer disregards your friendship, it makes some sense.

Determined to get to the bottom of this, Spencer walks out to find evidence of his own; though he's slightly afraid of what he might find.

———

After a night of little sleep you drag your feet as you get ready for the day. On one hand you're eager to do some digging but on the other hand you're almost terrified of why your teammates think you're responsible for the altered documents. What could they have possibly found?

When you arrive to the office you don't go to the sixth floor right away. Instead you take a detour to the main reception desk where the usual desk worker sits. You had meant to speak with her on Monday but things quickly spiraled and you had forgotten. She greets you with a sweet smile that you try to reciprocate, but you fear yours is more reminiscent of a grimace.

"How can I help you?" She asks, taking a break from typing.

"Were you here when some flowers got delivered on Monday?" You try not to sound too desperate. The receptionist taps her fingers on the desk as she speaks, her eyes lighting up when she finds an answer.

"I was! They were beautiful." She compliments and you try to swallow the sickness.

"Do you remember who brought them in? Did they work here?" You lean in closer as you ask, eager to hear her response. But your heart sinks when you hear her answer.

"I do, it was an employee from the shop down the street." Her smile reruns to her face while your hope shrivels.

"Thank you. If anyone delivers any more to the sixth floor could you ask who is sending them?" You ask and she nods.

"Absolutely." You give her one more thanks before heading to the elevator. You had hopes that she would give you better information, that the stalker himself would have delivered the flowers. But you realize that all hope is not entirely lost; the flower shop should have record of who ordered.

Your stomach twists as you enter the office, still feeling the effect of the team's attitude towards you. As you walk to your desk you wish any of them would even spare you a glance, or even glare, but it seems they're actively ignoring you. And the one person you can always depend on is nowhere to be found, but he's obviously been here as his bag is slung over the back of his chair.

Hating the silence you pick up the phone and call the florist down the street. This is the most solid lead you have and you figure you may as well track it down. The phone rings a few times before a lady picks up.

"Blooming Bouquets this is Noelle speaking, how may I help you?" Her voice is sickly sweet and you can't help but to imagine a kind older lady on the other end.

"Hi, yes I'm just calling to inquire about two orders placed this previous week. I think my boyfriend might have sent them but I just want to be sure. I'm hoping you can help me with that?" You fabricate your story with ease. People are more willing to help if they think you know the sender.

"Sure thing, was there a card attached?" She asks and you hear her typing.

"Yes, one said something about each flower being a chapter of our story. Does that sound familiar?" You focus on making your voice sound casual, you don't want any sense of apprehension to poke through. The woman types some more.

"Hmm, yes that does sound familiar. But it looks like they paid cash and hand-wrote the note themselves. I'm sorry but we don't keep track of cash orders like that." She says and you want to slam your head against the desk. Of course they don't keep electronic records of cash orders.

"No worries thank you!" You force a happy tone and then hang up the phone.

Of course the stalker would take enough care to cover their tracks every step of the way. If they're smart enough to work for the FBI then it makes sense that they would know to take extreme care like that; especially considering they know you work in the BAU.

You look around and notice that the rest of the team is seemingly working on their own tasks but you suspect they were all eavesdropping on you. They're all likely profiling you right now, even though the team swore to never profile each other.

The feeling of your own teammates turning against you is suffocating and you can't stand it anymore. You're out of leads and your team seems to think you're fabricating everything. With Spencer still nowhere in sight, you go back to Penelope's office and hope that she doesn't think you're making this up too.

You knock on her door and she opens quickly. And you don't have to be a profiler to see the slight change in her facial expression. It seems she thinks you're guilty of something as well. But you know that you're more likely to get answers from her than anyone else. So, you invite yourself in.

"You busy?" You ask softly, stepping into her office. A million different expressions cross her face in a millisecond before she answers back.

"Not at the moment, no." Her lack of questioning and calm demeanor further proves your theory; she thinks you're guilty of something as well.

Or maybe she doesn't and you're reading too far into things. Maybe you're becoming paranoid and making yourself look more suspicious. A thousand different thoughts race through your mind as you take your usual spot in Penelope's office.

She returns to her work without another word and you observe her hand trembling ever so slightly as she types. Knowing her well enough by now, you decide to wait it out and see if she breaks. It's not unusual for her to crack under the pressure and give up some information; no matter how tiny the secret. So you sit, and you wait. But she never breaks. With a sigh, you decide to try one last idea.

"Pen, what's going on?" Your genuine sadness leaks into your words. It's not all some elaborate interrogation, she really is your friend and you really are torn up about everything. Her fingers stop typing and it's like she's a deer in headlights.

"I don't- I can't- I promised-" she stammers and you can see the hint of tears begin welling up in her eyes. Your heart sinks and your stomach churns. Whatever she knows, it's gravely serious if she still isn't cracking.

With pleading eyes and a cracking voice you fight to keep your composure.

"Please. What's going on?" You ask, hoping that she gives you even the slightest hint. But to your dismay, she looks away from you and shakes her head.

"I really can't. I'm so sorry." She wipes her eyes and you stand from the seat. Without saying another word, you exit.

Your throat is tight with emotion, your nerves shot with the mystery of the unknown. And you know that if you're ever going to figure this out that you need to find Spencer. He may be the last ally you have in this office.

———

Spencer spends the majority of the day tucked away in a secluded room where he's free to delve into the information at his fingertips. A mix of paper and electronic records litter the table in front of him, his mind working overtime to put the pieces together. He thinks he might have a good start on the timeline of things and he feels hopeful that the truth will be exposed soon.

He knows you'll come looking for him sooner rather than later, but he's hoping that by the time you find him that he will know for certain whether you're guilty as sin, or if you're being framed.

The watch on his wrist glistens in the light as he checks the time. Knowing that you're likely hunting him down at the very moment, he gathers his things and puts them into his bag. If you did find him here, the last thing he would want you to see is what he's doing.

You're his best friend after all, have been for years. And he doesn't want you to think that he's suspicious of you in the slightest. Truthfully, he feels guilty for even considering that you're some deceptive mastermind; but in this line of work he knows he has to prove it.

By now most of the team should have left for the day. But Spencer is confident that you're still here. He walks back out to his desk and his suspicions are confirmed. There you are, sitting at your desk, hands gripping your head as if you're about to pull out your hair.

You must have heard him entering the space because you turn around. He sees your bloodshot eyes and knows that you've had a hard day. The little voice in the back of his mind is screaming that guilty people can't fake distress like this; but the logical part tells him that it's not impossible for a skilled profiler like yourself to be able to do so.

But he knows you, he's known you for years; and so for the first time in a long time, he wrestles with his logic.

He sighs and walks over to you. Despite his conflicting thoughts about the situation, you're still his friend and he can clearly see that you need someone. Your tired, tear-stained eyes seem to stare into his soul.

It makes his heart break just a little more and he knows for certain then and there that you have nothing to do with this. He would be willing to put his career on it.

———

"Spencer." Your voice is hoarse but you don't care. You keep your bottom lip from trembling as he offers a small, sympathetic smile.

"I'm here." Is all he says, and you're thankful.

"What's going on? Where were you?" You ask him, hoping to hear that he found whoever is doing this. But instead of answering any of your questions, he avoids them completely.

"Listen, you didn't hear this from me, but there might be a file in Morgan's top drawer you might be interested in. Take pictures so you can read them later, be quick about it." His voice is low and serious, far more serious than you've ever seen him and it seems to sober you up from your downward spiral.

You nod, hanging onto every word he says. Your eyes dart over to Morgan's empty desk.

"I understand." Is all you say before he nods and leaves without another word. You watch as he leaves the office, his shoulders tense.

You wait for him to board the elevator before you go to Morgan's desk. Luckily the top drawer isn't locked and you find a single folder in there. Heeding Spencer's advice, you quickly take pictures of the documents inside so you can review them all later. And in under two minutes, the folder is put back exactly how you found it.

Your shaking hand puts your phone into your back pocket and you stroll out of the office as if it's any other day. The office is entirely empty at this point, your footsteps echo in the hall on your way to the elevator. Adrenaline courses through your veins and you can't wait to get home and look over those documents.

But whatever they may say, you know for sure that you still have Spencer on your side. If the rest of the team has turned against you, he's the only one you can count on right now.

The thought of him being the only one in your corner warms your heart. Even after everything the two of you had been through together over the years, this in particular feels like a defining moment.

———

Unknown POV

Looking at the watch around my wrist, I realize I only have a few minutes before I need to leave. The soft material in my hand seems to radiate its warmth throughout my whole body, and I inhale its scent deeply.

It's even more heavenly than I could have imagined.

As I unlock my car door I can't bear to let go of my most prized possession. It took a lot of meticulous planning but it has all paid off. Everything went according to plan.

Her coworkers are divided amongst themselves and think that she is responsible for something she did not do. And while I regret having to essentially set her up, it provides me the perfect opportunity to swoop in and save the day. All I have to do is wait for the call that I know is sure to come soon.

However, I can't say as though I'll be happy to undo what I've done, as I believe it more accurately reflects the BAU's team dynamic and took an immense amount of planning and caution. But I digress, she is worth the struggle.

I drive off into the night, material clutched in my hand, dreaming of what our life will look like together one day.

———

You sit at your dining table in disbelief, phone clutched tightly in your hand. Your eyes quickly read and reread the documents you took photos of and come to understand why your entire team is ignoring you.

Several previous case reports have been altered, under your name. They've been altered in a way that gives yourself credit for finding and apprehending the unsubs, while the other team members appear to essentially be background characters.

You feel sick to your stomach as you read report after report that's been replaced with false information. If this gets out to Hotch you could lose your job for falsifying documents. Though you never touched them after submitting them, the electronic records clearly show that your credentials were used to make the changes.

With sweating palms and a churning stomach you put your phone down and try to make sense of it all. What would someone possibly stand to gain from doing this? Is it to disparage your character? Make your team not trust you? The possibilities feel endless.

Unable to look at the altered reports anymore, you focus back on your apartment. Not having cleaned in days, the place is messy; an organized mess you like to call it. And you need a distraction from everything anyways, so why not tidy up a bit?

You go about picking up clutter and throwing it away, and when you reach the entry area, a small piece of paper catches your attention. Picking it up you read what's been written on it. It's the same note Spencer left you on the table the night he brought you home from the bar. But you could have sworn you left it on the dining table across the apartment.

Too tired to put a lot of thought into it, you simply ball the note up in your hand and toss it away with everything else. It was probably just the wind that carried it over there anyways.

Your next task is to straighten out the furniture from where Spencer had stayed. The couch had been moved a few inches over from his tossing and turning, as it usually does. With ease you scoot the couch back to its designated spot, but realize that the lamp had also been moved.

The lamp is typically beside the window, next to the couch, but instead it's been moved away from the window. With scrunched eyebrows you stare at the lamp, trying to figure out how it could have been moved; it wouldn't have been moved by Spencer on the couch, and you're left dumbfounded.

You move it back to its intended spot, fingers lingering on the cool metal as you try to figure it out. Maybe you accidentally moved it previously while vacuuming and forgot to put it back? You figure that's probably what happened, you've been too tired and busy lately, so it's entirely possible you just simply forgot to move the lamp back.

Feeling something weird in the air, you draw the curtains shut and your body suddenly shivers with a chill. The atmosphere suddenly feels different, heavier almost. And the tiny voice of paranoia begins whispering in the corners of your mind.

Is it just a coincidence the note was found by the front door? And did you really forget to move the lamp back? After all, you can't exactly remember the last time you vacuumed.

These concerning thoughts flood your mind as you operate on autopilot, folding the pile of laundry on your bed. You had meant to fold all of these earlier, but with everything going on, it's fallen to the wayside.

Your fingers tremble with every fold and your knees feel like they could give out. You count on your fingers how many days worth of laundry you had in that pile and realize that you're short one sweater. And you know for a fact you hadn't worn it again since it had been washed.

The note, the lamp, the sweater. Individually each incident can be chalked up to a coincidence or some sort of tired mistake. But when you consider all three elements together, paired with the other weird happenings, you come to one grave conclusion. Your heart thumps heavily in your chest and echoes in your head, your mouth is as dry as the desert, bile rises in your throat.

Someone has been inside your apartment.

———

Every second that passes feels like its own small eternity. Your eyes burn from being awake so long, but the adrenaline pumping throughout you prevents you from going to sleep. Sweat won't stop making your palms slick.

The moonlight that trickles through your curtains makes the metal of your gun shine dimly. It hasn't left your side since you figured out someone broke into your home.

You had taken refuge in your bedroom, fearing that being in the living area would make you too exposed to whoever may be watching. Tears had slid their way down your cheeks without you really even noticing, it was like your whole system was going into shock. Sure, you had seen several cases of stalking on the job, but it's a whole different game when you're the one on the receiving end.

Now, sitting alone in your apartment, you understand how all of the other victims must have felt. Isolated. Scared. Sick. Full of dread and impending doom. You saw it over and over again, and you knew what usually comes next. It's at this point when the stalkers usually make themselves fully known.

The thought of someone walking around your home while you were away makes you nauseous. Who knows what they found, what they touched, and what else they may have decided to keep for themselves. Your body involuntarily trembles as you struggle to keep your composure.

This is entirely unlike you. You had never been the one to shrink from a challenge, never once had you backed down from a case when your instincts told you it was dangerous. But here you sit, feeling like a coward.

You sit as still as a statue until the sun comes up.

———

Hours later you find the courage to move from your bedroom. You had your ear pressed to the door listening for movement on the other side for a solid half hour before you decided it was safe to go, but only after tucking your gun into your waistband. Feeling like prey inside your own home is a foreign feeling, and one you'd never like to feel again.

You tiptoe to the kitchen, desperate for some water. With shaky hands you down three glasses and let the empty cup sit on the counter; you simply can't be bothered with putting it away right now, even if you did just clean last night.

Your eyes scan with great intensity to see if you can find anything else out of place, and it's in front of your door where you see a manila folder laying just inside, as if someone slid it underneath the door.

The folder is heavy and stuffed full of pages. You take it to your dining table and open it and immediately wish you hadn't.

There are several printed photos of yourself inside. They're from press publications, your official FBI identification photo, and some look like they had been taken by the stalker themselves. Behind the photos are printed news articles and highlighted are the sentences that speak to your contribution to the case. But it's the annotations in the margins that really catch your eye. For each highlighted sentence there's a note accompanying it. Each note says something to the effect of you deserving more credit.

Hastily, you flip through each page, eyes scanning over the stalker's handwritten notes until you reach the last one. The last page is a simple piece of lined paper, the words look like they were written with a pen. Your stomach drops as you read the last line and your body moves on its own accord, picking up your phone and calling Spencer.

———

Your foot anxiously taps on the floor as you watch Spencer look over the folder. His eyes are intensely focused, his eyebrows scrunched together as he reads, and rereads, every single word. He's organized the photos and pages in a way he understands and you let him do his thing. After all, he's the most intelligent man you've ever met, and the only real ally you have at the moment.

He arrived not even twenty minutes after you had called him. You hadn't even been able to get the words out properly before he told you he was on his way. As soon as he walked through your door, you hugged him as if you'd never see him again.

"Hey, hey it's okay, I'm here now." His voice was soft, tender, and understanding. You took a few moments to take in his scent, face buried in his chest to ground yourself to reality. Eventually, you let go of his shirt and stepped away, looking up to see his concerned eyes.

You told him what happened last night and he was quick to tell you that you should've called him immediately.

"I know Spencer, but I just, I just froze. I never freeze." Your voice betrayed you and you worked hard to keep from crying again. Worry clearly shown on his face, Spencer guided you to the living room for a moment to allow you to relax before you eventually moved into the dining area so he could look at the folder.

And now, here you sit, watching him with tired eyes. But somehow, you only feel relieved that he's here, the exhaustion doesn't seem to phase you as you watch Spencer. He had shown up in his pajamas, his hair not even brushed and his glasses on instead of contacts. It didn't matter though, you already had spare everything for him because he stays over so often.

You admire the way he always looks effortlessly good, and you appreciate how safe he makes you feel. Your eyes linger on his face, where his glasses rest on his nose. Every few minutes he reaches up and pushes them back and you can't help but to smile just a little. You won't ever admit it to anyone, but you like the way he looks in glasses more than when he doesn't use them.

However, you admiration is cut short as he reads aloud the words written on the last page. Even just hearing them makes your skin crawl.

"Don't worry darling, soon enough we will be together, and you will see how much I adore you."

Your eyes lock with Spencer's. His holds an intensity you've never seen before, like a fire had been ignited within them. His jaw tightens and he sets the paper down. You watch as he scowls at the page, his hands clenching and unclenching before he leans forward and grabs the edge of the table. He looks towards you, his face close to yours, and with the most calm voice ever he simply states,

"I don't care what it takes or what it costs, I'm going to find who is doing this and I will make sure they never see the light of day again."

Part Four

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

taglist: @yondiii @juhdoche @themarauderseraslut @shardsofmarxx @mel-vaz @bippityboppityboob1tch @babyspiderling @honestlyloving @emisback @thatredlipped-classic @desperately-seeking-serotonin @threespacemonkeys

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #mgg #spencer reid series #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid criminal minds #bau team #Spotify

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navybrat817 · 1 year

Note

Look at that stare!

Time to Study

Summary: Bucky told you he needed help with his studies, but you should have known he just wanted an excuse to kiss you.

Pairing: College!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Word Count: Over 1.2k Warnings: K-I-S-S-I-N-G, college AU, nicknames, Bucky Barnes (yep, he's a warning) A/N: Okay, lovelies. Meet Titan and Starshine in the college AU no one asked for, Falling For You. Thank you @rookthorne, @sgt-seabass, and @chasingmarvel!❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

"Bucky, I think you've been on that page for the last five minutes."

He shrugged and continued to stare, his blue eyes focused completely on you. A smile began to spread across your face before you cleared your throat and glanced at your book. Your face heated up when you still felt his gaze on you. With the looks of a model and a smile that could make panties drop, it was almost overwhelming to have his attention.

But you liked it.

“Why didn’t we meet in the library?” you asked, suddenly aware of how hot it was in your room.

Or was it him?

You were also aware of how close he was to you on your bed. You could’ve chosen to sit in a chair or on the floor, but you made the decision to take your bed. He followed suit and kept a reasonable distance. But he moved closer with each passing second until his knee almost bumped yours.

No way in hell were you going to stop him.

“It’s more comfortable here,” he replied. You tried not to lose yourself in his eyes when you dared to look at him. “Don’t you think?”

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you nodded. You even managed not to whimper when he placed his hand on your thigh. With his sleeve pushed up, you could see the veins in his forearm, a visual reminder of his strength. He didn’t slide his hand up any higher or apply any pressure. It rested there, like he was testing the waters.

Come on in. The water’s fine.

"It is, but I thought you said you needed my help," you reminded him when he made no move to read or look over his notes.

Some assumed that because Bucky was good looking, athletic, and a member of the most popular fraternity on campus that he got people to do his work for him. That couldn't have been further from the truth. He was a nice, smart guy, much smarter than most expected. And while he didn't brag about his grades, he more than earned his high GPA through his intelligence and hard work.

The whole package. Wait, why does he need my help again?

"Stop staring!" you said, trying your hardest not to smile when he lightly chuckled. It was such a sexy sound. "We need to study."

"Oh. I actually finished studying before I stopped by. You know I’m getting an A in that class," he smirked, shutting the book and moving it beside him. "Or did I forget to mention that?"

It was your turn to stare at him, your mouth open when he flashed his winning smile.

Smug. Bastard.

"You lied to me, Bucky Barnes."

He pouted before he smiled again. "I didn't lie. I would never lie to you.”

His hand went to the back of your neck as you tried to remember to breathe. "Yes, you did,” you huffed, not wanting to let him off the hook. Even if he distracted you the more he leaned in, his fingertips tickling your skin. “You said you needed my help. I cleared my whole afternoon."

Like he had to twist my arm to make that happen.

"I do need your help. I need a kiss and you’re the only one who can help me with that,” he argued, his nose bumping yours. “And if you want me to maintain my high GPA, I'll need to study every single one of your kisses thoroughly. Even if it takes all night."

That would’ve been cheesy from anyone else, but he made it sound so genuine.

“You’re ridiculous,” you giggled, running your fingers through his soft hair. His words flustered you and you wondered if he noticed. "What would your brothers say if they heard you?"

Ridiculous and charming and handsome and he smells good and his lips are so close to mine.

“Being ridiculous doesn’t change the fact that I need a kiss,” he said, breathing against your lips. "And no mention of my brothers when you're in my arms. Only me."

Only you, Bucky.

“After I’m done studying,” you whispered with a twinkle in your eyes.

He growled when you giggled again, but didn’t give you the chance to move away. One day you'd get out of one of his holds, but today wasn't it. “Just one little kiss, Starshine? Any kind of kiss you want as long as I get one.”

You sucked in a breath when he licked his lips, his tongue close enough that it brushed against your mouth. It would’ve been easy to close the last bit of distance and put you both out of your misery. Still playing the part of a gentleman, the hand on your thigh didn’t move. But his grip tightened a fraction.

Enough to let you know how badly he needed you.

As much as Bucky wanted to, he didn’t kiss you the night the two of you spoke for the first time. He was a gentleman and didn’t rush it, even after you stayed up all night chatting. Now you look forward to each and every kiss.

He could have any girl on campus and he’s desperate for me.

“One,” you agreed, capturing his mouth in a gentle kiss.

Bucky returned it with fervor and you were helpless to do anything but get swept away. His lips molded against yours perfectly and you practically crawled into his lap as he deepened the kiss, studying long forgotten at that point. It was a feat you lasted as long as you did without throwing yourself at him.

This is definitely going to be more than one kiss if we don't stop.

“Back to studying?” you asked breathlessly.

“Only if I get to kiss you again when we’re done,” he smiled.

“Are my kisses that great, Titan?” you asked, running a finger along his sharp jawline.

Maybe you weren't playing fair by using his nickname, which he loved hearing from you, but he started it by suggesting a fake study session just to get a kiss from you and using your nickname first.

Instead of a smug smirk when Bucky pulled back, his cheeks flushed slightly as he regarded you with an easy smile. “If you knew what it was like to kiss you, you’d never wanna stop,” he answered, making your heart thud in your chest as he pulled you closer by the hips.

A knock on the door broke you temporarily from your spell, but you stayed close in Bucky’s lap.

“Hey!” your roommate said through the door. “Are you two decent? I need to grab something real quick.”

Great timing.

“Unfortunately, we are,” you teased, pressing your forehead against Bucky’s as she put her key in the door. "Now we have to study."

“Don't mind me! Not looking!” your roommate announced, rummaging through her closet until she found what she needed. “Use protection! Don’t need you knocking her up!”

Bucky laughed when you groaned, both of you used to her antics. “How about we study in my room next time?” he offered.

“Deal," you agreed, sneaking in one more quick kiss.

Although you had a feeling you wouldn’t get much studying done at his place either, you didn't mind one bit.

Another couple for me to adore. Love and thanks! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ KoFi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #college!bucky barnes #college!bucky barnes reader #falling for you au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #college au #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you #titan and starshine

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digitaldiarystuff · 5 months

Text

For Better, For Worse

summary: Pablo was having possibly the worst week of his life, first he broke up with his girlfriend to focus on his career and then he got injured during a spain game possibly needing a surgery. What do you do when you find out?

pairing: Pablo Gavi x Y/N

genre: angst/ fluff

warnings: mentions of injury and surgery

————

When your phone started ringing at this late hour, you knew this couldn’t be good. It was 2 a.m. and your heart sunk as you read the name ‘Aurora’ on it.

“Hey.” you said concerned.

“Hi Y/N were you asleep?” she asked and her voice was pretty upset.

“No it’s okay.” you lied. “Is everything okay?”

“I know this is selfish and I’m sorry but-“ she trailed off. “It’s Pablo, he’s injured and not in good shape. I know you guys broke up but I don’t know what I can do to make this better for him he’s been crying for hours now and they say he may need a surgery as soon as possible.” she started crying which would’ve broke your heart but your mind went blank as soon as you heard Pablo’s injury. You knew spain had a game against georgia today but didn’t watch it knowing it would only upset you more.

Pablo broke up with you the week prior to focus on his career and you were in complete shock ever since, your schedules were hard to keep up with but you were willing to work on it, he wasn’t and now learning he was going to need surgery broke your heart so much.

“Are you guys at his place? I’m on my way.” you said and she thanked you over and over again.

Although you were pretty upset with him, there was no way you’d leave him in this state. You knew Pablo wouldn’t probably want to talk to anyone but you needed to be there for him at his worst. You still loved him so much. You didn’t realize you had tears falling from your eyes in the taxi, worried sick. You opened twitter and saw all the videos of him being escorted out of the pitch with pain written all over his face. It was incredibly painful to watch and you couldn’t even imagine what he’s going through.

As soon as you paid the driver you got out and practically ran to the gate of his house, calling Aurora to tell her you’re there. It was pretty late you didn’t want to bother if anyone’s sleeping though it’s highly unlikely.

She came to the door with puffy eyes and hugged you tight.

“Thank you so much for coming.”

“Of course” you said. “Where’s he?”

“He’s in his room but won’t open the door.” she answered and you ran up the stairs not even bothering taking your jacket off.

You knocked a couple of times before he replied.

“Go away I don’t want anyone.”

You knocked again but he didn’t respond this time.

“Pablo, it’s me.” you said slowly hoping this would work.

You heard wheels inside the room and he finally unlocked it allowing you to see him in a wheelchair.

Your eyes immediately watered seeing his state and it’s obvious he was also crying for hours. You kneeled down and looked up at him, he looked like a baby right now with bloodshot eyes and trembling lips. You held his hands and hugged him avoiding his legs and he held you tight, crying into your hair. He didn’t even ask you anything just enjoyed your touch and affection.

He finally wheeled himself into the room and you followed after. Pablo carefully sat on the bed while you sat on the armchair next to it. You asked him what happened and he explained everything down to the possibility of the surgery and not playing for the season. You tried your best to console him and after an hour, his tears dried and he calmed down a little.

“So, did Aurora call you?” he asked

“Yes, I hope that’s okay.” you said

“Okay? That’s the only thing that could calm me tonight. I owe her a thank you.” he chuckled and this was a first for tonight. Your heart fluttered seeing his smile and suddenly realized you were supposed to be broken up even though it doesn’t feel like it.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way” you said “Of course if you’ll let me.”

“I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot to do this to you and here you are.”

“Don’t say that”

“But I am.” he said defeated.

“You kind of are.” you said earning yourself another chuckle.

“I missed your laugh.” he confessed.

“So did I. But you need to rest now.”

“Will you stay with me?” he asked like a child and you knew there isn’t anything in the whole world you wouldn’t do for him.

“If you want me to.” you said “I can sleep on the couch.” you said.

“No.” he pouted “I need to hold you.”

“Pablo there’s no way I’m getting in a bed with you, I could hurt your leg.” you said and he thought for a moment.

“Just till I fall asleep” he bargained and you didn’t protest. You needed him as much as he needed you. You sat against the headboard as his face was on your neck, you held him with your arms, he looked so sleepy.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” he asked groggily.

“I’ll always be here, for better or worse.” you answered as his eyes closed.

Pablo fell asleep like that in your arms as you watched his face. He looked like an angel from this angle. You smiled to yourself, tried to put his head on a pillow and wiggle out of the bed without waking him up making yourself comfortable on the couch. You soon felt sleepy as your eyes closed.

After you fell asleep Aurora wanted to check in on you guys and opened the door slowly finding you both asleep, smiling to herself she left the room.

#football #football imagine #football x reader #football x y/n #football oneshot #football x you #fc barcelona #football angst #football blurb #football one shot #pablo gavi oneshot #pablo gavi one shot #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi x you #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi blurb #pablo gavi imagine #pablo gavi

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vixstarria · 3 months

Note

Vix, gimme an interaction between Wyll and Astarion. Where Astarion is like yo quit trying to steal my girl. But in his Astarion-y way that you write so well! <3

Congrats on 1000 followers my friend!

My pleasure, here's what I came up with:

Bonus Astarion POV scene following Seeing stars:

Earlier this evening you’d finally pulled her aside, confessing your lies and manipulation. Laying bare more details about your past. Fully expecting that to be the end of whatever it was you had with her.

And yet, despite all odds, she stayed. She wasn’t even angry with you. Something was definitely wrong with her. Delightfully, maddeningly so.

The proverbial shoe would inevitably drop sooner or later – this was too good to be true. But until then, you could allow yourself more of these impossible moments of comfort and happiness.

You now stalked the camp, trying to find something to occupy yourself with. You’d been doing your utmost to avoid following her around like a lovesick puppy. After all, now you knew she would be back in your arms again later tonight. And you wouldn’t need to do anything but hold her.

You caught sight of Wyll. An irritated anger still seethed in you after the stunt he had pulled yesterday. He had managed to avoid you all day, having stayed back in camp.

He was sparring with Lae’zel, trying to teach her how to use a rapier. She was arguing, perhaps justifiably, that she didn't see the point in poking small holes in someone when she could simply cut them in half with a greatsword.

On an impulse, you approached.

“A moment with your sparring mate, if you don’t mind,” you directed at Lae’zel. She motioned you to go ahead, with a knowing look.

Before Wyll could react you swiftly kicked his legs out from under him, simultaneously grabbing him by a horn and catching him in a headlock.

“I heard you’re not too fond of the horns. Rest assured, I will assist you in breaking them off should you touch what does not belong to you again.”

Lae’zel stood back observing, arms crossed, with an amused expression on her face, as Wyll scuttled, kicking up dust, trying to keep his balance.

“You are right, and I apologise! I was caught up in the moment and not thinking straight,” Wyll gritted through his teeth. Trying to keep the peace and stay amicable even now. How dull.

“Yes, I’m sure you were quite caught up in the moment you had orchestrated.” You dropped him in the dirt. “Just don’t do it again,” you said, starting to walk away.

“Would you have pulled his hair if you could grasp it?”

Apparently the scuffle had merited a rare smile from Lae’zel.

“Honestly... Probably, yes,” you said without slowing down, as you walked past her. It wasn’t too long ago that Tav mentioned that Lae’zel herself had propositioned her recently, and you were not about to get into an altercation with the githyanki.

“You have already mastered biting, but have you considered scratching as a tactic?” she called out after you.

Over two centuries old, and reduced to fistfights over your lover, like a grease-faced adolescent.

It was mere days ago that you socked Gale in the nose for referring to Tav as your ‘livestock’. He still sported a bruise and steered clear of you.

Had you gotten into fights over love interests in your youth, you wondered. You scoured your memory for anything that might ring a bell, but came well short of any images. Some ghost of a feeling whispered faintly in your mind. Despair at... being rejected? Excluded? Were there several people involved at once..? The memory came up as a sour aftertaste of melancholy and dejection. It must have been sharp once, for any remnant to survive for over 200 years. You didn’t try to pursue it further.

You rounded a corner to see Tav talking with that mountain of an elf named Halsin.

Did you truly just overhear them talking about how large he is..?

Ha! But also, really? Sigh... Fuck my unlife...

You would deal with that later, if it ever came to that. You kept walking.

You glanced at Shadowheart. The cleric was praying in her corner of the campsite, as she was wont to do more and more often in her spare time, of late. When had she approached Tav, anyway, you wondered. Must have been back at the tiefling party. Hardly a threat anymore.

What now?

You spotted Karlach stargazing near her excuse of a tent.

You grabbed a bottle of wine you found palatable from one of the supply crates and made your way towards the tiefling.

“Karlach! My best friend, my pal. My home-girl, my rotten soldier. My sweet cheese, my good-time gal.” *

“Are you okay there, fangs?” she gave you an apprehensive look.

“Never been better! A game of cards, now that you can hold them yourself?”

There. You could have normal, friendly interactions with your companions too.

“Alright. But I’ll punch you every time I catch you cheating.”

“Fair.”

Absolutely normal.

*Sorry, I couldn’t resist, the Lazlo quote plagues me.

#asks #astarion #astarion romance #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #Lazlo WWDITS quote

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7ndipity · 4 months

Text

False Pretenses

fwb!Jungkook x Reader

Summary: Just how fair does the ‘benefits’ aspect between Friends with Benefits actually extend? Based on this meme.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: crack to fluff, suggestive moments and ending, swearing, Jk has side by side washer/dryer units cause it’s funnier, reader’s referred to as ‘Ma’am’, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! Sorry it took me soo long to get to, I hope you’ll still like it tho! (I’ll also be posting a couple more pieces with this pairing in the next couple weeks, so keep your eyes peeled if you liked this)

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

It was the type of text you had gotten more than used to receiving from him over the past few months, smirking down at your phone as you waited for the elevator in his building.

“Need you so bad rn. Come over?❤”

The heart was a new addition, he must be feeling particularly needy today, you thought to yourself as the elevator doors finally opened.

Since the two of you had established this new part of your friendship, it was rare for you to go more than four or five days without receiving some variation of the same short message from him.

You were still slightly surprised by his text, seeing as you had only been over the night before, but you weren’t complaining by any means. Though you may have enjoyed pretending that Jungkook was the needier one in your arrangement, if you were completely honest, you were just as affected by him, finding yourself missing him on the nights you didn’t spend together.

When he opened the door, you noticed he looked a little more disheveled than usual, his hair sticking up all over the place, as if he’d been running his hands through it, a habit you knew he did when he was stressed.

“You got here fast.” He noted, letting you into the apartment.

“Well, your text made it sound kinda urgent, didn’t want to leave you waiting too long.” You said, wandering through into the living room, slowing to a stop as you caught sight of the chaotic state of the space, cleaning supplies and laundry scattered around, furniture moved all out of place.

“What happened in here?” You asked, turning back to Jungkook, who was now avoiding your eyes. “Koo?”

“I lied, I didn’t want sex.” He said guiltily, looking up at you. “I need you to help me clean.”

“I-, what?” You blinked at him, unsure if you heard him correctly.

He slumped back against the counter, looking stressed as he ran his hand through his hair again. ”My parents decided to surprise me by announcing they’re coming to visit tomorrow, but I’ve done nothing but sleep since I got home from tour last week, so the house is a fucking mess and everything’s a disaster and I need help, please.” He pleaded, staring at you.

You immediately began pulling your coat back on, turning back towards the door. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Y/n, please!” He quickly followed after you, catching your sleeve. “I’ll do anything you want! I’ll buy you dinner, I’ll rub your back, I’ll even let you pick what we watch for a month!”

You paused, turning to look back at him with a raised brow. “Even if I want to re-watch ‘Our Beloved Summer’ for a third time?”

He bit lip, trying to fight back a pained grimace before nodding slowly. “Whatever you want.”

You stared at him for a long moment.

“Fine.” You said reluctantly, caving as you saw the genuine desperation in his eyes. You could never say no to him.

“Thank you!” He sang, catching you in a tight hug and spinning you around in a circle. “I promise I’ll make it up to you!”

“Yeah, whatever,” You grumbled as he set you back on your feet. “Where do we start?”

“Laundry room?” He offered. “It’s mostly done, I just need to vacuum behind the machines.”

Do you really think your mom’s gonna look back there?” You raised a brow, following him down the hall.

“She’s very thorough.” He said seriously.

“Fair enough.” You shrugged. “I don’t quite see why I’m necessary for this part though?”

“I was afraid if I tried to clean back there by myself, I’d slip and get stuck or die.”

“So you want me to slip and die behind your washer instead?” You shot him an accusatory look.

“No! I’ll hold onto you and keep you safe,” He smiled reassuringly. “You know, like the buddy system.”

“I thought the buddy system was for camping so you didn’t get lost or eaten by bears?”

“It’s a multi-purpose system!” He said, his earlier agitation starting to flare up again at your teasing. “Are you gonna help me or not?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it, pass me the vacuum.” You relented, boosting yourself up on top of the dryer.

He held onto your hips to keep you balanced as you cleaned, his mind beginning to wander as he stared at your ass, his fingers starting to slowly knead your flesh absent-mindedly.

“Koo.” You warned, shooting him a quick look.

“Right, sorry.” He snapped back to attention, ceasing his movements and focusing back on the task at hand.

You finished up quickly, passing the vacuum attachment back to him and letting him help you down.

“Thank you.” He said.

“You’re welcome.” You answered, looking around expectantly. “What’s next?”

The apartment wasn’t nearly as bad of a mess as he claimed it to be, but it still took both of you several hours of work to get everything back in order, finishing off with laundry and changing all the bedding.

“Why are these sticky?!” You asked, mildly horrified as you helped him strip the sheets off his bed.

“Relax, it’s just caramel sauce.” He said.

You looked up at him confused. “We didn’t use-?”

“No no, that was just me,” He explained quickly. “I had ice cream last night.”

“Without me?!” You said, clutching your chest in feign hurt, making him roll his eyes as he let out a huff of laughter.

“I’ll add that to the list of things I need to make up for, okay?” He said.

“Eh, it’s better than where my mind went.” You said, only half joking as you grabbed the fresh sheets from him and turned back to the bed. “Almost thought you were fucking around behind my back for a second there.”

Facing away from him, you missed the way his expression suddenly turned serious as he looked at you. “I would never.”

It was strange, despite the supposedly ‘casual’ nature of your arrangement, you both found yourselves making little comments like that, words and exchanges that sounded a lot more like things said between a committed couple, rather than just two friends helping each other out till you found something more serious.

“Alright, I think that’s everything.” You said, snapping him out of his thoughts. You had finished making up the bed, even turning down the covers for him.

“Thank you, y/n.” He said gratefully. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Probably called Hobi.” You smirked, making him snort.

“Now, you promised me food, and if you lie to me twice in the same day, I’m dumping your ass.” You said, earning another laugh from him.

“Alright, whatever you want, just like I said.” He said, leaning down to give you a quick kiss.

“Although, if you wanted, I could make up for my false pretenses from earlier in a different way?” He offered, eyes darkening slightly as his hands drifted over your hips

You lightly shoved his hands away. “Not a chance, Loverboy, I’m way too tired now. You’ll have to try and ‘make it up to me’ some other time.”

“How about tomorrow?” He said, eyes twinkling mischievously, looping his arms around your waist instead to keep you close.

“I thought your parents were coming over tomorrow?” You reminded, raising a brow at him.

“You could come over after.” He suggested. “Hell, you could even come to dinner with us, my parents like getting to meet my friends.”

“Friends?” You looked up at him skeptically.

“Yeah, what?” He laughed, squeezing you lightly.

“Do you let your other friends suck your di-?”

“They don’t need to know the details of our relationship!” He said quickly, his face flushing slightly, making you snicker. “You’re still my friend, one of my best friends actually.” He added, in a soft tone.

The way he said it made your heart twist in a weird way, though you didn’t quite understand why.

“So?” He asked, staring down at you hopefully. “Will you come?”

You chewed your lip, considering. It felt like a really big commitment to meet his family, regardless of what your relationship was, but you tell it would mean a lot to him if you said yes.

“I’ll think about it.” You said finally.

He beamed.

“Thank you!” He said, leaning in to kiss you again, his lips lingering longer this time, tracing over yours lightly, making you shiver.

You pressed closer to him, hooking your arms around his neck as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss, letting your tongue delve into his mouth as his hands grip on your waist tightened.

When you pulled back for air, his pupils were blown wide, eyes almost black as he stared down at you, breathing heavily.

“Take your shirt off.” You ordered, your breaths equally unsteady.

“But I thought you said-?”

“I changed my mind.” You cut him off, tugging at the fabric impatiently. “Shirt off, now.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @a-gayish-unicorn

#jungkook imagine #jungkook scenarios #jungkook smut #jungkook oneshot #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook drabble #jungkook fluff #fwb!jungkook #bts drabble #bts one shot #bts x y/n #bts x reader #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts requests #7ndipity

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sordidmusings · 7 months

Text

Thirsty Thursday with Lucky Brat Buggy

Summary: Buggy plays a game of Fuck Around and Find Out that he isn't actually ready for. Luckily for him, he fails upwards yet again - when he can't take the repercussions, you soothe him with the declaration he's been dying to hear

A/N: I just wanna break Buggy and then put him back together again. Also, my kink is finding out love is reciprocated during sex so this happened 🤡 This was one of the attempts at a part of Switching Up Roles that went in a wildly different direction than I wanted for that request. I liked where it was headed though, so I rewrote it and made it its own thing

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: afab!reader (no pronouns or gendered terms), NSFW, both are mentioned as switches but this has sub!Buggy and dom!reader, dirty talk, p in v, beggy Buggy, creampie, claiming/possessive sex, brief brat taming, healing insecurity with Pussy Power

Enjoy, my beloved freaks ~(=ↀωↀ=)~

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Buggy is being a brat. Not just his usual teasing and toying that’s a part of his charm. No, he’d decided that he wants to try being a brat where the “b” is for “bitch” and he’s bringing it into the bedroom. He’s telling you that you’re “too slow” or he’ll “never cum like this”. It’s pissing you off even though you know it’s all lies and you know that that’s exactly what he wants. It’s easy to see his game because all those insults come out between satisfied moans and his body (that’s totally not going to cum) is sparking at your touch like a live wire. It’s easy to see because it’s been your game to play for him before too. Unlike him, however, you’re good at keeping your head enough to know when he wants you to back off. He’s even had the gall to try out demanding things from you, when he was the one who’s been asking you to be in charge through this mood of his.

At first this obvious game of his was cute, but recently he’s acting like he wants you to snap, even though he knows hard-domming pushes your comfort zone. Buggy would never want to actually cross a boundary with you, but he was certainly dodging the non-verbal warnings you’ve been putting up to tell him he’s sprinting towards one right now. You’re usually good at taming him, proven by the absolute wreck he is right now, but somehow he’s still saying snide shit to push your buttons. When he puts in the effort to taunt, “Can’t do any better?” with a self-satisfied smirk, you decide you’re done.

“Fine. You do the work,” you order, voice stiff and angry. You flip off of him and onto your back and Buggy follows only half a breath behind. His movements are fumbling and desperate as he reclaims his spot between your thighs and immediately pushes back in. He shudders from the relief of being back inside you. He looks at you with wide and nervous eyes, clearly not expecting this to be his punishment. His arms shake as he holds himself up over you and his hips make slow, deep grinds into you, punctuated by the little shakes that keep running through his body. The panic of losing control of the situation he created, while also being forced to perform in that circumstance, has finally broken that stubborn streak. And, oh, does he fold so beautifully under the stress.

“Please. Please, please, need you to do it. Need you to make me feel good - you make me feel so goooood.” Buggy can’t control his voice, one moment it was a breathy grumble and the next a whining sob. His hands clench and unclench in the sheets beside your head as if they are stuck in the motion of pawing at your skin, but he’s too timid to put his hands back on you.

“Oh, baby, you can’t do it yourself?” you coo condescendingly, placing your hands on his cheeks to help center his gaze on yours. It works for one blissful second, where you get to witness how hazy those gorgeous sea green eyes are, before he shuts them and leans his face into one hand. Buggy turns and peppers it in eager, pleading kisses. Tingles shoot from your palm where you feel his stubble and his hot puffs of breath.

“No. No. Need you,” he gasps between ongoing kisses. Your other hand trailing back to thread in his hair distracts him for a second before he’s back to his insistent kissing, huffing, grinding, trembling. The hand in his hair becomes a tight fist, stilling only his kissing and directing his attention back to your face. His hips only become more insistent.

“And do you deserve to be fucked, my sweet little toy?” You prod. Even though your tone is light and teasing, all his movements come to a stop. You don’t even think he’s breathing anymore. His eyes become a kind of tearful you aren’t fond of and he begins to curl in on himself. You act quickly.

“Ah ah ah, sweet thing,” you breathe out. The words go to him in the gentlest tone you’ve ever gifted to anyone. Your hands are back on those warm, stubbly cheeks. “It’s okay, sweet star, you’re okay. If you can’t answer, I’ll answer for you.”

You flip the both of you over again smoothly, the hand you’d used to tug his hair now cradling the back of his head. Buggy loosens up a little, feeling safe and guarded underneath you. You get up on hands and knees and crawl forwards, leading him backwards up the bed, until his upper body is cushioned amongst the pillows piled against the headboard. Settling back on his lap, you begin grinding gently on his cock. Instead of taking it back in, you keep it hugged tight between his stomach and your cunt, where it slides between your sopping lips and rubs at your clit. You’re happy to see that even with the lowered intensity in touch, Buggy is still filled with pleasure and tingling, unable to slow his breath.

“You belong in my bed, getting fucked by me,” you tell him sternly. Buggy nods along like the good boy he is. “You’re the only one I let in my cunt.” He can’t hold in his whimper. Your smooth grinding continues, but now he can’t handle being denied that promise of being inside you.

“Please,” he begs, pressing his hips upward in the only way he can think to let you know what he wants. One hand leaves his face to move behind you and tease over his sensitive balls. Your next grind forward lines his head up at your entrance, one skilled finger props his cock steady, and you slide back on the whole length of his cock, dragging your clit along his happy trail as you go, all without breaking the pace of your hips. Buggy moans loud and sinks deeper into the pillows in relief.

Your hand moves back to his face again and begins brushing away all the stray hairs clinging to his sweaty, spitty, teary face to join the mess of blue sweeping out around him. The tenderness of it has more whimpers breaking out of Buggy, while he turns to follow your touch.

“Only you can make me feel good,” you promise him, starting to add more weight to your movements. “Only wanna see your pretty face. Only your body and that perfect cock feel so good to touch, make me cum so hard.” You clench around him to emphasize your words, earning a warbly “-hah- fuh-s’good”.

Between admiring the details of his face and aiming the fat head of his cock to prod from g-spot to cervix, you start to get distracted. All the details your body is receiving - the contrast between the texture of sheets and Buggy’s burning skin, the scratch of short nails appearing and disappearing as he gropes your thighs and hips and stomach, the musk of sex mingling with the ambience of blown out candles, aging maps, and wet wood - all of it is flooding your brain and making each sensation better, making everything feel so much. Another sweet plea from Buggy recenters you.

Your hips start to bounce and each impact pulls the feeling of being stretched open on Buggy’s thick cock all the way to press through your hips, making your bones feel like they're being spread wider. “Gods, your cock is so good, makes me so full,” you moan, making Buggy throb with the need to cum. He scrunches his eyes closed and throws his head back to reel himself in. You take advantage of the opening and begin sucking more red marks on his throat. He trembles at the wet stripe you lick up his neck. You spend a moment nibbling his ear before trailing kissing along his sharp jaw. When you reach his open mouth, you capture him in a ravenous kiss.

The way you kiss him is greedy and possessive, full of tongue and teeth, and Buggy matches you with eagerness and fervor. He happily lets you steal every breath from his lungs. Both of you get lost in the mirrored sloppy heat between your open mouths and clapping hips. Neither of you can grab enough of the other, you gripping at soft hair and bobbing throat and him holding onto working muscle and bouncing skin.

When you take a short moment to pull only an inch away, you growl at him, “You think anyone else is good enough to kiss me?” Your lips are immediately back on his, but he manages to sneak out many weak “no”s between your working mouths.

“You’re mine, love,” you say, leaving no room for questions. “You’re my love, my sweet man.” Buggy’s head spins from your words, and the insatiable tone of your voice. He feels high from being desired and possessed by you.

“Again,” Buggy sobs. He doesn’t think he’d make it if that was the only time he gets to hear you say it.

You pull his hands from your thighs to entwine your fingers and press them into the pillows beside his head. Staring into his eyes, you repeat, “You’re my love.”

“More,” he whines and you’d never heard him so needy. It goes straight to your head and your cunt and you’re not gonna last.

“You’re mine-” your body starts to give so you cave over him and let all your words and breath right into his ear. Buggy’s cock is pulsing so heavily in you and you’re amazed he hasn’t cum yet and the way your walls have swollen to make every contour and vein on him pull at you have you losing control of your own voice, each exhale gaining a note of a moan. “-mine and I love you and I -hah- you’re mine, love. Mine, mine, mine-”

Buggy had been desperate to hear you say those words to him from the moment he met you and they have him cumming harder than he has in his entire life. He yelps and grabs your hands so hard it should probably hurt but you can’t feel it; your brain is too full of the feeling of his cum boiling you from the inside out and the sounds of him beginning to chant, “love you, love you, love you” in a broken voice, and you finally cum.

Your orgasm has you looking as pathetic as Buggy with how you shake and gasp out keening moans. For a moment, your mind whites out and you’re not sure if you’re completely numb or feeling everything at once. When a tiny bit of your mind returns, you realize you’re still clenching in strong waves, sparking lights through your skin, and your muscles burn with bliss and you’ve never cum this long and it just won’t stop. Buggy is just as lost below you and he’s sure that he’s run out of anything left to give you but his balls still pound and his cock still twitches and his nerves are so loud they almost ache but he’d scream if something switched the feeling off. Instinct allows both of you little grinds of your hips that help you stay trapped in these roiling waves of pleasure until you can’t handle any more.

The moment you can think again, you’re checking in on Buggy. You cup his face so you can examine and admire him. For a moment you think he’s passed out, but he turns to lean into your hand. You spend a few minutes just breathing together while you caress his face and hair. Buggy studies the feeling of your breaths guiding him, your body weight sheltering him, and your fingertips treasuring him to hoard them away in his memory forever.

When Buggy manages to crack his eyes open, the first thing he does is say, “you love me.” He breathes it out with joyous disbelief, the kind only achieved at the other side of a chase you never thought would end with a catch. You take in his face - flushed pink, covered in tear tracks and smeared makeup, sharpened by his jaw and cheeks and stubble, softened by his hair and lashes and expression - and you’re sure that you’ve never said or heard anything more true. You cover that messy, wonderful face in many, many kisses, making sure quite a few land on your favorite nose in the world, and finish with a long, chaste kiss on his lips.

You smile sweetly and Buggy is positive he’s never seen anything he likes more and that he’d do anything to see it forever.

“Yes,” you promise. “I love you.”

#buggy x reader #buggy smut #buggy x you #buggy x y/n #buggy the clown #thirst hours #one piece #my writing #opla buggy #gn reader #afab reader #thirsty thursday #x reader

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whenyouwishuponastar7 · 1 month

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Hi everyone!

I have to address something that has gone on and is currently occurring. This is the last thing I want to do because I have spent eight years in different fandoms and avoided as much drama as possible. I want no part in it. I want to enjoy my time here.

Unfortunately, this is no longer drama. This is about an individual harming people, their mental health, their safe spaces, their enjoyment of fandom, their favorite ship, and their writing. This is about an individual who chooses bigotry over friendship and will align themselves with bad people for popularity.

And they don’t care who they harm by doing it.

This person made my life a living hell for over five months. It started in August, but things took a turn in October. I was finally free of them in late February because that is when a fandom event ended that tied me to them.

During this event, this person stressed me out to the point of tears. They made passive-aggressive remarks about various things, which made me feel insecure about my fic and writing. They unexpectedly changed their medium and didn’t talk to me about it before they did; I admit I was taken aback, hurt, and short with them. I apologized and took accountability the following day.

From then on, I tried to be as supportive, kind and understanding as possible.

I was “pushy” in December and January because this person had not produced a single finished piece of their art, which would total ten pieces. I knew it was too late in January to get a pinch hitter, and I don’t care that I asked a few times how it was going when I had nothing. I handed them a completed fic on August 28th. They had nothing until mid-January (and almost didn’t make it to this deadline) but didn’t start the bulk of their work until late January 22nd and finished (except polishing and watermarking) on the 26th.

Final submissions were on January 31st.

It took them four days to do what they hadn’t done in five months. I asked if they needed an extension, and we got one because they were not done by the final submission day. I had watched another writer’s artist drop out at the last minute, and mods said they couldn’t find anyone to pinch-hit for them.

This experience was a bad one. I can’t express how shitty it felt. I didn’t write for three months during it, and the fics I’ve written since then aren’t very good. I also have watched my readership disappear—getting the hits and kudos I did before October stopped.

I had a feeling this individual might have been involved if they were talking about me, but I thought I was being paranoid. I still may be, but since this has all happened, I have started to regain readers. I find that interesting.

Anyway! This whole thing ended, and it was bitter for me. I don’t have any more enjoyment in this fandom. I love my ship, but I currently have no desire to write them. I’ve been depressed and I’m scarred from fandom events. This person took away my joy when I only wanted to participate in a fandom event with my friends and have fun.

Because fandom is supposed to be fun, it’s not supposed to do this to people. It’s insane that it does this to people, and I never wanted to be involved in this bullshit.

This person has gone on to enjoy other fandom events, write and produce art, and seems to be doing fine.

Through small but interesting events, I started to learn about this individual’s ‘perspective’ on the entire thing with me. And, hoo boy, it was a fucking ride.

I am still shocked, amazed, flabbergasted and kinda pissed off about how this person lied about me. Everything they said was a complete lie. They shared my DMs via screenshots out of context, warped what we were talking about to play the victim and get sympathy, and flat-out lied numerous times. I have been accused of forcing them to do things during the event when I have screenshot proof that never happened.

For everything this individual accused me of, I provided screenshots to tell the fucking truth.

Two people have told me the same phrasing: they made me out to be a monster.

A monster.

If anyone knows me, my character, they know I’m not a goddamn monster. I try to keep my head down, stay in my lane, play in my sandbox corner, enjoy my ships, and have fun with my friends.

To be called a monster or to have someone say, ‘you’re nothing like they made you out to be,’ is the most surreal moment of my adult life.

This is fiction, fandom; it’s not real, and not everyone makes a living off it. It’s a hobby, and it’s supposed to be enjoyable. Once we step away from our computers and phones, no one knows us as so and so, writer or artist of Ship. Meanwhile, this person is making me out to be the worst human being alive, and it is absolute insanity to learn how deep it goes.

The twists and turns, the lies, the complete lack of reality, the delusion. It’s creepy and disturbing. And, through finding all of this out, I pieced together a pattern of behavior that this individual has:

When you do something they don’t like, they distance themselves, become cold and passive-aggressive, and hold themselves above you. You are no longer of use to them. They dangle their friendship and attention on a lure, hoping you’ll bite, only to throw you back under.

Please understand that this is a dangerous thing—this is not fandom drama—this is a dangerous individual, and the person with whom they choose to spend their time speaks volumes.

I will not share names or screenshots. Screenshots have been shared with the right people, and I will not make it a public spectacle. I also choose to protect the privacy of my friends and others involved in this, of which there are many.

I have been accused of forcing this individual to do things, hating them and their work, being extremely pushy and stressing them out, and that my server was unwelcoming and the people in it were unkind, and various other things. Small things that didn’t mean anything to me were taken extremely personally and made into more lies to make this person a victim.

Such as my preferred formatting for posting my fic links on tumblr. They did not respect it, even though I attempted to respect their formatting for posting their art numerous times earlier, but I was told not to stress about it and, you guessed it—accused of forcing them to change things behind my back. Again, screenshots have been given to the right people.

This individual can delete everything, but we have our proof, as we have been gathering it. We will not publicly share anything, but if this individual decides to, we have the evidence to back it all up.

There were so many creepy and fucked up things that happened. I can’t list them without getting too personal, but please understand this person does not belong in our fandom.

They chase popular people, especially artists, to ‘collect’ them and lie to and manipulate their friends for sympathy. Their friends need to step away and see the light because they are being used—it’s not a real friendship. It is transactional.

And you should be offended. They will cast you aside when you’re useless to them, too.

If I seem mad, it’s because I am. I have been dealing with this since August, when I realized that many of their comments were strange. I didn’t know those were red flags at the time. This individual pretends to be friendly and claims to be ‘the nice one’ when things go wrong so they can keep their reputation. Interactions with them might seem harmless, but looking at them with a different scope makes them something far different.

Don’t ignore red flags or gut instincts.

This is my story, and it is not told exactly how I wish I could tell it. But I know this individual has hurt numerous other people. I was going to make this post without the ability to reblog, but I am leaving it open for now.

If you want to add your story, as I suspect many of you know who I am speaking of, please do. I ask that you avoid telling anyone else’s stories for them unless you have permission. Protect each other.

This stupid shit unites us. I’m not afraid anymore because I’m sick of watching my friends get hurt again and again.

This individual has befriended a known bully and transphobic person. I won’t speak any further on this because it is not my story, but please bear in mind that they chose a TERF over trans friends. And we know what they say about association.

Blindsided victims of this individual are not at fault for this person’s actions.

See something, say something. Terfs and bullies can GET FUCKED.

Share your story.

#whenyouwishuponastar personal #harringrove #fandom discourse #terf #fuck terfs and fuck anyone who befriends them #PROTECT EACH OTHER'S PRIVACY!#genuinely cannot believe I am writing this at my big old age about someone at their big old age #nonsense and fucking insanity

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baldval · 2 months

Text

ART DECO PART 2!₊˚⊹♡

characters: valentino x gn!reader

wc: 1.7k

warnings: cursing, canon!valentino (he doesn't mind vox's bad actions towards other people), insanely angsty.

series masterlist!

You're half awake and disorientated. Valentino got up to find out who was at the door 10 minutes ago, and frankly, you're getting worried.

Against your better judgement, you throw on his shirt from the night before and make your way out of the bedroom.

You enter the living room to be met face to face with Vox.

Shit.

You briefly wonder if you can play it off, fabricate a story, tell him it's not what it looks like!

Apart from, it's exactly what it looks like.

Someone from Vox's assistance team saw you and Val enter his room together after the meeting. And now you're here, in his living room, wearing nothing but his shirt. And your shoes are by the front door. And there's a wine glass abandoned on the counter.

There's no getting out of this one.

Valentino wants to scream, yell at you to go back to his room. He wants to pick you up and throw you out of sight, praying Vox hasn't noticed all the tell tale signs. But it's too late. He has.

"Okay. Uh - what the fuck is going on?"

Vox asks the question while looking between the two of you like some sort of cartoon character doing a double take. It doesn't require a genius to figure it out, but he needs to hear one of you say it out loud.

"Listen, Vox-"

"Vox, don't get mad-"

You both speak at the same time, verbally tripping over each other. You've never actually discussed what you'd do or say if you got found out. You both just always naively assumed it wouldn't happen.

You sit down on the edge of the couch, and look at your boss earnestly.

You had earned his respect with all the years you'd been working for him, creating and animating shows for the Vees.

However, you knew it could all disappear.

It would be a lie to say you didn't see it coming, what was true is that you weren't ready for it.

"Vox, I'm not going to sit here and lie to you. It isn't fair. But you can't get mad when I tell you the truth."

"I'll be the judge of that," he mutters sassily.

"Will you come and sit with me, please? The standing is making me nervous. I feel like I'm on trial."

"You might be. I haven't decided yet."

You can't tell if he's joking. He's certainly not smiling.

Vox moves to sit down next you. Val follows, perching himself on the opposite end to give you space. Close enough if you need him, far enough that it won't upset your boss more.

"Start talking," he commands, still confused.

"It's... well I - we - me and Valentino, we're -"

"Together," Val finishes for you. Vox glares at him, and he decides he'll keep his mouth shut for a while.

"Yeah, we're together," you continue. "We have been for over a year. It isn't just sex, or anything. I'm like- in love with him."

It's weird to finally bear this truth after keeping it a secret for so long. It feels wrong, but also refreshing - like a bitter lemon on a hot day.

Vox is scarily silent.

"You're... kidding, right?" he asks, finally breaking through the quiet.

Your silence is enough answer for you as he looks at you incredulously.

"You're so fuckin' naive." He turns over to Valentino. "How can you sit here and act like this doesn't change anything?"

Val tries to speak, but he continues.

"You lied to me, first off. Both of you. For God knows how long-"

"Vox-"

"Let me fucking finish."

You shrink back into the couch, hoping it would swallow you.

"You both lied to me. You broke my trust... and uh, that fucking hurts, actually. And then there's the business side of things. They work for me, they work for the Vees. And, I don't know if you remember, but you are a Vee. That's a conflict of interest."

Val scoffs at him, but then realises he's deadly serious.

"... A conflict of interest?"

"It's against company policy. How am I going to trust you? How is anyone? Information might get leaked. What if I tell you something, and then you tell them?" He points over to you. "And then they tell whoever friends they have, and they post about it on social media, and all of a sudden nothing is private anymore. I. Can't. Trust. You."

Tears are welling up in your eyes quicker than you can control. You're trying to take deep breaths, begging yourself not to cry in front of Vox.

"You do get this is my life right? I get to choose whoever I date," Val whispers.

"Yeah? Well, it's my life. And they're MY worker. And I get to choose whatever I'll do to them."

A choked sob escapes you, and the floodgates open. Fresh, hot tears sprint down your cheeks, landing in your lap.

Vox doesn't care about your suffering, he just wants to punish Valentino through you.

Val can't stand to sit and watch any longer.

"Okay, Vox, that's enough. This isn't fair."

"What's not fair is that two of people I trust the most both lying to my face for a year. That's what isn't fucking fair."

With that, Vox stands up and strides towards the front door, slamming it behind him as he leaves. The minute he's gone, Valentino is wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

"It's okay, darling," he murmurs, stroking your hair. "He'll come around. We'll be okay. If we stick together, we'll be okay."

His reassurances are only making you cry harder, sobs escaping you uncontrollably. You eventually exhaust yourself, falling into a restless sleep in Val's arms on the couch.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You wake up in bed. You've temporarily forgotten the events of the morning, before it all comes crashing back down around you suddenly. Distantly, you can hear Valentino in the kitchen, talking on the phone. You look around the room, and know what you have to do.

You leave the bedroom with a bag in hand, throwing it onto the ground as you grab your shoes. Val clocks you, and hangs up the phone.

"Can I call you back? Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow."

He runs over to where you're slipping your heels on, precariously balanced against the side of the couch.

"Honey, where are you going?" he questions, panic washing over him at your frantic state. "Wait, have you packed a bag?"

He's trying to catch your eyes, but you keep looking away, desperate to avoid his unrelenting gaze.

"I'm going home."

A pause.

"... This is your home."

You knew he'd say that. It hurts just the same.

"No, Valentino, this is your home. My apartment is across town."

"You haven't been there in months. All your stuff is here. Baby, talk to me. What's going on? Did Vox get in your head?"

"He has a point!" you shout, trying to pick up your bag. Val gets there first and grabs it, flinging it behind him, out of your reach.

"About what? He's just in shock, baby! He's confused and he feels betrayed. You don't owe him fuckin' anything. Not after everything that he has put you through."

"But I love my job, Val. I can't lose everything I've worked so hard to achieve!"

"You love that piece of shit job? Yesterday you literally had to get up at 6 am just to get here and get yelled at for an hour and a half. Look- I love Vox but he's not a good boss. Hell! I don't even care about that, I just can't stand to see him abuse you and treat you like you're close to nothing. You're better off without him and you know it. You're just too attatched to what you have."

Subconsciously, you know he's right. You're trying to convince yourself he isn't.

"You don't get it though."

"Except I do. Do you think I don't know about Vox's methods? I understand that it's what he needs to do to get the job done, but... I just can't stand him treating you like that."

"You heard what he said! He won't trust you anymore. No one will. Besides, I know it's shitty, but my job is important to me. I can't be forgotten. Known only as an old failed artist."

"Trust me, honey, you're the least likely to be named a failure."

"That's not the point! You're not listening to me. I come from the bottom, I've had to fight for respect every fucking day of my life. I'm finally where I deserve to be. I can't throw it all away for... for love!"

Valentino flinches like you've punched him in the gut. He takes a step back and leans against the kitchen island, trying to keep his balance.

"What happened to 'you and me against the world', huh?" he murmurs.

"I think I got too wrapped up in this - in us. I was stupid to think it could work. We both were."

"I wasn't," he replies defiantly. "I knew exactly what I was getting into. I knew it would be really fucking difficult and I loved you anyway."

"I'm not sorry for loving you," you whisper. "I'm sorry for a lot of things, but never for loving you."

"If you meant that, you wouldn't be giving up."

You turn your head around, unable to look at him any longer.

"This isn't giving up. This is... quitting while we're ahead. If we keep going, we'll just end up having a huge, horrible, public breakup," you stop, and take a deep breath. "I think we were always doomed to fail."

Valentino thinks about the diamond ring that sits in a box in the top drawer of his nightstand. Doomed to fail.

You finally look up at him, and all the air leaves your lungs. You've never seen him look so defeated, so vulnerable. You're the cause of this. And you hate yourself for it.

You pad across the kitchen and pick up your bag from where he threw it, before stopping in front of him.

"I don't regret you, Valentino. I never will."

With that, you stride out of the front door, closing it gently behind you. Val is left, cold and empty, in a room that no longer feels like home.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel #valentino hazbin hotel #valentino x reader #valentino hazbin hotel headcanon #cursed cat alastor #hazbin hotel valentino #valentino #the vees #valentino x you #valentino headcanons

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turtletaubwrites · 4 months

Text

Numbers Game ~ Part 1

Thank you @discordantwritings for this request! I've been so excited to write some Cross Guild shenanigans, I hope you enjoy it! Also, this will be part 1 because I did turn it into a whole ass thing, lol. Just a miniseries, I swear!

Pairings: Cross Guild x Fem!Reader (Eventual smut, but not this chapter. Reader is in a relationship with Buggy first, then meets the others in this chapter.)

Word Count: 2863

Ao3 Link

Summary: You left your stable/boring life as an investment banker to have some adventure. Unfortunately, that sweet Warlord of the Sea didn't follow your financial advice, and now you and your clown are at the mercy of his biggest lender and his new business partner.

Rating/Warnings: Eventual Smut, 18+, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Alcohol, Swearing, Angst, Established Relationship, Canon Typical Violence, Manipulation, mention/brief threat of slavery, Humiliation, Blood and Violence, Pet names, Power Imbalance, Crocodile is a villain

A/N: The reader starts out with Buggy, so Crocodile and Mihawk will be enemies to the reader at first. Crocodile in particular is a VILLAIN toward the reader at first, threatening violence and there's a mention of paying off debts by selling Buggy and reader into slavery, as he threatened in the anime. Please do not read this if toxic, threatening relationships are triggering for you. Dynamics will shift after the initial chapters, but he's still a villain and I wrote him that way in this fic. It's very much dark romance style/bad guys need love too/Mafia boss type vibe.

Fuck, my sister was right.

“Hurry it up, Y/N, it’s time to go!”

“But, Captain Buggy,” you matched his near frantic whisper, “Your crew are calling for you. Don’t you need to give them orders?”

“Fine, fine! Just keep packing!”

You barely heard the commands and lies that he spewed from the balcony, your hands shaking as your mistakes blared through your mind.

You’d been so bored. You had a good, stable life. You were great at your job. You’d started at a bank, and soon you were managing investments for wealthy clients who didn’t want to do their own work to stay wealthy.

You were so good with numbers. So good at helping your clients make smart, safe choices.

Yet here you were, about to get killed by the fucking Navy because you’d wanted a little adventure.

The screams started getting louder, and you heard what had to be explosions, luckily not close by. Yet.

Kat told me this clown would get me killed.

Tears burned in your eyes as you pictured your sister’s face, pinched with worry and shock.

“He works for the government now! I’m going to help run his organization, I’ll handle the finances, and his mercenaries will help the Navy out.”

“Are you fucking insane? He’s a Warlord! Not some Navy officer,” Kat almost yelled, face red as she leaned toward you.

“I… He’s different, okay. He’s really sweet,” you mumbled, looking down as your fingers twisted in your lap.

“Oh my fucking gods, Y/N, did you fuck that clown? What has gotten into you?”

You didn’t know what you were grabbing and packing, tears streaming freely now.

“Captain! The warships around the island are getting attacked!”

“Who’s helping us,” Buggy screamed, and the confusion and hope in his voice made you drop everything.

Racing to the balcony, you were just in time to watch two Navy warships go down in flames.

Desperate hope filled you now, and you reached for his hand.

He pulled away as news of who your savior was came closer, shouts of triumph sending chills through you, freezing Buggy in place.

“It’s Crocodile! He really does work for Chairman Buggy! We’re saved!”

Crocodile. Crocodile!

All those berries, drained away with Buggy’s antics. All those berries that you were technically supposed to be in charge of.

All of it was Crocodile’s.

“Buggy, Buggy, please. Where can we hide?”

He turned at your hoarse whisper, his mouth hanging wide in shock.

“Buggy!”

“We don’t have the money to pay him. He’s gonna kill me!”

His strained voice grated your nerves as you pulled on his hand, dragging him away from the balcony, and the adoring eyes of his henchmen.

He was near babbling as you pulled him along, searching for anywhere to hide.

A frustrated sob left your throat as you remembered what you’d been feeling recently, even with his idiotic spending, and refusal to listen to your words of reason.

I thought I was falling for him.

But the sight of him falling apart now, not only failing to protect you, but even himself, was making you regret every single moment.

Your heart felt raw, burning more with each yank on his hand, especially since his hand was only connected to that fucking pouch he likes to wear.

Then that hand was torn away from yours, Buggy’s yelp making you jump.

Buggy went flying over your head, sliding down the hallway with a grunt.

Before you could turn around, you were encased in someone's shadow. You shook as you felt the heat of a body, inches from you. The first thing you saw was the glinting gold of a massive hook, then you had to crane your neck.

Towering above you was a man in lavish clothes, a purple vest with an orange scarf, and a fur coat. He seemed to be ignoring you, his cigar dangerously close to dropping ash onto your hair.

You felt like prey, like a rabbit. Shivering in fear, just waiting for the wolf to walk away or devour you.

“I know you,” he directed at Buggy, his deep voice rumbling through you. “I thought you’d try to flee without paying me back.”

I’m so close to him. How can he tell I’m so weak? If I had a weapon I could try to hurt him.

As if he could read your thoughts, Crocodile looked down at you, tapping his cigar off to the side before the ashes fell.

“I don’t know you.”

Your mouth gaped open as you stared into his cold, scarred face.

“Well, you see, Crocodile,” Buggy started bullshitting, moving closer. “Buggy’s Delivery Service may look like it’s doing well, but we’ve, uh… We’ve lost a lot of our big earners, and…”

Buggy trailed on, spouting excuses that made you want to scream at him, until you felt his hand grip the back of your shirt.

He slowly pulled you backward, away from Crocodile. New tears fell as your pathetic clown tried to shift his body in front of yours, shielding you.

He was too late.

The sting of cold metal wrapped around your neck as Crocodile’s hook captured you, like the prey you were.

He yanked you up, until your toes were barely scraping along the ground as he looked you over.

“If you can’t pay, clown, we can sell you into slavery. I wonder how much your woman is worth.”

“Come on, Crocodile,” Buggy drawled, inching closer again. “Don’t say such horrible things! We broke out of Impel Down together, didn’t we?”

“I lent you money for that sake,” he countered calmly, before looming over Buggy with even more danger edging his voice. “But if you can’t pay, you’ll have to take full responsibility.”

“Responsibility,” Buggy choked out, eyes flicking to you when you gasped from Crocodile's movements.

“I’m gonna found a new company, so I need money now.”

You could see the frantic wheels spinning in Buggy’s head before he puffed himself up, making his body look huge as he spread his limbs out in the red fabric.

“Then, let me help you with that business! This former Warlord of the Sea will serve under you. I’ll work off my debt! We have great resources!”

You brought your hands up to hold onto the hook as Crocodile lifted you even higher. You couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose, or if he had just forgotten that he was holding you there. You watched Buggy try to sell the plan, try to save you both.

“We have advertising design, printing, transportation, and the finest financial adviser on the seas.”

Buggy emphasized the last with jazz hands shaking wildly in your direction, and you cringed.

Crocodile hummed, setting you on the ground in front of him, but still tugging on your neck with that cold metal as he looked you over. You let out a breath when he released your neck, but then the sharp point of the hook traced teasingly on your cheek, stopping your breath entirely.

“W-Wait, come on, Croc. We’re pals! You don’t need to–”

“If you’re in charge of the finances,” Crocodile breathed down on you, ignoring Buggy’s pleas, “then it’s your fault that all my money is gone, isn’t it?”

You started to shake your head, but the cold prick of metal held you frozen.

“No, it wasn’t her fault,” Buggy almost yelled, voice missing its chummy tone now. “Please, we didn’t– I didn’t follow her advice. Tell him baby, you’ve got all those plans you made, right? The investments?”

Your eyes clenched shut, a wave of tears cascading down as he defended you.

“Is that true, girl? Did you try to keep this idiot from wasting all my money?”

His breath was hot on your face as he leaned over you. Your lip quivered as you waited for him to open his jaws, and swallow you whole.

“Tell me.”

“I… I created a plan to manage those funds, using much of them to invest and create reciprocal income for the organization.”

His eyes burned into you, silently demanding more.

“Unfortunately, I was not able to go forward with those plans,” you said weakly, eyes looking down, seeking freedom from his glare.

“I wonder why that could be, hmm?”

He brought his hand to your face now, huge fingers gripping your chin to force your eyes back to his.

“Tell me why all of my money is gone. You are the financial advisor, aren’t you? Should I bleed the berries out of you?”

“No, I’m sorry,” you stuttered, eyes fluttering down again until his grip on your face became painful.

“It’s okay, baby,” you heard whispered behind you.

“Ca-Captain Buggy did not follow the financial plans that I laid out for him, or my recommendations to adjust spending when funds became low.”

Crocodile’s lip twitched up, and he released you, making you stumble.

He reached for Buggy, hitting him again until he slid across the floor.

“No, please!”

“Why are you crying for this potato sack? He nearly got you killed.”

The menacing man sighed as you failed to speak, then grabbed Buggy by the hair.

“Don’t worry, we’re not killing him yet. Go get your paperwork, I wanna see if you really are a numbers girl.”

Shame flooded you as you nodded, doing nothing as Buggy was dragged away like trash.

There’s nothing I can do. Numbers, money, that’s all I’m good at.

Taking a deep breath, you reminded yourself that you are really good at that. And maybe that skill could help you get out of here alive.

Maybe I can help Buggy after all.

That sliver of hope vanished when you walked through the door, your briefcase in hand.

Off to the side you saw Buggy’s officers, eating and laughing happily, as if nothing had happened.

As if their Captain’s head wasn’t dangling from Crocodile's hand, bruised and bloodied while that hook kept shoving against his skin.

Crocodile was seated on the plush, green couch, using Buggy’s limp body as a foot rest. He held Buggy’s head over the middle of the couch, between him and another man.

The other man’s cold, amber eyes felt like blades through your skin as you froze in the doorway. You recognized him, though you’d hoped you’d never meet the swordsman in person.

Dracule Mihawk. What the fuck has my life turned into?

Buggy coughed, spitting out a piece of paper. That stupid fucking flyer his men had made.

They hadn’t even waited for approval before spending the money on printing and distributing it. You’d wanted to strangle every fucking dumbass that touched it when you saw the bill.

“The word ‘humiliation’ isn’t enough to express how I feel,” Crocodile growled, as Buggy apologized for the Cross Guild poster, showing Buggy as their leader.

“As much as I’d like to kill him,” Mihawk mused, his voice filled with calm disdain, “it’s not a bad idea to have him as our figurehead. I would rather live peacefully than become an Emperor of the Sea.”

He stood gracefully, heading to the counter to pour himself a glass of wine. He turned to look back, his head tilted like an animal watching for prey.

“Let him take the heat, and we can get rid of him whenever we want.”

“You’re right,” Crocodile laughed, shoving his hook into Buggy’s mouth.

You let out a choked gasp, grateful that they weren't going to kill him now, but feeling the looming threat that the future held.

And there were Galdino, Alvida, and even Mohji and Cabaji, ignoring his pain, laughing and stuffing their faces. Their betrayal made you ache for Buggy.

Until you remembered the danger you were still in.

I’m betraying him too. I’m going to work for these men. I’m going to stay alive.

“Who is this,” Mihawk drawled as he took his seat again.

“Uh, I–”

“This might be our numbers girl. If she proves herself,” Crocodile threatened, dropping Buggy’s head onto the floor behind the couch, before patting the cushion beside him.

“Come here, girl. Show us how useful you can be.”

With wide eyes, you walked toward them, avoiding stepping on Buggy’s body as you sat between the two terrifying men.

Crocodile’s arm rested on the back of the couch behind you, so you sat slightly forward, avoiding his touch.

Mihawk tilted toward you, and you found yourself staring at the beautifully embroidered details of his black and gold coat, avoiding looking at his bare chest and abs between the rich fabric.

He cleared his throat, making you jolt, before bringing your shaky fingers to unlatch the briefcase. You struggled, gasping when Mihawk reached over your lap to open it for you.

“Gods, Galdino, will you bring this girl a drink," Crocodile huffed, and you could feel his eyes on you. "Where the fuck did the clown pick up such a skittish little thing, huh?”

You focused on your paperwork, pulling out some of the plans you’d initially brought to help manage the funding Crocodile had provided.

Mihawk took them gingerly from your hands as Galdino passed you a glass of wine. You were sure that he must be pissed at being ordered to serve you like a waiter.

You chugged the whole glass of wine, closing your eyes while Crocodile chuckled, and Mihawk reviewed your work.

“It’s well done,” he praised, handing it to his partner. “These skills will be helpful with getting this operation running.”

“As long as the idiots in charge actually listen, of course” Crocodile joked, flipping through the pages.

He tossed the papers aside, motioning for Galdino to fill your glass again.

“Sorry about all of that in the hallway. You work for us now.”

“Okay,” you breathed out, barely audible.

The back of his hook touched your face, the smooth metal guiding you to look at him.

He studied you for a moment, and your brain tried to make sense of him, of what was happening. His black hair was slicked back, a few stray strands falling over his forehead. The long scar across the middle of his face made your brain hurt. You couldn’t imagine what kind of wound that must have been.

His deep set eyes were judging you, and you fought every instinct to hold his gaze instead of running.

Finally, he let out a low laugh.

“When I find something of value, I protect it. Do your job well, and you’ll be taken care of. Better than with this clown, that’s for sure.”

You winced as his foot dug into Buggy’s body, eliciting a moan from the man who’d brought you here.

Chewing the inside of your lip, you sipped on your second drink as they discussed plans to announce the lie that Buggy really is the leader.

They don’t need me here. I’ll just go to my room.

Each time you almost stood, or asked to be excused, your brain went blank. You just sat there, between these two ex Warlords, these two men who radiated power. The night went on, until all of Buggy’s betrayers trickled out.

“Wait.”

Crocodile’s deep voice commanded as you stood to follow Alvida and Galdino out, desperate to not be alone with these men. But here you were.

“What’s your name? Unless you want us to call you Numbers Girl.”

You settled on the couch, still sitting away from the back to keep from leaning against Crocodile’s arm.

“It’s Y/N.”

“I am curious, Y/N,” Mihawk spoke up, swirling his wine in its glass. “How such an intelligent and attractive woman ended up with this pathetic clown.”

“Please, leave her alone,” Buggy’s weak voice creaked up from behind the couch.

“It’s just curiosity,” Mihawk continued, and you couldn’t help meeting his golden gaze, his large hat tilting down toward you.

“Come, Y/N,” Crocodile joined in, “I could use a laugh. How did you end up with Buggy?”

“We… We met at a bar.”

They stared, and your skin practically crawled at the pressure for more.

“I’m an– I was an investment banker. I was having a drink after work, and overheard Buggy discussing his new organization. I offered my services.”

You shifted your head slightly to look back and forth at them, and their confused faces almost made you laugh. Almost.

“Why,” Crocodile asked, his deep voice almost dangerous as he demanded an explanation. Mihawk just cleared his throat, and took another sip.

You wanted to comfort Buggy. To remind him that you’d been drawn to him. That he was funny, and sweet, and that your time together that night was what made you want to join him.

But you knew the real reason you chose to go with Buggy, and you knew they’d only punish you both if you talked about being with him. So you told the truth.

“I was bored.”

It felt like the air around you shifted. The weight of their stares, and the sound of their low laughter made your skin flush with heat.

They both leaned forward, surrounding you as they brought their glasses to tap against yours.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Crocodile’s husky voice rumbled beside you. “You won’t be bored with us.”

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: I hope you enjoyed this first chapter! It hurt beating up my Buggy boy like this, but I made it through, lol

Part 2

#cross guild x reader #buggy x reader #mihawk x reader #crocodile x reader #reader Insert #fem!reader #one piece x reader #fic requests #inbox #x reader #turtletaub fics #eventual smut #mine #one piece fanfic #buggy fanfiction #sir crocodile x reader #dracule mihawk x reader

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wilteddreamsofbaldursgate · 1 month

Text

Slow Dancing in Circles

Ascended Astarion || Astarion x f!Tav || ao3 || Masterlist

Rating: M , +18 Word Count: +1.4k Warnings: Ascended Astarion, abuse, mentions of sex (dub-con?, no description of sex act), mentions of death, adult themes.

And so it’s just you and him going through the same old motions, following a routine of his design—you always do, these days. Or decades. Centuries? Who knows? Not that it matters, no. You’ve been doing this for a very long time. Agreeing. Smiling. Fighting. Fucking. Dancing. Crying. Blood. So much blood. Even when this ballroom is long dead, the Gate is still bleeding red—for you, he says. Always for you.

a/n: said I wouldn't do AA content but I talk a lot, apparently. Written in a frenzy. Another not so edited work, because I'm playing around with my writing lately and also try to chill a little. And it's 3am, make of that information what you will.

The Vampire Lord’s hand is clasping yours tightly as you dance around his empty ballroom. There’s no music accompanying you tonight—there was once, but not anymore. You can’t say when it crept in exactly, the heavy silence in this grand room. You only know that the music faded gradually, once upon a time, so slowly that you only noticed its absence when it had long fallen silent. Not that it matters, now.

The Lord of the house and you—his consort, his bride, his little love—are the only guests this room has seen in years, but you still know the steps of this dance by your cold, undead heart. You’ve gone through these same motions thousands of times before, and still, the Vampire Lord insists on guiding you through them. It’s not that he fears you’ll forget your place in time—you can’t, because he seldom wastes an opportunity reminding you.

Follow my lead, little love, he purrs into your ear. It’s not like you could do otherwise.

And so it’s just you and him dancing through a withering ballroom, old grandeur slowly crumbling under years of silence and moonlit dust. One step forward, two steps back. Left. Right. Left. Left. Spin. Back. Back. Forward, please? Back. Left. No, pet, start again. There’s no end to this dance, unless the Vampire Lord wishes so, and he never does.

You’re hungry, little love.

Are you? You must be, because he is. The Vampire Lord is insatiable. And so you must be, too. It’s just another step of this dance. Drinking. Sucking. Waiting. Killing. Damning. Fucking. Blood. So much blood. Love…? Once, maybe. You can’t be sure. Not anymore. Not since your fangs have grown dull. Not since you’re dancing in empty rooms.

There is no need for you to hunt, let alone starve—not when the Vampire Lord is providing for your every need. Has he ever not done that? No, you haven’t known a night of hunger in his house. How very kind. What would you do without him?

You should be grateful, little love.

He’s right. There’s no need for you to prowl dark alleys. No drunks, no whores, no rats to taint your pretty mouth with. Only the very best for you, pet. So the Vampire Lord brings you a handsome virgin when you’ve been good, and you always are for him. Gifts you an elf that has seen so many centuries, they’re carved into their beautiful leathery skin. Lies down a girl before you whose belly is so swollen with child that you can’t tell one heartbeat from the other. Their blood is calling to your instincts. You urge to pierce their skin with your fangs, but—

We ask before we bite, little love.

Yes. May you have some blood, please? Of course, pet, of course! A feast just for you! Who else would it be for? Who else would matter as much as you do?

Come, eat right up, little love!

The moment your food arrives in your chambers it’s pale-faced and stupid with mortal agony. You don’t particularly like that. Their blood has an odd taste to it when the servants had to wash piss and shit off their fear-paralysed bodies right before serving them to you. They’re still alive but stink of death; it’s distasteful. Pitiful. You hate the way they look at you. But you don’t tell the Vampire Lord that. It would be ungrateful, wouldn’t it?

I said eat, little love.

And doesn’t he feed you so lovingly, even when you reject his generosity at first? You don’t even need to use your own fangs to rip out their throats, he’s angry enough to do it for you. All you need to do is drink. Consume. Live. Please, even if you don’t want to. Listen to skin ripping and bone breaking. Screams fading into music fading into silence in the once-grand ballroom. Life fading to dust.

The Vampire Lord knows you prefer the ones that are already half-drained of life when they’re brought to you—he knows everything about you. You like them better because they don’t move. They don’t scream. They don’t go through the same motions over and over and over again. All they need to do is die. They’re as good as gone when the Vampire Lord takes the last of their blood in his mouth, pulls you into a heady kiss. They don’t know that their essence drains from his mouth into yours, down your throat, and all you need to see are glassy eyes when the hunger you haven’t even felt has finally been sated.

Good girl, little love, you’re so very good for me.

You wish you had been more like them, once upon a time, already gone instead of being consumed by fear. Stupid with love. Giving what wasn’t yours to give. Back then—when was it; does it even matter?—when your hands hadn’t yet been drenched in the blood of countless souls. Back then, when all you wanted was to protect the man you…No, it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. Even thinking like that is very bad of you. And yet, the Vampire Lord already knows of your wish. He knows it so well that you’ll never find the words to tell him of it yourself. He doesn’t want to hear of your wish, so silence remains. And it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.

I need you, little love.

The Vampire Lord fucks you the same way he dances with you—slow, but firmly. Holding you as close as your bodies allow, lest you vanish into one of the many empty rooms in this grand eroding house. That’s when you love him most. This body inside you is the only thing that still feels like him—the man you loved, once upon a time. Always. What was his name again? He had a silly laugh, you remember, and he was so very sad. Scared. He loved you so much.

Nothing feels as good as you do, little love.

The Vampire Lord plunging into you isn’t scared, nor is he very sad. He’s long over such mortal whims. He’s frantic, though, most of the time. He thinks he’s hiding it, but you went through the steps of this dance so many times that you can glimpse past the mask. He loves you still—his consort, his little love, his prisoner.

Not that it matters, because it’s just him and a shadow of yourself dancing in a crowded ballroom at all times. Seven thousand damned souls are tugging at your skirts, you can feel their grasp as much as you can feel the Vampire Lord clasping your wrist, his nails digging into your skin. They’re one and the same, death and him.

Follow my lead, little love. Follow my lead.

The Vampire Lord drags you over ash and bones and blood, so much blood that it makes your head spin. He’s a puppet master pulling the strings of all that’s dead and he won’t ever let go of you—you can tell by the smile on his face that doesn’t reach his all-seeing eyes. It never does.

You want to hurt him. He knows.

What is it, little love?

You hate him. That man who stole your lover, once upon a time. No, you have to admit that’s not quite right. You were there, too, after all. You’d given him the dagger and then held down your lover as the Vampire Lord stripped himself of the man he was before. You two killed him so very thoroughly, except for his body there is nothing left, now.

“I love you,” is all you can say. They’re not your words, not anymore.

I know, little love, you always will.

Sunlight is breaking through dusty old curtains. The Vampire Lord spins you dangerously close to the soaring heat reaching for you. Why doesn’t he just let this house go up in flames? It would be no trouble. You always burned so bright, once upon a time. It would take but a moment.

But burning isn’t part of this dance. Left. Death. Back. Hatred. Back. Eternity. Spin. Tears. Right. His name started with an A. Right. Aeterna amantes. Forward, please? Lovers forever. No, pet, start again. There is little love left, but, as you’re slow dancing in circles through this tomb, you know that eternity has only just begun.

#astarion #ascended astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x you #fem!tav #astarion x reader #hurt/angst #fanfic #baldur's gate fanfiction #emicha writes #wilteddreamsbg3 #AA #me: I don’t really see myself writing AA content #me at 3am on a lonely Saturday night: well

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