#law fluf

[gojo-mochi]

Hey Softy!💙 For your Small Halloween Event: I want to give Law a treat. He deserves it. 🍬🍙🍬 Thank you for this event!

OMG HIIIIII <3

I hope you enjoy the treat!!!

“But Captain!”

“It’s Halloween!”

“Let’s go Trick and Treating!”

“First off, It’s Trick or Treat, not ‘and’. Secondly, it's just another day to me, and thirdly, no, I’m not going out today, there’s way too much work for me to do.” Law shooed off the three as he finished his last word. Focusing back on his paperwork, not leaving room for any argument. Penguin, Bepo, and Shachi all groaned in unison. Shuffling out of Law’s office with their head hanging low. You ran into them as they were leaving to go on the small island that the crew practically had to beg Law to stop at so that people could go have some holiday fun. 

“Y/N! Happy Halloween!”

The trio all bounced up to you, sporting their own handmade costume. Bepo dressed as a ‘boring human’, wearing a business suit with a suitcase and a paper mask depicting a bald man face. Penguin went as a vampire in a black/white theme coloring, and instead of a bat perched on his shoulder, he sewed on a small emperor penguin plush on it. Lastly, Shachi was wearing a krill onesie, the black beady eyes on top staring deep in your soul. 

You giggled at them, as they complained about Law and how he didn’t want to go trick and treating with them. They asked if you wanted to come but you denied as well; “Someone has to go look after Mr.Grumpy Pants.” You said, they gave you an understanding look and went off, leaving you alone. You walk up to the door of Law’s office, tugging at your cape behind you. You've been working on this Sora, Warrior of the Sea, cosplay for months now. Penguin helped with the sewing and a lot of the details, you were grateful for your crew. Now, if only Law could see and feel how his crew also loved him.

But that's why you were here, were you not? Steeling your resolve, you ventured into the cold and dreary den that was Law’s office. Paperwork strewn about, the light dimly lit up above, the air in here seemingly colder than it was in the hallway. Law didn’t even spare you a glance as you walked in, thinking that you were the trouble trio coming back to try to drag him out again. Even clearing your throat didn’t get his attention, so you mustered up some courage and pushed down any embarrassment you had and struck a pose. 

“Greeting Civilian! It is I! Sora! Warrior of the Sea!” 

You held the pose as you shouted out the lines. Silence, nothing said, the scribbling of pen on paper stopped and you could cut the tension with a knife. You swear you were about to combust from embarrassment until Law’s voice finally rang out in the quiet; “His right hand is the one on his hip, not the left one.” He was correcting your posture?! You gave him a deadpan look, Law surrendered, a small smile on his lips as he stared at you. His voice came out softer this time; “Did you really wear that for me?” 

From where you were standing you could see the eyebags and the way his shoulder droops slightly, Law was working so hard to keep everything in check for his crew. You walk over to him, he turns his chair to you as you saunter up, arms outstretched as you gently climb into his lap. Resting his head on your chest, your hand caressing his dark locks. Law rests his eyes, enjoying your warmth and taking in your scent, his shoulders letting go of some tension. “Why didn’t you go with the others? Shouldn’t Sora be out there saving some people right now?” He mumbled against your neck as he shifted his head up.

You snorted at his comment; “I think you’re the one that needs the most saving here…” Law tilts his head back to look at you directly. “Oh yeah, and how do you plan on saving me…” His golden eyes flicker down to your lips, a passion igniting in them. You giggled, reaching in your pocket for a chocolate, unwrapping it and popping it in your mouth, holding it in place. “Well, I can start by distracting you from all this work and doing something more fun and tasty..” You meld your lips with his, letting his tongue invade your mouth easily, the chocolate fastly melting in the fiery tango that soon happened. Soft pants of moan filled the quiet office now, you cup Law’s cheek as you two parts ways to catch air. “I have a bunch more candies in my pocket that I need help ‘eating’, so, I hope you’re ready for a long night.” Law chuckled as he nipped at your bottom lips, “Anything for my favorite hero.”

[mariocki]

New Scotland Yard: And When You're Wrong (1.13, LWT, 1972)

"You sent for me."

"I sent for you four days ago."

"I didn't get the message till yesterday."

"Right, you can put your diary down. Where have you been?"

"Busy."

"Doing what?"

"You know what I'm doing."

"I know what you're supposed to be doing, nobody seems to know what you're actually doing."

"You'll have my report when it's all wrapped up."

"I'll have it now. Whatever you were playing at before, you're now a witness in a murder case."

[lupismaris]

Times like this I wonder why I didn't become a therapist

[lunarforrest]

STOOOOP NO WAY 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 wow thank you SO much for the follow back, your art is so fucking cute dude 😭😭😭😭 thank you sm omg wow 😭😭😭 ok ily byyeeee 💖💖💖💖✨️✨️✨️

hehehe, when folks least expect it I appear like a cryptid in their notes!!>:3c i should really be the one thanking you for your lovely comments!! they honestly made my morning and i've been buzzing about em all day since! thank you so much!! :D

[charliemwrites]

Hybrid AU with Ragdoll!Reader and Siberian-mix!Konig

Reader is a rescued cat hybrid that Laswell's sister in law has been taking care of for the last 3 months. When she meets this little ragdoll kitty, so bright and friendly and curious, she immediately thinks of the 141. Hybrids have a lot uses in the government. Sometimes combative, sometimes therapeutic. The 141 could use a companion animal, given the close call Soap recently had and the general trauma the whole squad has.

With the kitty's permission and cooperation, they assess her as a possible therapy placement. She tests so well and so high that Laswell (again, with consent) immediately starts paperwork to place her with the 141 before even bringing it up to Price.

He's a bit skeptical at first. Even without being a combat hybrid, their jobs are high stress, very dangerous, and not very stable. But Laswell convinces him to at least meet Ragdoll.

They do introductions at the sister-in-law's house, where the kitty will be most comfortable. Ragdoll takes one sniff of him and starts purring like a little engine. He's visibly surprised, and Laswell can barely hold back her grin as the kitty climbs into his lap. They spend the rest of the afternoon discussing arrangements while his new hybrid naps because obviously he can't say no now.

Price becomes her primary handler. They move her to his barrack and give her a week to settle in, but she's not a skittish thing by any means. Wants to follow him everywhere, curls up in his bed, meows sadly at the door when he leaves her alone. It becomes clear very quickly that the usual introduction manuals are too slow for her.

Kitty meets Kyle next. Again, instant purrs. She presses her cheek into his palms, then wriggles her way closer to brush up against his cheek. Lets out a little "mrrp!" when he stutters out a pleasantly surprised, "hello there." She nibbles at the brim of his hat and grins when he gently redirects her, chirping at this fun new friend.

Two for two, Price and Kyle decide to introduce her to Simon and Johnny. They let her explore the common room first, get comfortable, and then call the other two in. Kitty watches from behind Price as Simon and Johnny enter.

Johnny is a dog hybrid with Simon as his primary handler. Price has faith that his sergeant will behave well with the new kitty, but he's not sure of what her reaction will be. Johnny's obviously, visibly excited, tail wagging, but Simon gets him to sit and wait while she makes the first move.

It takes absolutely no time at all for her to pad out from behind Price and approach. Simon goes first, offering a hand. But she barely even sniffs him before cuddling up to him, pawing curiously at his mask. He lets her, clicking his tongue when she dislodges it a bit, but then he gently nudges her towards Johnny.

His ears are perked forwards, tail still swishing. Kitty's ears are twitching, eyes big and curious. But her tail is up and curved curiously, not even a little fluffed. She gets in real close to his face, sniffs, then bumps her forehead against his chin. Which is when he loses patience and licks a big stripe up her cheek. She mews indignantly, ears going airplane mode, but thankfully doesn't swat at him.

It literally couldn't go better. She's a perfect fit.

Over the next few months she settles in with them happily, an absolute dream of a hybrid. Not very verbal, at least through human speech, but perfectly communicative and incredibly friendly.

She chirps whenever one of the 141 enters a room, has a different tone for each of them. Purrs if one of them so much as looks at her, all slow blinks and little smiles. Chitters when she sees them running outside through the windows.

Even grooming is relatively easy. She lets them brush out her floofy tail without much fuss, only trying to retreat if they catch a tangle. Readily gives up her hands to trim her claws. Even opens her mouth for them to brush off her fangs after raw meals.

She curls up with Simon on bad days, warm and purring, breathing little puffs of air against his collarbone. Lounges with Kyle after hard missions, nuzzling against him while he pets her soft ears. She spends hours upon hours in Price's office, curled up on his lap while he does paperwork or talks over the phone, kneading biscuits into his stomach.

Her friendship with Johnny is maybe the most surprising. They play wrestle just about every night, rolling around on the rough carpets in the common room and nipping at each others ears. She'll pounce on him, little teeth flashing, but almost always get bodied by his larger stature. The others will let them play until one of them - usually Johnny - gets too excited and makes the other yelp. At that point, Price or Simon will usually scoop one of the hybrids up and tsk at them for getting rough.

She's the 141's precious kitty, sweet and friendly and outgoing. The whole base knows her, though she's never far from one of her boys. And they know what it means if Ragdoll doesn't like someone.

It's rare, which is why it raises neon red flags. The first time is a new recruit that reaches to pet her without introducing himself first. She twists around on him, but usually even that would be recoverable. Except when he keeps trying to touch her, she gets a whiff of him and hisses, scrambling away.

The guy doesn't last long.

It happens again a few weeks later with a nurse meant to be giving her checkup. She gets low to the table, tail poofing up, and growls low in her throat. When the nurse rolls her eyes and tells Price to just hold his hybrid still so they can get things over with, he knows instantly that his little ragdoll was right to react that way.

With that in mind, it's no surprise that no one trusts Philip Graves when he visits their base and she takes an instant dislike to him. He introduces himself correctly, but she still hard reverses away from him, nose scrunched up. Ears back, tail fluffing up, she slips behind Price and glares from around his arm.

Problem is, Graves is used to dog hybrids. He's great with them. Kitties... not so much, even with a manual. Ends his week at the base with a couple of proper bite marks and an itchy scratch on his hand.

Given her reaction, Simon and Johnny aren't too shocked when he betrays them in Las Almas.

When a team from KorTac is scheduled for a joint assignment, the 141 is bracing for a similar reaction. Especially because they have their own cat hybrid - some big mixed breed.

Kyle even suggests keeping Ragdoll inside for initial introductions on the tarmac, but they all know that's not actually viable. Their kitty wouldn't talk to them for the rest of the day if they left her out like that.

So Price double checks that her little bell-collar is on and brings her out to meet the KorTac team.

Their cat hybrid is even bigger than expected - no wonder he's a combat placement despite being a domestic breed. He keeps his face hidden behind a big black hood with cutouts for his ears, fluffy tail slightly tangled-looking.

Price hasn't even finished introductions with the KorTac team when she makes a rolling little chur noise, bright and curious. The bigger hybrid zeros in on her instantly, ears flicking. She pads out from behind the captain and slips away before he can catch her. Any calls for her to come back are fully ignored.

She trots right up to the Austrian and mrrps again, pausing mid-step, waiting for a response. The other hybrid doesn't respond - at least he doesn't seem to.

"Sorry, kitten, but he doesn't really do the cat noises," Declan tries to tell her. But he's also ignored, and no sooner has he spoken than she's getting into the other cat's space, continuously making little "brr" noises.

And then to everyone's shock, he's bending down to greet her in return, nuzzling her cheek and forehead through the hood. She starts to purr, pressing up close, tail swishing lazily. A noise erupts from him, deep and rough, rattling in his chest. Johnny jumps and snatches at her shirt, dragging her back to the safety of their team.

She mewls sadly, arms extended to reach for him.

"He's growling, Doll," Johnny corrects, arms curling around her middle. For the first time ever she starts to wriggle. "He's too big for you to mess with."

"I... wasn't growling," the Austrian pipes up. "I apologizes if I caused alarm."

Johnny shoots him an incredulous look.

"Then what was that?" Kyle asks, confused.

"I don't... often purr."

Price takes one look at their still-wiggly kitty and the Austrian leaning towards her, as if wanting to follow, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Shit."

[k0yaz]

Toots ik you got a whole lot of requests but hear me out 🧏🏻‍♀️

Jealous Arlecchino oneshot with smut or suggestive ending🧎🏻‍♀️

Like her and her hot af wife (reader) going on a lil mission in a different nation and have to continuously speak with a woman who the Fatui has connections with to help them

And reader and said woman are getting along TOO good and while reader is thinking this is some cute girls-bonding-time the woman is literally drooling over her and trying to keep her away from Arlecchino

Arlecchino notices ofc 🤗

The rest is up to you, but please no degradation or like “you were enjoying her attention” type thing in the smut/suggestive part <3

vexations.

Pairings: arlecchino x fem!reader

CW: nsfw, female reader, afab reader, jealousy, fatui member reader (rank not specified), weird lady get tf away, uh moew, the sigma inside me is yearning for deck, lowkey the no degration part gave me an idea, strap on use, praise, small bit of marking, not proofread.

A/N: GIRL OMG lowkey I love that you kinda said no degradation or the attention relishing thing bc honestly I don’t like that kinda stuff either as u can see from like a lot of my work I avoid humiliation and stuffs I like fluffy sex SO YOURE SO REAL FOR THAT BC IT KINDA FEELS WEIRD YK anyway hope u like this yayayay 🕯️

“Arle hurry up! The negotiator won’t wait forever.”

A soft nudge brushed along the blade of your shoulder as you tilted your head over, noticing your wife leaning at your side upon catching up from behind you. Arlecchino breathed out a quiet hum in response, the crisp winds of the howling sky assaulting your skin in a cold fury. Usually, the weather in Fontaine wasn’t overtly cold as it was now, typically balanced between being fairly warm yet decently cool.

Usually, your time with your dear wife was cut short from the barrage of missions piled up one after another, shrouding her schedule immensely. Mission after mission led to Arlecchino trudging out of the house with her infamous fluffed harbinger coat hung loosely over her shoulders, deep eyes looking back to the opening in annoyance upon being unable to spend more time with you. She dreaded it. The prospect of leaving you all alone so early in the morning scrambling along the fluffed sheets for her touch, only to wake to an empty edge in disappointment.

Although you were in fact slotted in a position within the ranks of the Fatui, you never found yourself venturing out on an array of missions like Arlecchino was. Preferring to keep to yourself as you weren’t exactly the brightest when it came to negotiations. Each day, you found yourself lounged on the couch of your shared home, cheek squished against the flat of your palm in anticipation for the door to creak open to reveal your beloved herself. You could only sigh as the clock hand flicked over agonizingly slow, your eyes lowered as your muscles tensed to await her arrival.

However, things were quite different when it came to the Tsaritsa’s request for negotiations in Fontaine’s watchful eye of justice, as it drew caution to Arlecchino having to go alone. It was quite clear on how oddly strict and valued the Nation of Justice’s view on lawful order was, posing a threat to her if she were to even slip up in the slightest manner. Not to mention, the Fatui were in fact highly fixated on and monitored especially in the nation, meaning every waking step she took in the streets would be monitored carefully one way or another. Of course, as the wonderful spouse you were, you had decided to take up to mission alongside Arlecchino, stunning even the Tsaritsa herself at your assertion.

Arlecchino’s eyes traced the fluffed pale clouds heaped along the clear sky, gaze lowering to the heavy stone gate solidly rooted into Fontaine’s earth. The two of you continued to approach the domed gate to one of the nation’s renowned cities, bustling crowds rushing through every corner in a split second once you both step foot through the gate. You found yourself clinging to Arlecchino’s arm at the swarms of people closing in, fingers subtly squeezing the fabric in mild discomfort.

It wasn’t long before she took notice of your visibly cramped form and furrowed brows as you grasped her arm for support, her arm circling your waist closely as a response to the gesture. Pushing past the crowd, you both ended up before a fine establishment resembling a hotel towering above you in an uncountable height of stories above. You pulled out a slip of paper from your jacket pocket swiftly, hand scrambling in the heaps of fluff before letting out a triumphant sigh upon finding it. Carefully, you unfolded the tattered paper, examining the building and the address before shoving it back and nodding to Arlecchino in affirmation.

A hollow gold light spanning across the hotel greeted you upon entering, bouncing off the gold handles before the front desk. Whatever address you had received, the negotiator sure was quite lavish in her tastes. Faint clicks of heels reverberated in your ears, the sound drawing closer with each tap against the floor. An uneasy feeling rocked within you as you could hear them, a sense of deception circling the atmosphere. You only pressed your shoulder to your wife’s to ease yourself, attempting to remain professional upon the negotiator’s arrival.

The woman’s eyes squinted down at you, clearly observing every minute detail that painted your complexion from head to toe, hand rested on her hip in a gust of silence swallowing the air. Blinking in surprise upon her hand stretching out toward you, her expression was strangely amiable, gaze lit up as she seemed ecstatic to meet you. “Ah, hello! It would be a pleasure to negotiate with you!”

You mindlessly shook her hand, puzzled at the sudden shift in demeanor from the woman as she grasped your hand. She breathed out a sigh as she pulled her hand away, huffing in response to compose herself before turning to Arlecchino. Her expression before Arlecchino quickly grew stern, voice dropping to one rather cold and unenthusiastic as they silently shook hands. The interaction alone only made your stomach twist in uncertainty, the sparking contrast in behavior she showed between you two clearly throwing you off.

“I suppose that you are in fact the renowned negotiator with such a high reputation among the Fatui?” Arlecchino inquired, voice low. You could pick up on the fact in no time that she sensed something off about this woman. She only breathed out an unsatisfactory hum in response and nodded, gaze darting back to you in seconds as her face lit up. Within seconds, you couldn’t help but stiffen when her pointer finger traced the bottom of your jawline, experimentally running it along your skin.

Rather amused at your confused look, she only smiled once more, pursing her lips together as she pulled away. Arlecchino’s gaze only grew dark as she observed her movements against you, mind stinging with displeasure at the diplomat’s unusual proximity toward you. She could only shake off that numbing annoyance elusively, looking away from the sight of someone else getting handsy with her darling.

Pulling back, the woman cleared her throat, folding her hands in front of her as she seemed satisfied with your jumbled expression. “Well..shall we begin with the negotiations? How about over coffee?” She mused. You nodded in compliance, glancing over at Arlecchino to note any objections. To which, she hesitantly provided none. Yet, she could only feel her skin bristle at the sight of the woman’s arm snaked over the back of your neck as a way of ‘guiding’ you to the said coffee store. Arlecchino was only left trailing behind, a maelstrom of fury embedded below her usually unfeeling face.

—

“Mm…(Name), sweetie, do you like the coffee I bought for you?”

You breathed out a puff of steam, expression relaxed as you only grinned at her in response. Perhaps she was to be trusted, as the negotiator had been nothing but kind to you, only treating you with the highest degree of affection and respect. Her adoring actions only led you to ease up around her, growing fairly close with her as if you were speaking to someone you already knew for years. Despite the relief that she was friendly, you couldn’t help but being unable to shake off the same uneasiness that jabbed at the back of your brain at her initial arrival. Plus, paired with her dismissive treatment toward Arlecchino only served to throw you off, shrinking away from trusting her altogether.

“Ah. Yeah…you really know your stuff here don’t you?” You chuckled in response, occasionally glancing over at Arlecchino who was left unchecked throughout the entire course of your “negotiations.” Arlecchino noticed your eyes frequently darting over to her, causing her to sit up from her slight slouch and dismissively wave her hand toward you. Nodding, you turned back to the negotiatior, elbows propped up onto the table and palms on either side of her face as she pushed her shoulders forward.

Suddenly, your wife couldn’t hold back her words for the sake of something so silly intruding on your original mission, leaning forward as she spoke up. “About the negotiations-“

The woman only shot the harbinger a sharp glare, cutting her off with a frown. Yet, it was plain obvious that Arlecchino wasn’t the meek type, a stir of hatred boiling within her for this sudden diplomat who came to snatch you out of nowhere. She held her tongue, yet not out of submission, but rather out of restraint—afraid she would be unable to keep her composure and snap at the high authority figure to quit her rather hands on approach toward you.

Throughout the course of the uncomfortably drawn out conversation, consisting of downright lewd hints thrown out from the negotiator toward you only felt like an eternity of malaise tainting the atmosphere. An annoyed scoff from Arlecchino finally caught your attention as she stood up, the silverware and glass rattling against the table from the sheer force of her palms planted onto the table for support to raise her to her feet. She huffed out once more, shoulders hunched over in order to retain her emotions boiling up within her.

Fangs of jealousy sunk into Arlecchino as she walked away from the table without a word leaving her lips, the bitter taste seeping into her mouth only pushing her further into a deep annoyance. She typically didn’t show any sort of emotion that would come close to nearly eliciting this type of anger from her, yet perhaps her sole affection toward you only fueled her otherwise closed off heart. Her guarded heart that only beat for you.

—

“A-Arle- mm..please..”

You lay helpless below her touch, soft gasps sharply rushing past your lungs as her lips glided along yours in a slow, passionate rhythm. Her darkened hands only curled around your wrists to hold you down, continuing her flaming kisses burning against your tongue as your eyebrows raised with that needy expression she loved oh so much. Quiet pants echoed in your ears as Arlecchino pulled away, eyes glossed over as the woman hovering above you looked foggy from your slightly blurred vision.

You couldn’t help but relish in the feeling of her sharp nails dragging along the protruding veins of your wrist in slow circles, crimson lipstick smeared across a new area of your throat every time you looked down. Arlecchino only hummed in satisfaction against your flushed skin, her own body weight along yours locking you down in place as the strap fastened around her waist pressed down onto your lower abdomen.

Muffling through your endless barrage of whimpers, you managed to breathe out through her relentless assault on your body. “I- ah- m’sorry Arle..I- didn’t realize she- mm..was doing that..I promise I didn’t enjoy-!” Your voice resembled that of a choked back sob, immediately hushed by Arlecchino’s soothing voice vibrating from her throat.

“Shh. It’s okay, darling. I would never think so lowly of you, and I know you aren’t that kind of person. The woman I fell in love with is below me, only desiring my actions in this moment, right?” She assured, lips stretching in a gentle smile as her pointer finger dragged down your chest all the way to your stomach.

You only heaved a sigh of joy, which was almost immediately cut off by a high pitched moan upon feeling her middle finger trace your slit. Your panting came out in shallow breaths as her x-marked eyes bore into you, gleaming red like that of a blood moon shone brightly to illuminate your complexion. Her touch was all that you craved in this moment, feeling a wash of affection overtake you at your wife’s calming presence soothing you in even your greatest moment of uncertainty.

Underwear nearly dropped down to your ankles, Arlecchino only seemed entranced by your slick glistening along your folds as such a gorgeous sight to behold. Her eyes darted back up to you once more, gaze meeting yours.

“May I continue?”

To which you only nooded eagerly, eyes flickering to her silicone cock pressed along your stomach. The second you felt the tip intruding along your walls, you immediately gnawed on your lower lip defensively, suppressing your inevitable noises.

Her lips pushed against yours once more, capturing you in a deep, languid kiss as her hips rolled against yours in circular motions, length fully pushing into you with each thrust. Your walls clamped around her faux cock like a vice, moans bouncing off the walls as her cock continued to massage that one spot within you. Everything was absolutely intoxicating. Arlecchino’s scent, her praises, her body pressed to yours, the way she was buried inside you. It was all as if she was so deeply connected to you that she never wanted to let go—as if it went to show how much she loved you with everything she had.

“Just like that. Archons, you’re fucking gorgeous.”

It didn’t take long for the sensation bundling up within you to finally snap, your walls tightening around Arlecchino’s cock to make sure she couldn’t pull back. Your juices coated the strap all over, the messy fashion of it dampening the sheets below you as she let out a satisfactory breath in response. Slowly, Arlecchino waited for you to come down from your high to loosen your grasp around her dick, her palm pressed to your face gently as she thumbed at your cheek in a reassuring manner to take your time,

Before long, you were strewn out on the bed, exhausted as Arlecchino’s arm was draped over you protectively. Her face was nuzzled into the crook of your neck, taking in your warmth as her nerves eased up. As she law curled up beside you, protecting you in her arms as you slumbered, it was as if all her vexations had disappeared from earlier today, her mind was finally put at ease.

That you were hers. And hers only.

—

The next morning, you met up with the negotiator once more, with her face twisted in confusion and mild hint of disappointment at the sight of Arlecchino holding you up to help you walk. Surely your legs weren’t functioning well enough after the previous night. The woman only tapped her chin with an unintelligible grumble, eyes darting away as you let out an awkward chuckle.

“I- ah..ahem..shall we discuss the negotiations..?”

Funny how quickly she had switched up the second she realized that you wouldn’t even think about leaving Arlecchino’s side. You loved her far too much to detach yourself from her arm even. You nodded toward her as you leaned your head onto Arlecchino’s shoulder, eyes dreamy and filled with a sort of solace tinged into your soul as you gazed up at her.

She stared back down at you with the same affection that she would only reserve for the likes of you, hand tightening into your protectively once more.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

A/N: WOOOO DID THIS ON A SCHOOL NIGHT IT IS 12:43 AM I THINK IM FUCKED BUT THATS OKAY 🔥🔥🔥

FINISHED MY PHYSICS LAB FEELING GOOD I LOVE EATING THE WALL I AM HORRIFIED TO SLEEP CAUSE I JUST WATCHED SMILE 2 AND HOLY SHIT THEY WERENT WRONG ABOUT NOT WATCHING THE MOVIE IF YOU WERENT IN THE BEST PLACE MENTALLY BUT THATS OKAY BC IT WAS GOOD AND I LOVE NAOMI SCOTT. I’m still fucking scared of the curse and the stupid entity tho

Why am I dumping this what this was a long ass a/n rant probably bc I’m traumatized from the movie lol I don’t wanna step foot in my hallway in the dark.

Anyway please enjoy dinner is served and back to school but break is soon so we’re good

monker

[peppermintquartz]

I weren't even mad at first, y'know? I mean, there I been, molderin' away in that dark musty corner of the warehouse, surrounded by dummies and puppets. Sure it was restful, especially after being paraded about for what, a hunnerd years, bein' used to scare up some coin from kids too stupid to know they been conned into lookin' at a dead man. But it was nice not bein' treated like trash for a bit.

And then that boy Buck dang broke my arm. My arm! I know it dint hurt, what with me been dead so long, but still, it was insultin'. And I dint like his lookin' like Filthy Pete neither. Never liked his moustache what looked like a broom doing a shuffle with 'nother broom over his lip.

So I just sorta cursed him. Look, he took my arm. The Good Book said eye for an eye, yeah? I was kind enow just dislocatin' it. I mellowed since I died. No more bile left in me, I'm all dried up as a pebble in the middle of the desert at high noon!

The boy Buck got himself a good man though. Big strong shoulders. Made me miss my Johnny, he did. Though Johnny hadn't never fluffed my pillow even when we was sweet on each other. And if Johnny seen what this Tommy did done for Buck, he'd probably shoot him for bein' soft.

Maybe I shoulda been a little soft with Johnny, might've made him happier. And Johnny's done got himself caught robbin' a bank full of silver afore I could tell him about retirin'. Once he was gone... Well. I tried to go save him but the rat arsed bastards tied me up and tossed me to the law. They got what they deserved. Weren't me, though. They were backstabbin' cowards and people like that never got to live long nohow.

And then the boy Buck somehow got me a funeral and a headstone? Ain't much, but it be a place to finally rest, and after being shown all over the west as a toy or a prop I think I deserve a rest. He made amends as best he could, and he ain't wronged me as much as those who threw me to the law.

Besides, his big strong man asked nicely, and I ain't so mean as to turn down a pretty face.

[now edited on AO3]

[witchywithwhiskey]

andy barber + "you don't need anything, you want it"

optional scenario: assassin/mercenary

undone by a pretty spring sundress

pairing: dilf!andy barber x babysitter!female reader

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, unspecified age gap (but reader is def out of college), thigh riding, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, light bdsm, pet names (sweetheart, angel), some bratting, referenced spanking, fluffy ending

word count: 2,100ish

a/n: instead of assassin/mercenary Andy Barber, may i offer you dilf Andy Barber? 🫣 lol let's be honest, Andy is always a dilf 🤭 but i've already done ex's dad Andy and dbf August so i wanted to do a different trope and i've never done a babysitter fic so i gave it a shot!! hope you enjoy, Aspen!!

The sounds of shrieking laughter and childish games filtered into Andy Barber’s kitchen while you stood at the counter, putting together a bouquet of spring flowers that would sit nicely on his dining room table. You’d retreated into the house because you’d needed a break from the party Andy was hosting—the one he’d hired you for the afternoon to help him host.

It was a little outside your normal duties, since you typically worked as Andy’s babysitter, watching his young son on nights the single father had to work late at his law practice. You knew some of the parents in the neighborhood thought you were a little old to be babysitting, given you were old enough to be married and have a family of your own. 

But you ignored them because you enjoyed babysitting for Andy. It helped supplement the meager pay you received from your day job, and you liked spending time with Andy’s son Jacob, who was a sweet kid. More than that, though, you found yourself really enjoying spending time with Andy.

And if you weren’t mistaken, Andy liked having you around as well. 

In the months that you’d worked for Andy, you’d grown increasingly aware of the way he stared at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. 

His crystal blue eyes would drift down to your tits when you were looking something up on your phone. And more than once, you could’ve sworn you felt his gaze on your ass when you’d bent over to pick up some toys on the floor. But each time, when you turned to the older man, he was innocently looking elsewhere.

Altogether, you’d gotten the impression that Andy might want you to be more than his babysitter, but he hadn’t yet acted on the heated looks he gave you. So you may have taken matters into your own hands and worn a skimpy little sundress to the party he was hosting for the neighbors and all their kids. And you were delighted when it had the intended effect.

You hadn’t been in the kitchen for more than a few minutes when Andy cornered you, using the moment when everyone else was distracted by watching the children play a game they’d made up to approach you. His body crowded you into the counter, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him brushing against the swaths of bare skin not covered by your sundress.

“I need to speak to you upstairs,” Andy murmured in your ear. His warm breath ghosted over your cheek and bare shoulder, causing goosebumps to raise all along your arms.

But you stifled the shiver racing down your spine and continued fluffing the flowers in the vase in front of you, pretending you didn’t notice the demanding edge of Andy’s voice or the way he crowded into you. After all, he’d waited months to approach you, and you decided you wanted to have a little fun with him before you gave in to the tension crackling between the two of you.

“You don’t need anything, you want it,” you responded cheekily, your tone light and playful. “Isn’t that what you’re always telling Jacob, Mr. Barber?” You tossed your head to the side and gave the older man a sly smile over your shoulder.

Andy’s expression darkened, his soft mouth pulling down in a frown that was framed perfectly by his neatly trimmed beard. He looked particularly delicious in a simple blue t-shirt and jeans—though you also appreciated all the suits he wore for his job as a lawyer. You’d spent many a night imagining Andy undressing you entirely while he stayed all buttoned up in one of his suits, making you hump the bulge in his slacks…

Andy’s big hand wrapping around your upper arm brought you back from your distracted thoughts.

“I assure you, sweetheart, what I’m feeling is a need—not a want,” Andy growled, dragging you away from the counter and forcing you to abandon your bouquet. You didn’t protest, though, as he led you toward the stairs and up to the second floor of his suburban Massachusetts home. 

Andy had only just pulled you into his bedroom and closed the door when he spun you around and crowded into you until your back hit the door. Then, with a muttered curse, Andy ducked down and captured your lips with his own, kissing you so passionately, your head spun. 

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him back just as fervently, your mouth parting and allowing his tongue to twine with yours. He groaned into your lips as he tasted you, the deep sound of his pleasure making you hot all over, wetness gathering between your thighs while your mouths slid together. You squirmed against Andy’s hard body, pressing your softness against him as your body yearned for friction.

Andy shoved one of his legs between yours, his big hands gripping your hips tightly and shifting you so that your pussy rubbed against his thigh. You wrenched your mouth from his with a sharp gasp, your body rocking against his as pleasure shot through you from the tips of your fingers to the ends of your toes. Andy watched you with hooded eyes as you humped against him, hands sliding down your sides.

“Wish I could watch you ride my thigh all afternoon, angel, but I need to be inside you,” Andy groaned, reaching beneath your dress and hooking his fingers in your panties, moving you back to pull them down your trembling legs. You let out a little whine at the loss of friction against your pussy, but Andy only hushed you. “Shh, I know sweetheart, you’re needy too, aren’t ya? Need daddy to fuck you, huh?”

Your head fell back against the door with a thunk and you let out a breathy, surprised, “Daddy,” tasting the way the word sounded on your tongue and enjoying it far too much. 

“That’s it, angel, call me daddy,” Andy murmured fervently before capturing your lips in another kiss. You could feel his hands working his jeans open and pulling out his cock, but you couldn’t move your arms from around his shoulders; you were pretty sure if you did, you’d collapse to his feet. “Christ, I knew ya would be perfect—been wanting this for so long, but that pretty spring sundress of yours was my undoing.”

A pleased smirk curled the edges of your mouth at Andy’s confession, and you decided you’d tell him later that had been your intention with wearing it. For the moment, though, you simply leaned up to whisper some teasing words in Andy’s ear. “If you need me so bad, then take me, daddy.”

Andy hooked an arm around your waist and spun you again, walking you back to his bed and easing you down onto the plush softness of his blankets while his hips settled between your thighs. His cock rested against your bare pussy, making you moan with desire.

“Gonna have to make this quick, sweetheart,” Andy murmured as he brushed kisses to your jaw and cheeks, his hips grinding his length against your soaked folds, getting himself drenched in your arousal. “But next time I’ll fuck you soft and slow like you deserve, alright?”

“OK, daddy,” you said on a moan, tilting your hips to grind your bare pussy against his cock. Andy buried a grunt in your neck and reached between your bodies, adjusting his cock until the tip pressed against your entrance. 

Then, all at at once, Andy pushed inside you, both of you moaning at the feel of his thick, hard cock stretching out your tight, warm pussy. It was better than you ever imagined, having him inside you, your body taking his entire length and joining you to him in the most intimate way.

“Feel so good, daddy,” you murmured breathily, your mind spinning with pleasure. You cupped Andy’s face in your hands, your nails raking through his beard gently, as you stared up at him. You hoped every bit of the pleasure you felt was clear on your face, so he could see how good he made you feel.

Andy seemed to, his smile filled with affection and arousal of his own. He leaned down and brushed a kiss to your lips, teasing you with the flick of his tongue before pulling away and catching your eye. 

“Ready, angel?” 

“Yes, daddy,” you answered sweetly, more ready for him than he could even know.

Then Andy took what he needed, and gave you what you needed, too. He fucked you hard and fast, pumping his thick cock into your tight channel with a ruthlessness you’d only ever glimpsed when he’d take work calls at home. He was brutal, and you wanted to scream your pleasure, but Andy’s hand covered your mouth, keeping you from being overheard by all the neighbors crowded in the backyard.

When he seemed to be getting close, Andy reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight little circles until you shattered apart around him. You came so hard, you bit down on the flesh of his palm to keep yourself quiet.

Andy didn’t seem to mind, grunting through the sting of your teeth and the delicious clench of your pussy, fucking you harder until he pressed deep and came inside you. You shivered when you felt his load leak out around his cock, in awe when you realized just how much come he must’ve pumped you full of that it was overflowing. 

As you caught your breath, Andy peppered your face with light kisses, praising you. “Such a good girl, sweetheart, so fucking good for daddy.” He kissed the apple of your cheek, his beard tickling you and making you giggle softly. “Now, I need you to keep my come safe inside you for the rest of the afternoon, can you do that, angel?” Andy asked, catching your eye and giving you a serious look. His hand pressed against your lower belly, making your pussy flutter while butterflies took flight in your chest. 

It was on the tip of your tongue to simply say yes, but a delightful thought took hold of your mind and you found your lips forming the same words they had earlier in Andy’s kitchen. “You don’t need anything, daddy, you want it,” you said, giggling when Andy’s face turned stormy.

“You’re lucky we have to get back to our guests, angel,” Andy growled pressing his forehead to yours while he glared at you, though there wasn’t much anger to his gaze—only desperate arousal. “Otherwise I’d put you over my knee and show you what I do when you’re a bratty bad girl.”

You were helpless to your body’s reaction to his words, your cunt clenching hard around Andy’s cock and making him chuckle. “I need it, daddy,” you cried, hands fisting in his t-shirt and trying to hold him close.

But Andy was already moving away, pulling out and stuffing his cock back in his pants. You watched him with a pout while he grinned down at you. When his appearance was presentable enough, Andy hauled you up from the bed and smoothed your dress down over your curves, fixing it for you. 

“Be a good girl and help me get through the rest of this party and we can have some fun later,” Andy promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then, like he couldn’t help himself, he caught your mouth in one last deliciously sinful kiss. 

You returned to the party with Andy, finishing your bouquet of spring flowers and putting it out on the table. Then, you helped him wrangle the kids and their parents for dessert, everyone enjoying the beautiful spring evening. 

If anyone from the neighborhood noticed that, after you returned, Andy treated you more like his partner than his babysitter, they didn’t say anything. (In fact, in the weeks and months that followed, when it became clear the two of you were together, each of your neighbors would try to take credit for setting the two of you up.) When everyone left, they thanked you just as much as Andy for hosting the wonderful party.

Once everyone was gone and you’d helped Andy put Jacob to bed, he delivered on his promise of rewarding you for your good behavior. Later that night when you told him you’d worn your skimpy little outfit just to see if he’d finally make a move on you, Andy chuckled and murmured that he’d forgive your naughty trick just that once. Then, he made sure to show you just how undone he was by your pretty spring sundress.

[thatsdemko]

maybe I’m crazy - m.verstappen

pairing: max verstappen x ricciardo!reader

warnings: slightly unedited

he doesn’t believe in love at first sight. it’s too tacky and Hallmark-y to ever happen to him. but he believes in something at first sight, because the way he feels right now might not be love, but it pierces it’s way into his head and all the way down his heart.

your smile is warm and inviting, similar to the one of your older brother, Daniel. he had a way with the people, and you seemed to be just about the same. you’d looped max in at first sight, and he felt safe under your gaze. it was something he was so unfamiliar with.

the way he was able to talk for hours and you were there to listen and piece his puzzle together, he’ll never forget that. especially years later, when he’s won three world championships and the only thing he cares about is making you proud.

the world championships didn’t matter to you, in fact, formula one didn’t even really exist much in your little bubble with max, but you couldn’t turn down his invitation. he had his own ways of pulling you in as well.

it was his bright lost eyes. the ones that you could swim oceans deep in and still be able to find your way home. max verstappen was complicated to many, but he was never more clear with you.

his arms fling around his team. it’s first instinct, after all these years he knows who he has to acknowledge first, and while his father waits beside you for his moment, he skips right past him.

“proud of you.” the whisper is so soft you’re sure you’re hallucinating, but it’s max. anything that falls from his lips tunes your ears in. you’re dialed into his station, you’re his number one listener.

“me?”

taken by surprise, you point your finger into your chest, he nods. it’s all he gets out before being whisked away by Red Bull team members.

there was nothing you did to contribute to this race. but your presence makes max fight for your attention. with Daniel out, and Liam in, it was much easier to win.

not that he ever felt the need to fight his brother-in-law, but max verstappen never got the better end of the stick with childhood validation. even just a glance his way, he’s struck by gold.

“you’re crazy.” you whisper into his chest. the silence fills the room, but his heartbeat is all your ears can hear.

“me?” he asks. lifting his head up, he has a view of your curly hair fluffed over your face, “you’re crazy for me.”

“yeah, maybe I am.”

a soft chuckle rumbles through his chest. your ears heat, and your heart flutters in a way it always does when you make him happy.

“you make me crazy, ricciardo.”

“we agreed on verstappen. I’m your family now.”

tags: @oconso @xcicix @imsorare @weasleyswizardwheezes-blog @monzabee @lpab @frreyaa @motorsp0rt @lovelytsunoda @smoothopz @jaehyunluvcult @iloveyou3000morgan @lunnnix @leclerc13 @goldenalbon

[loganwritesprobably]

– Law with the 1° genre, prompt (l.) ✨

Law is a character I have a lot of fun writing, even though I've never actually seen him on screen (I think I've consumed the anime in the weirdest way possible). Just love him. I also love this trope

This ended up being kind of long

Find the prompt list here

Content/Warnings: Law/GN!Reader, fluff, one bed, suggestive, friends to lovers, getting together, first kiss, Law has a nightmare

You were a Heart Pirate, a friend to your Captain and all your crewmates. You loved sailing, and being a pirate, you loved the Polar Tang and having one of the healthiest crews on the sea. You also loved Captain Trafalgar Law. You didn't mean to end up in this position, and yet here you were, with a huge crush on the one guy who was totally off limits. Probably anyway, you hadn't exactly asked where he stood on the entire thing.

You hopped onto the dock of the island you'd arrived at, planning to spend a few days on land. You needed to stock up, and Law was on a mission for information. That meant staying away from the Polar Tang for a while. A couple of crew members remained inside the sub, and once everyone was out, sailed away to keep it out of few. It was late, and pitch black, which would hopefully mean nobody would suspect you were pirates.

Since it was late, everyone was headed to the two inns on the island, splitting between them to increase chances of finding the information that you wanted.

When you arrived at the inn with Law, Bepo, Shachi and Ikkaku, Law set about getting rooms for everyone. You stepped in beside him at the front desk, stood shoulder to shoulder, while Bepo, Shachi and Ikkaku stood behind you both, rubbing their eyes and yawning, their exhaustion clear.

Law took the three keys you'd been given, two rooms to be shared and one solo room.

"Bepo snores! He can go on his own." Shachi protested, taking one of the keys for himself.

"I do not! .. Do I?" Bepo asked, taking another key for himself.

"Sorry big guy.. I'll get in with you Shachi." Ikkaku said, leaning heavily against her friend and nearly knocking him over.

"Looks like I'm with you then, Cap." You said, and you certainly weren't unhappy with that arrangement.

Bepo found his room first, heading in and locking the door behind himself. Then Shachi and Ikkaku found theirs, and headed inside with softly mumbled 'goodnight's. You and Law were last, and he headed in first, making a beeline for the bathroom. You closed the door behind yourself and locked it, setting the room key on a side table.

You ventured deeper into the room, only for your heart to drop when you made a key discovery: there was only one bed. Bepo had taken the wrong key, and gotten one of the rooms with twin beds. At least the bed was a double, silver linings you guess.

Law shuffled out of the bathroom a few minutes later, wearing just sleep pants, and no shirt. He had been about to say something to you when he saw exactly what you had.

"Shit." He muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. There was no sofa in the room, and you'd not really brought anything with you to sleep on if you were going to sleep on the floor. The bed was, realistically, the only option.

"Yeah." You mumbled in agreement.

"Bepo falls right asleep too, we couldn't get him to swap if we tried." You could only nod. It was true. You'd considered that already.

"Guess we're sharing." You said, finally walking away from the bed to use the bathroom for yourself. Suddenly worried about your hygiene, you decided to take a quick shower, careful not to get your hair wet. You got out, brushed your teeth and dried off before changing into your sleep clothes. You couldn't put off the inevitable any longer though, so you stepped out of the bathroom to find Law just sitting on the bed, polishing his sword.

You put your clothes from the day into your bag, and went to sit on the other side of the bed to Law, assuming that was where you'd be sleeping. You untucked the duvet from beneath the mattress, fluffed the pillow, and silently lay down. Law set aside his sword, and did the same on his own side of the bed, still distinctly lacking a shirt. Fuck.

You lay facing the wall, away from Law, your heart beating rapidly. You didn't dare turn to see what he was doing himself, just closing your eyes. Thankfully, you were exhausted, and so you didn't lay awake and anxious for long.

-·–·-–-·–·-

When you woke the next morning, after some particularly tantalising dreams about the man sleeping beside you, you opened your eyes to discover the man in question was now facing you, and you were facing him. His lips were slightly parted, and he looked.. peaceful. You couldn't help admiring the sight, even if it felt wrong to watch him sleep. You'd thankfully not woken up cuddling, like some sort of cliche, so eventually you managed to convince yourself to get up and head to the bathroom.

You washed your face in cold water, calming yourself down after your dreams, and waking up beside the man who'd been in your fantasises in months. You took a few deep breaths before returning to the room feeling more steady than before, to find Law still asleep. Should you wake him? He looked so peaceful, and he was always so exhausted. You were sure everything would be fine, you'd wake him before noon, or if the crew came knocking.

Slowly, carefully, you collected a book from your bag and returned to the bed, not wanting to wake Law. You slipped beneath the sheets, and got comfortable, opening your book to where you'd left off last. You managed to read for an hour before Law began to grumble and shift. You looked at him for a moment, and when he didn't stop, you reached out to rest a hand on his arm, hoping to gently wake him.

That didn't work.

He shot up, eyes wide and breathing rapid. He struck out as if to hit you, but thankfully you were just slightly faster than him, having the advantage of having been awake for over an hour already. You gently moved his hand to rest in his lap, hesitating for a moment before you rested a hand on his back.

"Want me to take a walk and let you chill out here for a while?"

"No-" he rasped, hand reaching out again, but this time he gripped your wrist tightly, as if you'd disappear if he didn't hold on.

"Okay. I'll stay here Cap." You confirmed, but he didn't let you go. He couldn't. A few silent minutes passed where Law's breathing slowly evened out, and you patiently waited.

"We can talk about it, if you want." You offered, when he finally released you, treading carefully so you didn't unsettle him again.

"Not really." Law replied, rubbing his eyes to get the sleep from the corners. No wonder he was always so exhausted. You wanted to know what it was that'd upset him so much, but if he didn't want to tell you then you wouldn't press him.

Law got up out of bed and headed to the bathroom, cleaning up like you already had, and you took the chance to change into your day clothes so you were ready to go whenever Law wanted to set off.

He returned after a few minutes, looking more composed, but still exhausted. You wanted to help, to ease his discomfort and take away whatever was hurting him. That wasn't your place.

"I have nightmares too, sometimes." You said into the silence of the room, perched on the edge of the bed. Law paused his movements, surprised by your words, then continued digging through his bag for his stuff.

"About what I've lost, and everything I have now, and how easy it is to lose that too. Nobody is invincible." You continued, hoping it would at least help Law feel a little less alone.

"You dream about losing us?" He asked, looking toward the main door to the room rather than at you.

"Yeah, pretty regularly actually. You guys are my family, I don't know what I'd do without you." He nodded and slipped back into the bathroom to chance into his day clothes. He returned, only missing his hat, which you tossed to him for him to put on.

"Hey, you don't have to worry about losing us, you know. I won't let that happen to any of us." Law said, but his expression said everything.

"Then why do you worry about it?" You asked, and Law once again stopped stock still. You were going to give him a heart attack if you weren't careful.

There was a long pause then, longer than the others, and you watched Law open and close his mouth repeatedly, trying to find the words that he needed to defend himself, or at least something smart to say, but he kept coming up fruitless.

He walked over to sit beside you on the bed, licking his lips. His eyes remained focused on the ground as he hooked his ankle with your own, and then reached out and took your hand to lace your fingers together.

"It doesn't matter if I worry, I'm the Captain, it's my job. But I care if you worry, I don't want you losing sleep over us." He told you, voice impossibly soft, like you'd never heard it before.

"It's not your job. It's your job to trust us, and believe we can work together as a team to all stay safe. But the worry will never go away, we'll probably all always worry because of everything we've been through before we met." You replied, gently squeezing his hand. Your heart fluttered in your chest when he returned the gesture.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked suddenly, and a part of you was sure you were still dreaming. Surely he hadn't just asked that?

"What?" You asked dumbly, and Law laughed softly. He'd watched your pupils dilate, he knew you were interested, you were just stunned.

"I dreamt about you specifically. About losing you. Can I kiss you? I just.. want to be sure you're really there."

You had never been able to say no to your captain.

Requests are open! See below links for my other works, and how to leave requests. I write both canon/canon and canon/reader requests for your enjoyment

AO3 | Fanfic Masterlist | Request Rules | Fic Trades Guide | WIPs

Tags: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @cainnoable

[0oolookitsme]

But Baby, It's Cold Outside

Type - One-Shoty Blurb!

Verse - Singer!Harry x Ceo!Y/n

Word Count - 1.2k

Warnings - None, just some tooth rotting fluff ;)

A/N - Y/n blushes so hard in this one I was legit smiling while writing the ending lmao. Hope you guys like it just as much! <3

MASTERLIST | Please rb to share!

Y/n was on her knees on the carpeted floor, her hands stacking things up on the Christmas mantel that she had been set on decorating since she'd opened her eyes this morning. Her knees hurt because of the hardwood floor, but it was better than having to bend down while standing up, nevertheless.

They were surprisingly late to decorate for Christmas this year because of their prolonged stay over at Anne's for a while. After all, Anne wanted the see her daughter-in-law who was pregnant with her grandson or granddaughter -- and Y/n was starting to feel more and more deprived of a mother's love by each day, making Harry take her to Anne.

She had put Harry to work currently with fluffing up the Christmas tree's leaves, and to decorate it with the string lights they'd bought just the day before. He was crouching just about beside her, facing her with the tall tree standing between them.

"I swear, this tree has got me working the hardest I ever have," Harry joked, wiping the sheen layer of sweat on his face. He chuckled when Y/n shook her head, laughing at him and not at his joke -- but he didn't need to know that. "So dramatic," he heard her murmur under her breath, knowing that she meant for him to hear it.

"I'm the one who's dramatic?" He questioned her with a touch of accusation to it. "You're the one who's been up my arse this whole month with 'let's do this, let's do that'!" Mimicking her, Harry smacked his hand on the tree and hissed in pain when a thorn pricked his finger.

A smirk appeared on Y/n's face as she continued to mess with the order of stuff she'd stacked up on the mantel. Shrugging, she said, "that's what you get for teasing me."

Herry scoffed instead of saying anything and went back to fluffing up the tallest bit of the tree. His armpits were moist with his sweat but he wouldn't even dare to think about putting out the crackling-fire in the fireplace. He might be a naturally warm body, but Y/n definitely wasn't.

Whether it was summer, or winter -- her body was never found to be hot. Hell, even when she took off her fuzzy socks last night her feet were freezing cold. And, with the baby growing in her body, Harry wouldn't even let Y/n remove the thin blanket he had wrapped around her frame when he woke up at the first ray of sunshine and realized that it had started snowing.

"H? Will you please bring me those mini-Christmas trees?" Y/n asked him, turning to give him some puppy-eyes but caught him watching the snowflakes on the windowpane instead. Tilting her head and joining him in looking outside, her lips stretched in a smile.

The snow fell soundlessly, drifting down like white and fluffy cold crystals. It brought an essence of magic in the world, falling softly into blankets that cover the landscape. 

"...'course," she heard him mumble, and turned just in time to catch the smile he passed her with a glint in his eyes that she'd come to recognize as admiration. Though she wasn't sure if what he was admiring then was the snow, her, or the 7-month baby bump.

In the time that Harry went to pick up the set of trees from the kitchen island, Y/n dropped the blanket from her shoulders, feeling too hot suddenly. The room had grown too warm for her current liking, and as she sat down cross-legged on the floor to give her knees some rest, she wished for Harry to be back by her side.

She slipped back on her bottom until her aching back hit the leg of the sofa and rested there. Patting the spot next to her, she invited Harry to sit beside her and whined internally when he passed her a knowing look and brought back the blanket with him. "Open the window if you're going to make me wear that blanket again," she told him pointedly, passing him a smile to tell him she didn't mean that behaviour seriously.

"But baby," Harry looked at her with a desperate look on his face. "It's cold outside!" he told her, wanting to open the window himself but he simply denied to because he couldn't have Y/n catch a cold. He sat down, spreading his legs and crossing them at the ankles.

He draped the blanket over both of their legs, making sure her bump is also covered. Leaning in, he pressed his lips on her pouted ones, smiling in the midst when she wouldn't back away.

Y/n reached for one of the kid's books that she'd been reading to learn some stories she could tell her little bundle of love when they were old enough to whine to her for just one more story. With some trouble, she caught the book on the sofa behind her and opened it, keeping it tilted just in case Harry wanted to join her.

But Harry was rather busy idly playing with her free hand, and as she continued to read, she felt him raise her hand up and press a kiss into her palm. Her cheeks, that were already rosy because of the cold, had now turned a shade of raging red and Harry couldn't help but cackle at that.

Y/n slapped his arm, an embarrassed smile dressed on her lips. "Stop it," she hissed, unable from removing the bashful smile on her mouth when Harry kisses the back of her hand the other time around. She turned her face away so that he couldn't see the cherry-red tint on her face, her mouth trembling because of the shy-giggle she was working hard to keep in.

Harry loved seeing the smallest gestures affect her in ways that she couldn't even control. Sputters of laughter kept falling from his mouth and when she didn't turn to face him after some while, he couldn't help but grab her chin and make her look at him.

Although she had shut her eyes tightly, the apple of her cheeks still suffused with a shade of pink that he decided was his favourite from now on. "C'mon!" He laughed when she wouldn't open her eyes.

He had only started getting such exquisite reactions out of her since he put a baby in her, and God, he would put another one in there if she would keep making him lose his mind like this.

Suddenly, a yelp flew out of his mouth, and he flinched away when she pressed her icy foot flat on his calf.

"Oh my god," he laughed with a surprised expression on his feet. "Baby, how the fuck are you so cold, still?" He shouted with laughter, his heart bursting with love when she started laughing profusely with her head thrown back. He, somewhere in the midst of it all, had stopped laughing, gazing at her instead.

But when Y/n didn't hear him laughing along with her, she opened her eyes only to find him looking at her as if she'd had hung stars in the room for him; and Harry swore her eyes were genuinely glittering and shimmering with something he was sure the poets would call love.

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Epilogue - Peace Ever After

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: None… the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed. Also, our pair have some news for the world.

Word Count: 0.7k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl . Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This is the neat little bow I wanted to wrap this fic up with. I hope you have enjoyed this story; it's been a pleasure to write. Thank you for reading, and many thanks as always to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Wiltshire, UK, 8th May 1945

Benedict’s arm is curled securely around your back as you dance together, Vera Lynn warbling from the wireless in the corner of your living room.

There'll be bluebirds over, The white cliffs of Dover, Tomorrow, just you wait and see…

His breath is warm on your hairline as you sway gently. A spontaneous, uplifting and tender moment to celebrate the end of the war. A lightness in your heart that this dreadful era is finally over and the overwhelming gratitude that all your loved ones have survived. This dance is also a peaceful, romantic interlude from the whirlwind your lives have become in the last few weeks. 

There'll be love and laughter, And peace ever after, Tomorrow…

The shrill ring of the telephone echoing from the hallway of your cottage interrupts your reverie.

“Ignore it,” Benedict whispers in your ear.

“But we just had it installed! It’s only our third call. How exciting!” You lean back and shoot him your best pleading face, and he sighs and, with an affectionate eye roll, gestures for you to go answer it.

You rush over and pick up the heavy bakelite receiver, a crackle on the line that is an operator.

“Overseas call for the Bridgertons from Madam DuLac,” the operator announces primly.

“Oh wonderful, yes, please put her through!” you enthuse.

“Salut y/n!” comes that familiar voice from the past after a short delay.

“Solene! It’s so wonderful to hear from you! How are you? How’s Paris?”

Benedict walks over at the mention of her name, hovering nearby to partially eavesdrop.

“I am wonderful. Paris is finally free and as beautiful as ever. On this monumental day, I wanted to check on the lovebirds who didn’t invite me to their wedding,” she jibes good-naturedly.

You can’t help but giggle. “We are very well, and yet again, sorry.” 

“Tu connais, there is one way you can remedy this,” she singsongs.

“Name it.”

“Your daughter shall be Solene oui? At least a middle name.”

You laugh heartily, then shoot Benedict a sultry look that makes his brow crease, intrigued.

“Why don’t you nag my husband about that?” you challenge lightly as he draws nearer.

He crowds into your back and takes the receiver from your hand, tilting it between you so you can both hear.

“What is my darling wife roping me into now?” he inquires dryly.

“Giving her a daughter that must be named Solene…” your ex-landlady chimes cheekily.

“Is she now?” his voice drops to a throatier register that immediately has you flustered. “And what is wrong with the son I just gave her?” he queries casually as he raises a flirtatious eyebrow at you.

“Vous avez un bebe?!?” Solene gasps. “Felicitations!!” 

“Oui!” You grin happily as Benedict's lips ghost over your temple lovingly. “We were about to send out telegrams with the news. Louis Jerome Bridgerton,” you pronounce proudly. “He is three weeks old, and he is our whole world…” your sigh so contented as you lean into your husband's attention.

“You named him after my brother-in-law?” Solene protests with mock indignance. “Then I definitely get the middle name for the girl!” 

“It was after the man who married us,” Benedict points out laconically before conceding, “who, yes, coincidentally is also your brother in law…” 

“And I shall expect a visit when petit Louis is a little older to see the wonders of Paris,” she hints unsubtly.

“Of course! His first trip will be to the Louvre,” your husband pronounces. “It was the very first place his parents went on a date, after all,” he adds, shooting you that trademark lopsided grin.

You elbow him mildly. “That was not a date!”

“It was for me, mon amour….” he side-eyes you heatedly. It makes you want to drag him upstairs and start on those daughter plans immediately.

“I should go and make my next call… to your sister and Phillip indeed; I just wanted to wish you a very happy Victory Day!” Solene interrupts your amorous moment.

“Et toi aussi,” you both answer in unison.

“Vive la France! Vive L’Angleterre! We won mes amis! Le monde est libre!”

You and Benedict’s eyes meet, a poignant moment, as the call disconnects.

“The world is free indeed,” he echoes softly, putting down the phone and sweeping you into his arms for a stirring kiss.

FIN

Join my taglist here | My fic masterlist is here

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @hanji-emo-blog @Huffelpuffforlife @0x1harmonia0x1 @sya-skies @balladynaaa

[silentgravesdontexist]

M A S T E R L I S T

The ones without links are in the drafts. Just needs some editing, and I'll be posting them soon!

Character Request Poll

《L e g e n d》

♤ — AFAB/Fem!Reader

♡ — AMAB/Masc!Reader

□ — GN!Reader

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

♣︎ — Fluf

★ — Smut

◆ — Suggestive/Sensitive Content

● — Angst

One Piece

Portgas D. Ace

Smoker!Ace x Sensitive-nosed!Reader □♣︎

Ace reacting to spicy food □♣︎

Your favorite book was burned... □●

Ace w/ dog ears and a fluffy tail ♤★

Doing his skincare for him □◆

He tries 25/8 so... □♣︎

Warm hugs from Fire Fist □♣︎

Horror movie w/ Ace □♣︎

Him and kisses □♣︎

Mutual bodyworship ♤★

Mutual bodyworship ♡★

Ace catching feelings □♣︎

Safety in a pirate's arms □◆

Sabo

Falling for him □◆

Sanji

Sanji w/ dog ears and a fluffy tail ♤★

Skincare with him ◆♣︎

Monkey D. Luffy

Luffy w/ dog ears and a fluffy tail □♣︎

Doing his skincare for him □♣︎

Roronoa Zoro

Zoro w/ dog ears and a fluffy tail ♤★

Forcing him to do his skin care ◆♣︎

General HCs w/ Characters

Part 1: Dates and Kisses! w/ Ace, Luffy, and Zoro □♣︎

Part 2: Dates and Kisses! w/ Sanji, Nami, and Robin □♣︎

Part 3: Dates and Kisses w/ Usopp, Yamato, and Jimbei □♣︎

Hozier Songs for OP Men w/ Ace, Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Brook, and Usopp □◆

Hozier Songs for OP Men w/ Yamato, Jimbei, Shanks, Law, Kid, and Sabo □◆

Last Update: September 22, 2024

[coltermorning]

Of Love and Loss Ch. 16 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Caught by the law, you and Arthur have to find separate ways to escape their grasp.

Author’s Notes: Chapter sixteen of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

~

Of Love and Loss

Sixteen: Luck and the Lack Thereof

Word count: 5002

The drop was short enough that you landed softly, something you were immensely grateful for when you straightened and saw a deputy manned at the bottom of the stairs. He was too distracted by the nearby commotion a painted lady was stirring to notice your thudding boots on the stairwell, but that still didn’t help the situation, as the only means of getting away was past him. Going back up the stairs would lead you into the hotel, and you wouldn’t risk running into Arthur and that deputy. Christ, you weren’t clever enough for this. The deputy on the stairs was likely stationed there for this very scenario—to catch an outlaw in the middle of escape. But you were no outlaw, couldn’t think like one. And while you stood there stock still, glad for the low evening light if nothing else, you knew there was no way around it—you would be caught. So much for Arthur’s attempt at saving you.

“…know you had another feller with you…” you heard from the window, the speaker’s voice less muffled now. The deputy was in the room with Arthur. Your heart seized knowing they had pinned you too, but that word he used got you thinking. Did they not know you were a woman?

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Arthur replied flatly. “And you, you make a habit of selling out your patrons to the law?”

“I answer to the marshal, not to you,” came another voice that explained how the deputy had found your room—the hotel owner.

“Don’t know about any partner of yours, huh? Then why’s that window open?” the deputy asked.

Time to go.

You heard Arthur make a sorry excuse that he had wanted some air before you were taking your hat off and fluffing your hair, making your way down the stairs. If they didn’t know you were a woman, it was the only leverage you had.

The deputy at the bottom of the stairs whipped his head around when he heard your approach. “Hold it right-” He looked you over. “There…”

You did as he said, feigning innocence as best you could. “Is something wrong?” You pushed femininity through your voice.

“Come down here,” he ordered, still suspicious. You did so, praying the deputy above you wouldn’t stick his head out the window and find you armed. Woman or no, it wasn’t a good look. Lucky for you, the deputy you approached seemed all too distracted by your opposing sex to care about your gun belt. “What are you doing taking these stairs?” he demanded, his eyes slipping down your body.

Fine. You could do this, or at least try. It wasn’t even close to being in your wheelhouse, but what other option did you have?

“I saw you down here,” you said lowly. “Can’t deny I was curious.” You stepped close, invading his space in a way that had that suspicion of his melting in favor of something else.

“That so? Why you armed then, little lady?”

“I like to stay that way,” you said, spinning a yarn for yourself. “Most men aren’t to be trusted. But you, being a deputy…”

Your instincts screamed at you to cut this meeting short, but you had to sell it or else get hauled in for shoddy acting if nothing else.

You reached in for the man’s badge, touching your finger to it, letting your hand linger on his chest a moment longer. He let you. And just like that, you knew you had him.

He spoke. “Well, I…there is a certain honor that comes with the job.”

“Something a girl can admire,” you replied softly.

He eyed you a moment before looking up at the window. Shit—it was still open. And if he had any wits about him, he would put two and two together.

He looked back down at you, but not an ounce of recognition lit his gaze. Instead, he smiled. “I’m on duty, but how’s about we find each other later when I’m not?”

You let your most saccharine smile curve your face. “Name the place, Deputy…”

“Gillard.”

“Deputy Gillard.”

“How about the Spokehouse?”

You had no idea what that was, but you kept your smile painted on and nodded. “I’ll be waiting for you there.” To keep up the ruse, you brought your hand to his badge again and ran your thumb over it, lingering a moment as you met his gaze. Lucky you, there was nothing going on behind those eyes. So you left him standing there staring after you, doing your best not to panic and rush away.

The farther away you got from the threat of danger, the more that nagging panic set in. Even though he had suggested it, leaving Arthur behind wasn’t an option. He had done so much for you, and leaving him now, especially after what you had just shared…it was out of the question. Now all that remained was thinking of a way to get him out of his predicament without finding yourself caught in it in the process. You considered all your options and knew, first and foremost, that you needed your mounts for any sort of escape. Plus, if you could stash away his gun belt in a saddle bag, you would look much less conspicuous. Men already tended to be curious about you with the way you dressed, so the less attention you drew, the better. You considered stealing a dress off some clothesline but thought better of it. It would result in the same feeling you had when wearing Arthur’s clothes—unfamiliarity. And if, God forbid, you needed to resort to any shooting, you needed every advantage of the familiar you could get. So you made way for the nearby stables under the cover of night, hoping Harriet would provide that familiar calm for you enough for this to all play to your advantage.

Upon arriving at the small barn, you found that your luck held. Luck, because there was no other explanation—certainly not any skill or cunning on your part. You snuck into the stables right past the snoring stablehand slumped in a nearby chair and found your mounts. They were stabled beside each other, but their saddles were thrown over their stall fronts. Sneaking them out as is would likely be easy enough, but tacking them would cause too much noise. You couldn’t risk waking the stablehand. Really, you could wake him and pay him with whatever money Arthur had in his satchel, but Arthur had ridden into town on Boadicea, so your taking her would make you as guilty as he was if someone recognized the mare. Best no one saw at all.

Taking a deep breath, you reached for the nearest stall door—Boadicea’s—and slowly pulled it open. It didn’t creak at least, but she nuzzled you when you shut yourself in with her and gave a low nicker of recognition. Your eyes snapped to the stablehand, but he remained deep in slumber, far from any consciousness to speak of. So you got to work, bridling first in case you needed to leave the saddles behind and make a run for it. That, and the bit tended to be the loudest part of the tack, so you carefully settled it into Boadicea’s mouth while keeping a close eye on the hand. You were lucky the mare had such an easy temperament, as she let you be without so much as tossing her head. Once you slipped the reins over her neck, you looked to the saddle. You would just have to risk its creaking leather.

Easy as you could, you blanketed the mare then lifted the saddle, using all your arm strength to keep it steady. You were keeping quiet enough until you had to swing the saddle over her back—she was taller than you realized. You tried lifting it up and over, but the far stirrup got trapped between the saddle and her back and made an impossibly loud creak of leather on leather. You froze, just knowing you’d awoken the stablehand. But no rebuke came. You slowly turned and looked over your shoulder at him. He had shifted in his chair, but he remained asleep, mouth open wide in a snore. Luck indeed.

You rounded Boadicea and fixed the stirrup carefully, then finished cinching her. Arthur’s saddle was cared for but older and worn, no doubt having many miles traveled in it, so the latigo slid through the cinch ring like butter. Your used up, lesser made saddle likely wouldn’t be so easy. But if all else failed, you didn’t need your saddle anyway.

Satisfied with Boadicea, you quietly left her stall and made for Harriet’s. The mule nuzzled you fondly upon entering, and you gave her a good scratch in return. She somehow always managed to calm your ever-racing heart. It was a wonder, you thought with a smile, just how often you found your heart trying to beat out of its cage since acquiring her. You blamed that on Arthur and his outlaw ways but found that a sliver of pride had worked its way into you for all that you were doing for him, something so brave in return. He likely thought you the least capable person on earth, but here you were, still going. So you once again set aside your nerves and got to work.

Bridling Harriet proved a bit more difficult, as she didn’t take the bit quite as easily as Boadicea did, but you eventually got her fully tacked without waking the stablehand. You dug through Arthur’s satchel, finding a surprising amount of items at your fingertips before landing on the bills you were searching for. You drug them out and counted out enough to be deemed acceptable, then stuck them in the handle of the stall door. Even with the sneaking around, you weren’t a complete reprobate.

With one last prayer that this would be quiet enough, you opened the stall door wide and led Harriet out. You stopped at Boadicea’s stall and did the same. She was the calmer of the two, so you put her on your left—the side closer to the stablehand—as you made to pass him. Only, when you finally worked up the courage to make your great escape, Harriet tossed her head when you tugged on her reins and made her bridle let out an awful clang of metal.

“Quiet down y’ old nag,” the stablehand mumbled, voice heavy with sleep. You froze solid with fear, but he didn’t even look up. Didn’t even open his eyes. He just shifted and slumped in the opposite direction, going back to snoring. You could hardly believe it but weren’t about to stick around and savor your success. You held on tight to both mounts’ reins and carefully led them past him and straight out, thankful for all the mud and horseshit packed down on the floor so that the sound of hooves hardly thudded. Like this had been made to happen all along. Once out, you grinned at your luck, mounted Harriet, and made for the outskirts of town with both of them in the remaining cover of darkness.

~

Arthur was in deep shit. He’d been in deep shit before, narrowly avoiding a hanging here or a bullet through the head there, but this was worse. His only defenses had ever been strength in numbers and his skill with a gun. He had neither. He was alone and weaponless, bound in sturdy handcuffs like some true outlaw these men had no business knowing he was. Worse still, he was innocent. At least, in terms of the past few days by this town’s standards, he was. The only mark against him had been breaking some sorry bastard’s nose, but from the looks of that saloon, that was a regular enough occurrence. So why was he being dragged in with all the pomp of a man gone rogue on a killing spree? He and the deputy had been joined by two more, the three men parading him down the street with some sorry explanation of bringing him in for questioning. When he’d asked what about, he was met with three matching glares and a shove to keep walking. Fair enough, only that it weren’t. And how ironic that was, being the sole instance he could genuinely plead innocence. Just went to show, innocence was exactly what Dutch always said it was—an opinion men had and nothing more. In terms of true innocence, well, that was better left up to a higher power. It was certainly the kind Arthur relied on now.

The deputies led Arthur to the jailhouse, escorting him inside and shoving him in a cell without removing the handcuffs. Even he suspected he weren’t that big of a threat.

“Thank you, boys. You’re sure it’s him?”

Arthur rounded at the sound of that voice, an unfamiliar and commanding one.

“We’re sure, boss. Old Mr. Parks swears by it.”

It wasn’t difficult to guess the first speaker’s identity. He was smaller and less threatening than Arthur imagined he would be, his subtle resemblance to his brother proof of that.

“Marshal James Lawrence,” he said, rounding his desk to approach the cell. “You must be Mr. Callahan.”

Relief trickled through Arthur. So long as his last name stayed out of it, this would be a predicament he could wriggle out of.

Arthur didn’t respond, fully intending to feel the marshal out if he was being accused of a crime serious enough to warrant all this.

Lawrence smiled, like he had already figured how this would go. “Deputy Foreman, would you kindly free our new guest from his restraints?”

Said deputy bumbled about, no doubt surprised at the request given that the marshal had taken such measures in bringing Arthur here.

“You sure? He came peaceable, but he ain’t exactly…”

Arthur glared, daring the man to finish that sentence. But he didn’t, Lawrence interrupting him. “I’m sure. Through the bars should suffice.”

The way he spoke…Arthur wondered where these two brothers had come from. They were educated, that was certain. But where one was condescending about it, this one commanded respect. It was obvious in the way his deputies regarded him.

Arthur turned and backed up to the bars, letting Deputy Foreman unlock his handcuffs. The things were heavy and too tight for him anyhow. They soon dropped to the floor with a loud clank and the rattle of a chain spiraling downward like a snake, the deputy retrieving them through the bars lest Arthur have any ideas about using them for some sort of escape.

“There,” Lawrence said. “More comfortable, I hope.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed at the kindness as he turned to face the man.

“Ah, of course. Where are my manners? You haven’t a clue why you’re here, is that right?”

The insinuation that Arthur would soon be pleading innocence didn’t sit well with him. He could see how the marshal could come off as becoming, but he wasn’t buying it. The man was a little too greasy-haired and mousy-faced, just like his good-for-nothing brother.

Lawrence smiled again. “Allow me to do the talking, then.” The deputies settled on the nearby wall with matching grins, like they had seen this show before and would thoroughly enjoy seeing it another time.

The marshal went on. “You have been brought in for questioning concerning the untimely death of George Lawrence.”

Surprise hit Arthur. Not just over the death either but because of the nonresponse the marshal had for his own brother’s very recent demise.

“Your brother?”

If Lawrence spited this, he didn’t show it. “Yes. He was found dead behind the saloon on Diggen Street, gunshot wound to the head.”

Arthur knew enough to know he was being gauged for any subtle reaction. Likewise, he kept his face neutral. Nothing good ever came of pleading innocence too soon.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

This, at least, took the marshal by surprise. His eyebrows raised with it. But he pushed on. “Where were you last night at the hours of ten to midnight?”

“Asleep. In that hotel. That no-good hotel owner can attest to that, he saw me come in.”

“Interesting. He told me quite the opposite. Said he saw you earlier in the day but never again.”

“‘Course he did,” Arthur mumbled. “He sold me out then. That’s where I was. You sure he didn’t kill the man, lying like that?”

The marshal shook his head. “I have my reasons for trusting the man. The question is, what reason have you to lie?”

“I don’t. I told you, I was in the hotel hours before that.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, that’s the truth. If you don’t want to accept it, so be it. Ain’t my job to make you see sense.”

Lawrence’s face soured. Like he wasn’t used to someone he couldn’t get a rise out of. “I see.” He looked to the floor deep in thought, going back to his desk. He propped himself against it before speaking again. “So, you claim you were nowhere near that saloon last night?”

“I ain’t sure of the street, but I was at some saloon yesterday behind the hotel these idiots dragged me out of.” Said idiots glared at Arthur, and he couldn’t stop himself from letting out an unimpressed laugh.

“That’s the one,” the marshal continued. “Yet you just said you weren’t there. Which is it?”

“I was there early afternoon. Left no later than four.”

“Ah. Just in time for you to meet my brother.”

Shit. “Heard about that, did you?”

The marshal was smiling again. “Word gets around quickly in this town, Mr. Callahan. Especially when a stranger manhandles one of its citizens.”

“I wouldn’t say manhandle,” Arthur mumbled, knowing no matter how innocent he was, this was starting to look bad.

“I would. From the state of my brother’s wellbeing after his run-in with you, I would say it was worse. A vendetta of sorts, ushered in by a nasty temper and brought to its unforgivable end by a second run-in with him later that night. Tell me, Mr. Callahan, what did he say to provoke you to such violence?”

Arthur didn’t like this one bit. The bastard was good at spinning stories and pointing blame, that was certain. But Arthur hadn’t done it. The only way of proving it, it seemed, would be to prove who had. And in a jail cell, that would be damn near impossible. So Arthur stalled. It was all he had left to do while he thought of a better plan.

“You ever met that brother of yours? Should come as no surprise I wanted to punch him. He insulted me three different ways before I could get a word in.”

The marshal’s face twitched with something Arthur didn’t recognize. He would say fury over the man’s late brother, but that weren’t it. Arthur knew fury well, and he would already be thrashing it around if someone had killed one of his brothers in arms.

“I know he was…difficult to take at times. He never did seem to know when to keep his mouth shut. But that is no means to kill a man.”

“And I didn’t,” Arthur said flatly. “Gave him a good crack on the nose, which was fully deserved, but nothing more. No more than any other man in that saloon wanted to give him just as well.”

Lawrence crossed his arms. “And what’s this I hear about you having someone else with you at the saloon? Where is he?”

Relief flooded Arthur a second time—no one seemed to know you were a woman. Well, he was pretty sure George Lawrence knew, but he wouldn’t be giving that information up anytime soon. And as for the bartender, Arthur just hoped he knew to leave well enough alone in that rough crowd he tended. That left the hotel owner who definitely knew and who had been there when the deputy stormed the room—why hadn’t he said anything about it then? Arthur was starting to suspect him more and more.

“He left town. Said he was headed out early this morning.”

“To where, exactly? And why not with you?”

“I was…preoccupied this morning,” Arthur said, his mind flashing with the sight of you on the bed. “Told him I’d catch up. He has family in the next town over we’re going to see about working for.”

“Preoccupied how?” the marshal asked, no doubt thinking it had to do with covering up a murder.

Arthur’s face remained deadly calm as he said with caution, “With a woman.” It was an easy enough explanation and also ironically truthful, but he didn’t want to bring you into this anymore than he had to.

Lawrence eyed one of his deputies. “See about that, would you, Deputy Gillard? You know the woman folk around here well enough. We’ll have to confirm your story as truth, of course.” This to Arthur.

“Of course,” he grimaced.

“What was her name?”

Arthur panicked all of a second before a smile curved his mouth. “Said she didn’t have a name. Nameless, she got me to call her.” Arthur had to keep the heat off his face when he thought of your real name, of what had come with the knowledge.

“Sounds like Dot Owens if you ask me,” the deputy said. “She’s always playing games like that.”

Lawrence eyed his deputy in disapproval before waving him away. “Go question her then. And Gillard? No funny business. You have a job to do.”

The deputy’s face turned red as a beet. “‘Course, sir.”

He was soon out the door, leaving Arthur with that much better a chance at escape.

The marshal rounded his desk and sat in his chair, letting out a long breath. “I just find it awfully convenient, as I’m sure my deputies here can attest, that you have such ironclad explanations for all of this. Explanations which, pardon my suggestion, seem fabricated to fit the bill.”

Yep. Definitely brothers with that silver-tongued idiot. Arthur shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“The truth, Mr. Callahan. It would go a long way.”

Arthur scoffed a laugh. “I’m sure it would.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

It was Arthur’s turn to sigh. “It means I am telling the truth, not that that’ll get me anywhere. It means you’ve done a fine job of pinning me with this without having any real reason to believe it was me besides me being the one person stupid enough to put that idiot brother of yours in his place.”

The marshal’s eyes narrowed on Arthur, though the man went unnaturally still. “Careful.”

Arthur pushed on, not caring if the man was riled or not. “It just seems convenient,” he said, quoting Lawrence, “that you paraded me around town getting me here, that you want this blame pinned on me so easily, not giving it any thought that it could be someone else. Almost like you want me framed, for all this to go away.”

Lawrence just stared. He stared so long Arthur wondered how violent the marshal could be with that supposed quick draw of his. But when he spoke again, it wasn’t to Arthur. “Foreman, Vaughn, go find someplace to be.”

Great. At least Arthur had his hands in the very likely case this turned ugly.

The deputies gawked at Lawrence. “But sir, you don’t mean to-”

“Go,” he demanded. “I’ll come calling when I need you.”

The reluctantly did as he said, stumbling out of the door one after the other. Only then did the marshal rise to his feet. “That’s a mighty claim to make.”

“Give me a better explanation, and I’ll go singing you praises. Until then, this feels pretty forced, Mr. Marshal.”

“Forced? You beat my brother’s face in. That makes you suspect number one.”

“And you seem a smart man, Marshal. Even you must know you have to consider all your options.”

Lawrence waved his hand through the air in dismissal. “Enough of this. I won’t indulge myself in the ravings of a guilty man.”

Arthur found a humorless smile crossing his face. “I ain’t guilty. You just don’t want to believe it. Why is that?”

Lifeless, coal-black eyes met his own, and Arthur knew the answer before the man could say it.

“It’s because it’s your brother, ain’t it? You want someone to swing for this. You have no way of knowing who it was, what with the man being one of the least-liked in town. You just want someone to pin it on, some way of someone paying for this.”

Surprisingly, the marshal’s temper didn’t flare, or it didn’t show if it did. “I want the man responsible for this brought to justice. This town is full of cowards, Mr. Callahan. I can tell by your words, you’re not one of them.”

“And you think that means I killed him?” Again, just words. More stalling.

“I do.”

“Well, I didn’t. And I ain’t the only non-coward in this town, Marshal. Tell me, why exactly did you send your deputies away?”

“Just what the hell are you implying?”

“You thought you’d what, rough me up a little in retaliation? Or worse, did you not want your deputies hearing what I had to say?”

The marshal’s jaw twitched. Now he’d struck a nerve.

“That’s it, ain’t it? Your precious reputation is all you have in this town. Would be a shame for your own men to suspect you of such negligence.”

Lawrence smiled, an evil-looking thing. “I’ll be happy to watch you swing, Mr. Callahan.”

Something finally clicked into place for Arthur. “I’m sure you will. Can’t talk if I’m dead, right? Just like dear old George.”

The marshal slammed a fist down on his desk. “That’s enough! I won’t be accused of such nonsense!”

“Accused? Why, I didn’t accuse you of nothing, Mr. Marshal. Unless you mean to say that I think you did it?”

That lethal calm settled over the man again, and he spoke dangerously low in response. “I would be extremely careful with what you say next.”

Arthur smirked. “That don’t sound like a denial.”

The marshal rounded his desk and stormed Arthur’s cell, pointing a finger at him as he yelled, “I won’t be made a fool of by the likes of a low-down criminal like you! Tell all the lies you want about me, but come morning, you’ll hang!”

The man barely came up to Arthur’s chin, and the effect of him looking up and waving that finger was about as non-threatening as a child throwing a tantrum.

Arthur grinned. “Interesting.”

“What?” Lawrence shouted.

“That’s what got you angry? Not all that talk about your brother?” Lawrence’s face fell, and Arthur took that to mean he was right. “You just seem awful calm around someone you claim killed your brother. That is, until I said you did it.”

The marshal looked stunned. His hand fell, and he backed away a slow step. Then his face soured like it had earlier, and he repeated, “I’ll be happy to watch you swing.”

“Because I’m the perfect cover-up? Because you killed your brother?”

He rounded, his anger coming back full force. “So what if I did? It doesn’t matter anyhow! My no-good brother isn’t here to plague this town or say otherwise anymore, and you’ll be put to death for it no matter the circumstance!”

Arthur couldn’t believe his luck. And how useless that luck was. The man before him was guilty as sin despite his high and mighty manner, but he was right about one thing—it wouldn’t matter a bit come morning. Arthur would hang for this man’s crime, and there was no amount of spewing the truth that would get this town to walk him down from the gallows. They would gladly watch, happy to have not one low-down reprobate gone, but two. And they would hail their marshal even higher than they had before.

Marshal Lawrence had sat in his chair once more, fuming at Arthur and throwing insult at him left and right. But Arthur had no words left, nothing more to bait the man with now that his guilt was exposed. So he stood there crestfallen, thinking, of all things, of you. Not of how death had finally come to call. Not of his gang. Of you, and of how much this would crush you. He hoped you had gotten out of town like he said, but he knew that stubborn streak in you that ran a mile wide and knew you were likely waiting to see what came of him. He couldn’t bear to think about the moment you heard his neck crack. You would turn into that shell of yourself again, and there would be no one there to save you this time.

Funny how life worked. Arthur was at death’s door, and the one person he cared about saving wasn’t himself. It was the person who had made him see why living mattered so much in the first place.

~

After lots of searching and your best attempts at remaining discreet, you had found the jailhouse. And you sat underneath one of its windows, listening in on every word the marshal said. Like how he had bribed the hotel owner into silence, and how he had shot his own brother in the head to keep him from tarnishing the family name any further. How Arthur was the perfect target. How, come ten in the morning, Arthur would hang for a crime he didn’t commit. You could hardly stand the sea of dread that resulted in you, threatening to drown you from within. But you would stand it. You owed him this. So you vowed to be ready at ten in the morning, rifle in hand.

You would save Arthur’s life even if it cost you your own.

_________

Chapter seventeen is here.

tag list: @nayomi247 @ultraporcelainpig @photo1030 @spiritcatcherxo @calcarius445 @meet-me-backstage

[cheapshrimpysheep]

First Date - Heartslabyul

SUMMARY: What would your first date with him be like? I know first dates might not go so well, but let's pretend these are different. ;)

CHARACTERS: Riddle Rosehearts; Ace Trappola; Deuce Spade; Cater Diamond & Trey Clover

TAGS: Fluf; GN Reader; Flirting; Kissing

WARNING: Spoilers from Ace SSR Suitor Suit (Vignette); Book 5; end of book 4; Cater SSR Birthday Boy (Vignette)

WORD COUNT: An average of 570 words per character.

Heartslabyul / Savanaclaw / Octavinelle / Scarabia / Pomefiore / Ignihyde / Diasomnia

COMMENTS: Damn, making this for 5 characters is hard. And I still want to make it for all characters! What am I doing to myself? XD Tho, this is fun to write. I hope you have fun reading too. ;)

Riddle is an extremely Lawful person (Like in Lawful Neutral Character it's what I mean). And in this context, to be extremely lawful would mean to be extremely cliché. Then a Candlelit Dinner will be!

He asked Trey to cook. First: because Riddle knows he's not a good cook and your date had to be perfect, and for that the food should be too. Second: Trey's food and especially sweets are incredible! Perfect for a date! Riddle probably blushed asking Trey that favor, because Trey would tease him a bit too. But just a little bit.

He decided to use a smaller room for your date. Still, it had a large window overlooking the beautiful maze. If anyone even dared to think of interrupting your date it would immediately be OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!

Trey was the one who made the food, but who would serve you would be Riddle himself. He didn't want anyone else in that room with you. Mainly because he was still a little embarrassed and nervous.

He will enjoy talking to you. Know more about yourself and your world. Tell you more about the Queendom of Roses. The two of you praising Trey's cooking. And since you're being cliché, why not do the same with dessert?

Strawberry Tart was the dessert. You insist that you cut the tart yourself. You cut a slice, put it on the plate, take the fork and take a piece of the slice. And before Riddle can ask why you only took your slice, you hold your fork out to him. He is slightly confused.

You just say "Aaaah" and he finally realizes what you're doing. And blushes. He sighs, more to calm himself a bit. and opens his mouth without being able to look you in the eye. His cheeks were starting to match his hair.

“Next time, I'd like to be the one cooking you a strawberry tart.” you say, after seeing the delight in Riddle's smile after eating from your fork.

He blushes a little more, but answers in a soft and sweet voice: “That would be wonderful.” And he quickly pulled the rest of the tart close to him, to cut a slice and feed it to you as you did to him. Who was blushing now?

“Rule 53.” He says with his little smirk. “You must replace anything you steal. You made me steal a piece of your tart. In other circumstances, it would be off with your head for making me break a rule you know?” He was smiling nonetheless, so you smiled back and ate the tart he offered you.

Before leaving for Ramshackle Dorm, you remembered that rule. And you dared to be cheeky. Riddle was accompanying you out and you took advantage of his low guard to give him a quick kiss on the lips. He stopped, astonished.

“Oh no!” you say with fake concern “Did I just steal a kiss from you? And according to the rules I must replace anything I steal correct?”

He should be mad at you, but he couldn't. He was trying so hard not to smile, he just gave up. And that smirk of yours, took its place. “In fact. What you just did was a tremendous infraction.” He gets closer to you. “Because it wasn't just a kiss you stole from me. A long time ago, you stole my heart as well.”

Since his Personal Story from SSR Suitor Suit, I can only think of one thing: Amusement Park Date! Ace will not treat this like a date date. It's better for him if you just have fun together without worrying about being on a date.

You'll go with him on thrill rides. Mainly because you would challenge each other. And then you would try to convince each other that the other was the most scared.

When you're already tired of so much adrenaline, it will be time to eat something. You'd going to eat hot dogs and laugh at each other for dropping the straw potato through the other end of the hot dog. If you get sauce on the tip of your nose, he might kiss it to lick the sauce off. And he will be pleased to make you blush. If you guys eat dessert, like ice cream, be careful. Because he'll try to nibble on your dessert just to mess with you.

Even though you're having so much fun with Ace, you still wanted to do some date stuff. Like, for example... Oh! That baby flamingo plush is so cute! I remember you from the ones of Heartslabyul. And what a coincidence (or maybe not), it’s one of the prizes of a basketball game stall. But when you mention it to Ace...

“So why don't you try to win one? Your throws are pretty decent.” He smiles with fake innocence. You look at him sullenly. “Ha ha ha. I know, I know. I haven't completely forgotten that we're on a date. But if I get you the plush, what do I get from that?”

You give him two options: bragging about how good he was on the game and how cool he looked like when he got you that plush. Or a kiss.

“Are you telling me I can only choose one of those? Not fair! That game could be really hard, you know~” You laugh and end up saying that if he really got that plush for you, he could have both.

Are you surprised that he failed on the first tries? Probably from overconfidence? Being fair, the hoops are also different from real basketball hoops. Eventually hitting those hoops becomes a matter of pride. But before he keeps trying, he starts talking to the stall guy. It looks like a normal small talk, but Ace is actually trying to take the trick to win out of the guy. When he gets the information he wanted, he tries again. And wins!

The stall guy give him the baby flamingo. Ace extends his arm to give you the stuffed animal, but, oops, too high. He raised the plush high above his head. You’ll not jump, you’ll play dirty, like he would too. You start poking him around the belly making him tickle. And get your baby flamingo!

The day was already ending and it started to get dark. You heard that the view from the top of the Ferris wheel at night is very beautiful, and it seemed like a nice, and chill way to end an amusement park date. He agrees, he was tired too.

“I thought you were tired.” You comment as he starts trying to swing the Ferris wheel carriage. Then he stops, really tired, he can't even do that. But he’s smiling a lot. The Ferris wheel was very tall, and only one lap took some time. You already had your prize in your hands, but you still hadn't given Ace his.

I got this idea after book 5: a Magical Wheel ride somewhere. “It's a surprise” he tells you, when you ask where you two are going. One of his lines from his PE card is "Are you free? Then why don't we go for a ride on my blastcycle? No, wait, I almost forgot—we need permission to leave the school grounds."

Either he got that permission or just went YOLO like he did with Epel. And since this is you first date, he would be very capable to do that if he didn't get the permission.

He would already be extremely excited to drive a Magical Wheel freely. But with you behind him, that enthusiasm multiplies. If you like speed as much as he does, he'll be over the moon. So happy that he can make that for you. Feel the same excitement he feels.

If you don't like speed and maybe even fear him going so fast in such an unprotected vehicle, you'll probably hug him even tighter and maybe squeeze his coat. And he'll be able to take that as a sign to slow down. He won't be sad that you don't like speed as much as he does. He’ll be disappointed in himself for forgetting your limits and scaring you. He'll apologize to you for that later.

For this, let's assume he used the Dark Mirror to get you somewhere. Because I imagine him taking you on a ride through green plains or mountain range.

And using this last example, where does it take you anyway? How about a river beach, perhaps near a waterfall, to have a somewhat improvised picnic? This because he didn't have the picnic stuff like a picnic blanket or food, so you would need to buy it in the little nearby stores. He was more excited about riding a Magical Wheel with you, so he ended up forgetting about the rest. Sorry.

It was such a beautiful sight. And the sun began to set. “Deuce” you say “Do you remember when you got on a Magical Wheel and took Epel to Sage's Island beach?” he nods “I got a kind of jealous, you know.”

He spits out the soda he was drinking. “Of what? *cough* *cough*” you are both sitting by the water.

“I mean, you take a Magical Wheel that isn't even yours, break the rules about whether or not you can leave the school grounds, and still take someone to the beach at sunset? Epel rode with you on a Magical Wheel before me.” you take your drink to your mouth “And sunset on the beach?” you murmur “That's romantic stuff.”

“Whoa, what? Wait! First of all my intentions were never romantic! I have no interest in him, just to be clear! I just wanted to help him. I would have done exactly the same for you. Maybe even more.” and speaking of which, he remembers: “Hey, wait a second, I've already done even more for you! Do you remember when you got stuck in Scarabia on winter break? Ace and I made it all the way from the Queendom of Roses to Sage's Island without using the mirror. just because you sent that message and we couldn't talk to you afterwords. I'm pretty sure that’s more than taking someone to the beach.”

You smile. “You’re right. And I never thanked you enough for all that work. Or for everything you've done for me since I arrived in Twisted Wonderland.” You put down your drink and hug him. Will your first kiss be enough thanks for now?

Cute Cafe Date! Why? Cater SSR Birthday Boy - Vignette: “I love visiting cafes, but we all know the most photogenic thing on the menu is dessert. Well, I can't take a picture of something without ordering it, and how am I supposed to order something I can't eat? It's a real pickle! ...Wait, I've got it! (MC), what if YOU ordered something and I posted it to Magicam? That settles it. We GOTTA hit up a cafe sometime soon. I know all the hottest spots for 'cammable desserts! And don't worry--food's on me. Deal? Deal!”

He dressed for the occasion, just like you. Everyone could see that you were a couple. And you would be the cutest couple in that cafe. If you're already shy, you'll probably be even more shy. Because someone like you and the handsome young man with you will catch some eyes.

And to make it worse if you're already a little embarrassed by your shyness, Cater will find you so cute that he will put his arm around you and pull you closer. Maybe even give you a few kisses on the cheek.

He will take so many pictures that it will look more like a photo shoot. Photos of the food, of him, of you, of the two together, of the place, everything! You two will talk A LOT. About NRC, about your colleagues, about Magicam gossip, etc.

He already talks cute to most people. So with someone as special as you, not only does he talk in that cute and affectionate way, but also becomes very touchy with you. He'll want to hug you and kiss you on the cheek a lot. If you like PDA, that's perfect. If not, he'll respect that, but still try to at least hold your hand.

You will be there for so long that only when you start to see the space becoming empty, with fewer and fewer customers, will you realize that closing time is approaching. As he promised, he paid for everything.

When you left, the sun was already setting. “Hey, (Y/N)-chan.” He tells you, in a whisper “Before we go back, There's one last place that I would like to go with you~.” And his fingers touch yours, like an invitation you could refuse. But you accept and he intertwine your fingers.

You walk a little until you reach a park. You walk along the dirt path, through the trees and the lawn with flowers. its a pleasant walk. And as night came you could hear the crickets. He stops by the lake, the two of you sit on a bench and he takes another selfie with you. To next giving more attention to his Magicam than to you for a long moment.

You sulk a bit and you decide to go to your own Magicam to see what is taking his attention away from you. You see that he didn't tag you in the photos and that the comments on the photos with you were disabled. “I wanted to show you off but...” Cater says, looking at you with his phone's screen off. “I wanted to make sure no one spoiled this day. You... know...?” He tries to keep his smile.

You put your hands on his face “You don't need to show me off. The best things in life are offline, you know? I don't need to be part of your feed to be part of your life.”

He smiles at you, his most genuine smile, as if to say: this is why I love you. And he can't stand not having you in his arms and kissing your lips.

A Picnic with the best food: his. He’ll carry the basket and picnic blanket in one hand and your hand in the other. He’s the one who usually plans the Unbirthday Parties. Planning your picnic date is a nice change of pace. Plus, he loves seeing your delightful face when you try and like his food and pastries. He would take you to a quiet and peaceful place to enjoy yourselves and each other.

This is his opportunity to rest from his Vice-Houseworden duties. And you can take a rest from Ace, Deuce and especially from Grim's shenanigans.

He would definitely feed you his cooking, mainly to see your smile better after you taste it. He's more of a giver than a taker. So if you did something for him and you were able to sneak that in the basket until he takes it of the basket surprised and feed it to him, he will hesitate at first, flattered. But happily eat it.

He chose a place where hardly anyone would casually find you, so he’ll feel comfortable lying on the blanket and inviting you to lie down with him. You two will probably keep snacking while chatting. He’ll let you rest your head on his chest and play with your hair.

Deep down he can be cheeky. But he doesn't show that side to everyone. You are one of the lucky few.

Your picnic was being peaceful. Maybe so much that that's why he decided to play a little prank on you. You were feeding each other cherries. He puts one in your mouth, but when you bite into it and taste it, it tastes like banana. “TREY!” You complain with the cherry in your mouth without knowing whether to spit it out or not. You even raised to sit down.

He bursts out laughing. You were caught so off guard. “Hey, look on the bright side, I could have been a little meaner. I could have done it with a sour taste.” he smirks.

You couldn't use magic like him, but that didn't mean you couldn't get your revenge. You look into the basket and see the cake you ate a few slices earlier. Cake that was decorated with whipped cream on top. You get some whipped cream on your finger and attack Trey while he's still lying there laughing at you.

But he is faster and manages to grab your wrist and deflect his nose from your finger. You lose your balance and end up on top of him. And to make you blush even more, he licks the whipped cream off your finger. And instead of you getting your revenge, you gave him another reason to laugh: your pinkish face.

He wanted to be cheeky? Well, two can play that game. Why not give him a taste of his own prank? You were close enough and you kissed his lips. You feel his lips twitch into a smile.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[abibliophobiaa]

Beyond - s.h. x f!reader

Chapter Five: Somewhere in the Crowd There’s You

a/n: here’s chapter five of my purely self-indulgent fun — a little later than i anticipated because i was sick and got a little derailed. we are half way now and things will be heating up in the next few chapters, haha. wanted to play around with one of my favorite tropes, so here we are with modern day!rich!fake husband!steve harrington x afab!reader.

warnings/tags: (10k words); mentions of alcohol; parent loss, both parties; r has a sister and father; smut in later chapters, so 18+, minors dni; additional tags to be added.

masterlist

-

-

“You sent too much money.” 

It’s your father’s voice that spills down the other line. Gruff in a way that alerts you your fears aren’t for naught, as he’s likely had many sleepless nights since the last you spoke. You recall days as a child, when your mother had been sick, and your father would stay awake all hours of the night, if only to clean up the house so she didn’t have to. To make sure that her worries were only meant to be on getting better and resting. 

“I…have a business and it’s going well,” you explain, chewing on your bottom lip. 

Across the room, Steve’s fluffing pillows and putting a champagne bottle on ice. Your guests will be here soon, likely within the next few minutes, though when your father’s name flashed across your screen you knew you needed to answer. 

“Only a few clients now, but I’m hopeful I’ll pick up more,” you continue, exhaling deeply. “I want you to have it. I know Caroline mentioned needing new shoes. Please let me do this.”

There’s a long pause. “Okay, okay. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Clinical year at school, newly married, and now a businesswoman. How is my son-in-law?”

“He’s…” 

Steve rushes into the kitchen where you’re standing, hands curling around either of your hips to shift you away from the refrigerator so he can pull out the charcuterie board you had commissioned for the evening’s gathering. 

“He’s really great. He’s been busy since we got back from our honeymoon, but he’s doing really well.”

Ever since your moment days ago in the kitchen, after Steve had pushed aside picking you up and opted to send Hopper in his stead, your relationship has taken new form. True to his word, Steve started a new habit of not answering his phone after you're done with your clinicals for the evening. Afternoons now had been spent watching your shows together on nights you didn’t have prior engagements with his coworkers, merely existing in the same room together, becoming…friends. 

Literal friends, in the truest sense of the word. And it’s more than you can ask for, though you can’t lie that even the slightest touches leave you a little breathless. There’s also the kisses to the back of your hand at dinner, the way he curls his palm around the top of your thigh while his coworkers regale a particularly interesting story, the lingering press of his mouth against your forehead when he’s feeling especially doting in mixed company. 

Progress. 

You’re making progress. 

“I actually should go and help him. We have company this afternoon. His cousin and wife are visiting us for the first time since the wedding. Still getting used to hosting gatherings as a couple, you know?” There’s a chuckle on the other end, and you know him well enough to imagine the slow shake of his head. “I love you so much and I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

The line clicks, leaving you to witness Steve elbow deep in the sink, washing your coffee mugs from earlier that morning. Your eyes slide to the perfectly operational dishwasher on his right side, though you can’t deny that the sight of your husband, bare arms shifting and moving as he works, is a lovely one. None the wiser of your ogling, you step forward to him, elbow leaning down against the counter. 

“You know, the dishwasher is empty,” you point out. 

“I am perfectly capable of cleaning a few dishes,” he grouses, rinsing a cup and settling it in the drying rack. “I also need to keep moving. Getting antsy now that they’re running late.”

“Hey, Steve?” You step closer, your front brushing his hip. He shakes his head as you do so, a laugh breaking free from his mouth as you grip his arms and still him in his frantic movements. “Put the sponge down. And the plate. The fork, too.”

The three items plunk down into the sink, a loud clatter in your otherwise silent home. Fingers curl around a hand towel and he reaches over to grasp his wedding ring, pushing it back into place against his knuckle. One thing you’ve found, and you particularly enjoy, is the fact Steve’s never taken off his ring. Not once. Even under the false pretenses of marriage, seeing him wearing a symbol of your union, of the vows you shared some time ago now, erupts dozens of bees into your bloodstream. Humming, buzzing, igniting your every nerve ending with electricity. 

“Are you okay,” you ask, hand coming to rest against his back. 

It’s the softest brush, and yet he turns his head all the same, hazel eyes meeting yours, and then trailing up the inside of your arm to where you’re touching. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he says unconvincingly, shifting to face you now. That arm drops as he does so, but is replaced by his two large hands cupping your biceps. “Just want to get through this afternoon and then I’ll be much happier.”

Your mouth opens to speak, to ask him why the stress over this afternoon, when his phone rings and the doorman lets him know Theobald and Cami have finally arrived. It’s not the first time you’ve met them. The first had been at your wedding, where introductions to most of Steve’s friends and extended family were done so in a rapid fire manner. They’d been kind enough; as much as one can be in a two minute conversation wherein you welcomed them and thanked them for coming to celebrate your “special day” with the love of your life. 

But now, seeing them there in the flesh, brought a new wave of nervousness into your belly. Theobald Cletus, with his dark hair that resembles Steve’s, with tan skin and the beginnings of wrinkles that crease his forehead and around the corners of his mouth. And beside him, his stunning wife with silky red curls that fell to her waist in ringlets, delicately freckled cheeks, and impossibly green eyes. Ethereal—she looked ethereal and, by your guessing, quite a bit younger than her husband standing with a hand against the smallest point of her back. 

As your mouth opens to speak and welcome them into your home, Cami rushes forward, curling her arms around your shoulders in a frighteningly tight hug that has you wincing and peering over your shoulder to your husband. Steve only shrugs as he steps forward and cups his hand around his cousin’s, only to be tugged forward into a hug of his own. 

“Theobald, you’ve met my wife,” Steve finally says once you’ve managed to extract yourself from Cami long enough to sidle back up to him, his arm settling around your waist, palm curling affectionately around your hip. One of the appropriate touches you’ve discussed, and yet it has your head spinning all the same. 

Just as it does every time. 

“Ah, yes.” His eyes flicker to yours. Darker than your husband’s, corners twitching as his lips curl into a smile. “The new Mrs. Harrington. How could I forget that whirlwind affair?”

Head dipping uncomfortably, you press your palm against Steve’s where it rests against your hip, sliding your fingers between his to lace them tight. “It was pretty crazy, wasn’t it?” Awkwardly laughing, you turn to look to Steve for support. “Should we take this into the living room?”

“Please!” Cami exclaims, flicking her hair over her shoulders. “I would love to hear all about the honeymoon. I want all the details. Should we be expecting any little Harringtons soon?”

Just as you say, “Absolutely not,” Theobald echoes, “My cousin loves kids. Always wanted a brood of them.”

It’s expected, you think. It’s a common question after marriage, no matter how inappropriate. Society says once you’re married you’re to obviously have children next. Frankly, it’s archaic and a ridiculous practice. And even so, Theobald’s words strike a sudden sadness into your chest. This thought that Steve so deeply wants children. A thought you could completely see come to fruition based on his interactions with El and Will alone. They’d been immediately endeared to him. All wide eyes and bright laughter, vibrant conversation, his endless bantering with them. 

Steve Harrington would be a good father to his future children one day with his real wife. Not the woman you are to him for the next three years. 

However, it’s at this moment you rationalize the error in your plans. A real couple would have had these conversations about future children already. 

“Not now, at least,” you giggle airily, curling your arm around Steve’s and tugging him close. His brows furrow as you add, “Right now I’m just enjoying spending time with my husband. I want to be a little selfish for a while yet.”

“Understandable,” Cami agrees, settling down on your living room couch, crossing her legs and revealing a stunning pair of Gucci pumps that likely cost your half of the rent while still living with Robin. “I love our two little gremlins, but they take up all our free time. Constantly running them around to school events, dance classes, sporting events.”

“Sweetheart, the au pair does all of that,” Theobald chuckles, earning a whack in the arm from his wife. “Enough about that. Tell me…how did you two meet? It all happened so fast.”

“As you already pointed out,” Steve warns, hand around yours growing tighter. 

Cami moves to open the champagne bottle, easing the tension in the room with the echoing pop. Glasses are poured and passed around the table, glasses coming together in a soft ‘cheers’ before you bring the champagne flute to your lips and take a large swallow. Bubbles burst against your tongue, eyes training on Theobald’s, just as he passes a look your way. 

A battle of wills then, you think. 

“We met at a party,” you begin, removing your hand from Steve's and gripping the bottom of his chin, shifting him enough that he’s looking at you. “We’d known each other for a bit through our mutual friend, and we’d always kind of danced around one another. In the same spaces always, yet too nervous to make the first move.”

Steve watches you carefully as you weave your tale that isn’t really a tale. It’s mostly the truth, with the romance added in. But it comes naturally. Pours out of you with an unexpected ease that has Cami leaning into her husband’s shoulder, green eyes twinkling as you speak. 

“And then one afternoon, Stevie bought me a drink and walked it over to where I was standing by myself. My friend had just left to use the restroom, and here he stood…all tall, dark, and handsome. We started talking that night and just realized how easy it was to be around one another. I’d never talked so much on a first date, and yeah—I considered that our first date. After that we spent nearly every day together. It didn’t take long for us both to realize we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. Some might think it was rushed, but there’s that saying, right? When you know, you know. And with my school starting up again, and us wanting so badly to get married, we thought no time like the present. Now here we are.”

For emphasis, you lean forward. Close enough that Steve’s eyes cross, his mouth dropping a hint at the corners, before twitching upward when your lips press against the corner of his mouth. A tentative press of your skin just barely against his. You linger with your forehead against his, trying not to focus on the temperature in the room, or how it feels it’s creeping higher and higher with every passing moment you remain connected to him. 

“Here we are,” Steve echoes, breath fanning against your bottom lip. 

Were you to even move an inch, your mouths would connect. A thought he must have as well, because he brings his thumb up and taps your bottom lip gently, nuzzling your nose until you hear the excitable clapping of Cami’s hands where she’s sitting on the living room touch. Pushing the hem of your summer dress down back around your knees, you shift and take in the older man sitting across from you. His eyes are narrowed on your face, a twitch not unnoticed in his cheek as he jolts to his feet and suggests Steve and him have a little bit of time as ‘cousins’ on the private patio. Noticing your hesitance at him leaving your side, Steve brushes a gentle kiss against your forehead, pours you another glass of champagne, and promises he’ll be right back. 

With the door closed and the men left to their own devices, you look over to Cami. Cami, the picture of beauty. An image of a woman who walks in this world of the elites and has no qualms about it; steps into it and commands it, whereas you’re still walking around on wobbly legs like a baby deer. Even her clothes look like they were made for her. Luxurious fabrics that ebb and flow with her every movement, high neck of her summer dress leading to a gorgeous diamond necklace falling to the hollow of her throat. 

Across from her, your dress suddenly feels too tight. Gifted by your mother-in-law who insisted she owned her own fashion line, and therefore absolutely must dress her only daughter. A quick phone call wherein you protested her suggestions ended with a ring from the doorman alerting you a delivery of multiple garments had arrived for you. Various dresses for each occasion, pants, shoes, blouses and anything you could imagine ever needing were added to your closet. All elaborate in design, and becoming for a new wife to the CEO of a major contracting company. The biggest the city touted, if you were completely honest with yourself. 

Today you wore an off the shoulder floral patterned dress and the diamond earrings gifted by your mother-in-law as a bridal shower gift. You’d pushed aside the thought of heels for the afternoon; instead opted for a comfy pair of sandals that were maybe in their last season of use, but now they only looked garish in the light beside the Gucci pumps on Cami’s feet. 

Comparison, this ugly weed of a thing, grew up within you against your better wishes. Robbed you of what little air fell in and out of your lungs as you sat there, sipping your champagne. You didn’t care for these preconceived ideas of what a Harrington wife should look like, right? You were your own person, had been long before him, and would continue to be so after him. Yet sitting there, watching her gracefully move about the room, and commenting on the pictures you’d added from the wedding, reminds you of how some people were meant for this life. Some people were raised for it. 

You were not. 

“He looks so in love with you,” Cami trills, fingers running along the silver edge of your photo frame, lifting it nearer to her face for inspection. You know exactly which one it is. Jonathan had told the two of you to look one another in the eyes and press your foreheads together. He’d draped your veil over the both of you, the setting sun basking you both in a golden hour halo. It’s dreamy. A shot so dreamy it’s easy to believe it is of a man deeply in love with his bride. “That new love look. Cherish it. You know how these Harrington men are.”

Actually…you don’t. 

You’re not interested in even asking her what she intends by her words, but when she places the photo back down and turns your way, there’s a glimmer of something wet on her lower lashes. Awkwardly, you clear your throat, reaching over and offering to refill her glass. She heartily accepts, fingers combing through long amber locks as she settles back down on the couch across from you, crossing her legs once more. Again, she’s the statuesque image of perfection; cracks visible in her foundation, yet devastatingly beautiful all the same. 

“You’ve got the best one,” she sniffles, grasping a piece of cheese and a cracker within her index and pointer. “Stevie is a sweetheart. Always has been. Theobald is hard on him, and I always try to tell him to ease up. The late Mr. Harrington was always so rough on his son as it is without Theo breathing down his neck.”

The late Mr. Harrington. 

You knew very little of him. From what you’ve gathered—the very scraps of things here and there, as Steve never really mentioned him—their relationship, while his father had been alive, was a strained one. His parents had him later in life; a quick Google search would show as much. The heir to the company born with a silver platter before him, wanting for naught, pushed into the limelight. 

Still, hearing Cami talk about Steve…with pity—grief tightens like a vice around your heart. Envisioning those hazel eyes of your husband, staring up expectantly at a man who never saw his son’s achievements for what they were. And now, at his young age, trying to make his late father proud at the expense of his own self. 

Long hours, constant meetings, coaching calls. Pushing, striving, hustling.

With a long sigh, you glance toward the outside patio, where you can see your husband with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. His left hand curls around the stem of his glass, hand gesticulating wildly in the air as he talks with Theobald, hair in disarray. Like he’s been raking his fingers through it. Eyes trail his shoulders next, along the contours of sinewy muscle, then further up where you can visibly see the rigidity in his form. 

“Steve is…” 

Your voice breaks, eyes tipping downward to your bubbly drink in hand. Cami’s fingers curl around your wrist, a sympathetic frown lining her pristine features, and you know she’s thinking you’re caught up in your emotions. But in reality, it’s because there are so many things he is, all of which swirl like a muddied mess in your hazy mind. 

“Steve is a good man. He’s the best man. I’m really lucky to have him.”

When you glance up, there he is, grin gracing his features. It’s plain as day he’s heard you; those stiff shoulders slacken. Tension eases from the curve of his mouth, as well as in the grip of his fingers around his glass. Instead his face morphs into elation, feet carrying him over to where you sit so he can once more slide an arm around your waist and tug you close. 

Theobald regards you carefully in the distance, taking in the way you slide into the crook of your husband’s chest, seeking the warmth of him. The comfort of someone in your corner, seated in a room ripe with scrutiny. 

“Thank you,” Steve whispers against your ear, just as Cami dives into conversation about her and Theo’s children, revealing photo after photo of their adorable faces on her iPhone screen. 

“We’re the Harringtons, aren’t we?” 

He chuckles brightly, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

Day shifts into evening.

Conversations drift around lighter topics. Talks of your schooling, your plans for the future, the business you’ve started. A fact which, to your unamusement, Theobald finds more than mildly intriguing when he later corners you in the kitchen as Steve and Cami flip through the photos she had taken at the wedding on her phone (despite Steve’s pitying gazes for you to rescue him). Instead, you’d offered to start cleaning up, knowing your husband and you had dinner plans with another couple from the office. 

“A dog walking business…” He mutters, elbow dropping down onto the counter. “How quaint.”

“It’s extra money,” you say simply, placing a watery glass into the drying rack. “You’re a businessman, aren’t you? Isn’t it better to make all my money now while I’m younger?”

“That I am. And I would agree,” he murmurs, eyes trailing your profile. “It’s just curious since you know how wealthy your husband is. He’s CEO of the company now, and that’s not even counting the hefty inheritance he got as the sole Harrington son. That kind of money is generational. He could never work another day in his life and be well off.”

“My husband is supportive of my endeavors,” you grumble out, training your eyes on the kitchen backsplash. 

“Obviously,” he agrees goodnaturedly. “He loves you. Everyone can see it. All of a sudden our hard working golden child is leaving the office at normal times, running home to his lovely wife. I just hope he knows what he’s doing.”

Heat flashes like lava in your gut over the revelation that your ruse is working. It’s hindered by Theobald’s latter statement, mind stuttering over his blasé persona. The question as to whether or not Steve knows what he’s doing. Trying to hide your piqued interest, you harden your expression into one of neutrality. 

As your mouth opens to speak, Cami cuts you off with a shrill, “Theobald, they have to get ready for their dinner. We’ve overstayed our welcome. But I would absolutely love for us to do this again!”

Uncertain if you’re happy or sad about this latest development because you still needed further clarity over Theo’s words, you place the remaining glasses into the drying rack and slide your rings back into place, pressing yourself into Steve’s side as he approaches. For a dramatic flair, you even press your left hand to his abdomen, rings glinting in the light, head leaning against his chest as you wish them a wonderful rest of their evening. 

Theobald gives you one last fleeting look just when his wife nearly strangles you in another bear hug, and claps a hand against his younger cousin’s shoulder. “We will definitely have to do this again. It was nice officially meeting you, Mrs. Harrington.”

The doors slide closed and a sigh spills from your lips. Against you, Steve relaxes, hand rubbing up and down the length of your spine idly, eyes still fixed on the doors across from him. Slipping away from him, you quickly gather the rest of the snacks and glasses from the living room table and drop them down into the sink, pinching at the bridge of your nose. 

“Is he always like that?” You wonder out loud, whirling around to face Steve. 

His head jerks at your words, mouth pulling southward. The solidness of his right hip rests against the kitchen counter. You try to not dawdle on the way his bicep twitches as it rests on the surface beside him, nor as his fingers sprawl around the base of his jaw, keeping his head propped up. 

“He’s usually worse,” he admits. “What did he say to you?” 

“Just commented on my business,” you tell him, deciding to ease in with that before asking what his cousin had meant by ‘hoping Steve knows what he’s doing’, moving to place a plate in the drying rack. “He couldn’t seem to fathom how I would resort to the life of a peasant, when I should be rolling around in your endless buckets of money.”

Snorting, he teases, “Someone’s angry.”

“Yeah, and for once not at you, so I’d be thankful.” Your nose wrinkles as he barks out a laugh, head tipping back in his glee. Mirth bubbles up within your belly at the lyrical sound spilling from your husband, the way his cheeks stretch wide on his face, how the corners of his eyes crinkle in his happiness. “I told him I liked what I do. Is that so wrong? I like having my own thing. Just like you have your own thing.”

Without a warning, he turns the water off. Grips your shoulders lightly, turning you to him. “Theo is an entitled idiot, okay? He thinks he runs the company and the world, and anyone who doesn’t live like him is beneath him. Notice how he’s got this constant look on his face of disgust?”

At that, your lips twitch. Steve coaxes it further by shaking you slightly, earning a giggle. “He does kind of look like he hates everyone around him. It’s a wonder he married Cami. She seems sweet.”

“She is sweet. A saint for putting up with him for all these years, honestly,” Steve says, giving you one last shake until you’re wiping your hands off and slouching against his frame. “What?”

“I want a selfish hug,” you grumble against his shirt, face pressing into a sternum. 

“A selfish hug?” You can hear the questioning lilt, the probing in his kind voice. 

Nodding, you step closer. The tips of your sandals meet his leather shoes, hem of your dress spilling over the dark material. Your head shifts just the slightest, ear resting over the curve of his chest, relishing in the warmth of another body. This. Hugging? It’s not new. You’ve been practicing. As odd as that sounds, and though you don’t want to unpack it, since your argument with Steve he’s come home every day and greeted you with one. You’d say you’re pros at this point. 

“And what might a selfish hug be?” He muses, hands coming up to rest against the center of your back. 

“I just stand like this,” you begin, dropping your arms to your sides, letting them dangle at your hips. “And you hold me.”

You can feel the vibration of his laugh against your ear, but his arms tighten around you all the same, holding you in place. Melting into him, you rest in the comfort of his embrace. Merely focus on the sound of his breath pouring in and out of his lungs, the gentle beat of his heart beneath your ear, the brush of his thumb against your skin, soothing you. 

“You’re too much,” he says, but there’s no weight behind the words. Can feel his mouth curling upward against your ear. 

“Thanks, Steve.”

For the evening. For helping you in a time of need. For holding you now. For holding you tomorrow. You’re not really sure you know what you mean. But all you do know for certain is that, when his arms tug you closer, you loop yours around his waist, and your selfish hug becomes a real one. 

-

Lightning streaks the sky. Bright white illuminates your bedroom, then settles into dark once more. A loud boom echoes, rattling the foundations of your home. Jolts your bed, and thus your body out of it. Grasping at your chest, you try to tamper the frantic rise and fall. The rush of breath forcing itself in and out of your screaming lungs, ejected from your dreams into waking so suddenly. 

Another flash sparks your room in a moonlit glow. Falls dark a second later as you brace for the crack of sound that pierces your ears after. Groaning, you grasp the edge of a fluffy blanket on the foot of your bed and curl it around your shoulders, padding through your home in search of the living room, sights set on watching Netflix until you fall back asleep from reruns of your favorite shows. 

Only upon entering, you find you’re not alone. Already doused in colorful light from the episode of New Girl playing on the screen is none other than your husband. Where you’re standing you can see the frames of the thin glasses he wears, the unkempt bed hair at the top of his head, the hoodie pulled over his body to block out the air conditioned chill in the living room. 

“You’re awake…” It comes out hoarse, the rasp of your voice drawing your husband’s attention. “And you’re watching without me?” 

The mock gasp has him moving over on the couch to make space for you, your rear dropping down into the couch cushion beside him. There’s another blanket across his lap, impossibly soft and a pretty navy color that pops against the pale fabric of your carpet. Getting comfortable, you unloop yours from around your shoulders and drape it across your bare thighs, sleep shorts doing very little to block out the chill in the air. Once satisfied, you lean back and watch the chaos between Jess and Nick unfolding on the television screen. 

“What are you doing awake?” you ask after some time. Wince as another boom of thunder rattles the walls of your home.  

“Couldn't sleep,” he says, breaking off into a yawn. “Had a lot on my mind.”

“From dinner or…?” 

Dinner itself hadn’t been stressful—at least nothing that occurred would have alluded to as much. You’d met up at an Italian restaurant with a business partner of Steve’s and the business partner’s husband. Two older men in their fifties, with graying hair and a kindness that radiated from them. Most of the conversation had been of things outside of work, so you’re uncertain as to what might be bothering him. 

“Not dinner,” he confirms, pausing the show on the TV screen. His head rolls back to rest against the plush cushion, hands coming up to press into his face. Slides his palm down the contours, exhaling deeply. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”  

“Oh,” you mutter softly, picking at a nonexistent thread on the edge of your blanket. “That’s fine. I just figured—”

“It’s nothing personal toward you. I just don’t want to bother you with it. Why are you up?” He queries, head turning to look in your direction. 

“You never bother me.”

Steve levels you with a blank stare and you laugh. “I’m not afraid of thunder…but it definitely woke me,” you admit quietly, sounding more than a forlorn without meaning to. “My room gets really dark at night with the curtains, so when it lit up from the lightning I was a little spooked.”

“Understandably,” he says. “Want me to grab you coffee or tea or something?” 

Head perking up, you ask, “Do we still have the camomile? If it’s no trouble, I mean…”

“I wouldn’t be asking you if it was,” he says, but there’s no hint of any condescension there, only his increasingly familiar thoughtfulness.

You lean your chin over the top of the couch to catch the retreating form of Steve’s back swathed in his dark hoodie. “Thank you.” 

“It’s the least I can do,” he says, starting up your warm drink. “Want anything else? We still have those chocolate covered strawberries from dinner.”

“Do you want the chocolate strawberries from dinner?” 

His grin turns wry. “Maybe.”

“Bring them over, you grown up baby,” you tease, extending a hand so he can place the covered plate in your awaiting palm. 

Peeling back the tinfoil, you rest the tray on the coffee table, hiking your blanket higher around your thighs. Steve’s pouring hot water into a mug that says ‘Future Veterinarian,’ humming a familiar tune as he works. 

“You usually do honey and…a bucket load of sugar, right?” 

Eyes roll. “I like a spoonful of honey in my camomile and nothing else. The sugar is for my iced coffees, thank you very much. Also thank you for making sure Hopper always has it on standby lately.”

“What’s that thing you said to me when we first talked about us getting married?” He taps his chin mock thoughtfully, his other hand twirling a spoon around the inside of your cup. “Happy wife, happy life starts with always knowing her coffee order.”

It’s true, and you hide your lips behind your palm at the realization he’d been listening as he crosses the space between you and rests the steaming mug in your hand, muttering quickly, “Be careful, it’s really hot.” 

“Thank you,” you say as he drops back down into the couch and plucks a chocolate covered strawberry off the tray. “I know you didn’t want to talk about what’s bothering you…but I figure…I don’t know. It’s storming out, we’re both not getting much sleep tonight, we could play a game or something.”

“A game?”

Nodding, you add, “An icebreaker. I know we talk more now, but we could try and get to know each other better. A little look into the person we married.”

Your husband shifts on the couch beside you. Presses his back into the arm rest and stretches out, arching a brow pointedly. Smirking, you do the same. Shift just enough so your back is up against the opposite end, your socked feet just barely brushing Steve’s. 

“Okay. Night out or night in?” you ask. 

“Before…night out.”

“Before?”

“Well, now you force me to watch Gilmore Girls.”

“I don’t force you! And it’s only been a few days. I’m sure it’s an absolute horror of spending time with the woman you fake married,” you gasp, feigning terror. “Just admit it. You like spending time at home.”

His eyes are set on yours as he says, “I like spending time at home.”

“I’d agree for myself as well. Life is so busy as it is lately, it’s nice having a space to come back to.” 

One thing you’re very grateful for on a growing list is the space your new bedroom has given you. Sure, it can get lonely, but it’s an escape from the long days, a haven from stress, a bed to crawl back to when your eyes can hardly stay open any longer after a particularly hard day at clinicals. 

“My turn,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his middle. And no, you don’t allow heat to crawl across your chest at the mere sight of his chest and arms flexing from the motion. “Would you rather go forward or backward in time?”

“And what would be my purpose of going forward or backward? Am I rectifying my mistakes? Seeing the future? Looking to see how my life pans out?”

“I…it’s whatever you want it to be.” He blanches. 

“I don’t really have a lot of regrets in life. I make a choice and however the cookie crumbles is how it crumbles. Exhibit A,” you say, holding aloft your left hand, where two rings glint in the dim living room. “So I probably would want to go forward. But that’s dangerous, because if you go too far forward, you might see things you don’t like. I definitely wouldn’t want to know how I, uh, you know? Check out of here. What about you?”

Steve pauses for a moment, brows drawn in thought. “Honestly? There are things I’d want to change about the past, sure. But I think I’d want to see the future. See if all I’m doing is worth it, you know?”

“You don’t think what you’re doing right now is worth it?” You wonder if he’s talking about the business. Assume he must be, but don’t press any further. 

“I wonder sometimes, yeah,” he admits. 

“Well, what would you be doing if it weren’t what you’re doing right now? To see if something else would potentially be worth it.”

He rubs a hand along his neck, shrugging. “I thought about being a teacher once. My dad thought that was a silly idea. But I’ve always been good with children, and I think I could have been good at that.”

“You are good with children,” you tell him, thinking to Will and El. To the friends you’d met at dinner in the past weeks who brought their little ones. “I don’t think that’s a silly idea at all. Not in the slightest, and I’m sorry if anyone ever made you feel that way. Like your interests were inconsequential.” 

“Thank you.” Clearing his throat, he asks, “Movie night or date night?” 

“Are you asking me on a date?” His eyes grow wide at that. Cheeks darken visibly in the moonlit living room. “I’m teasing you, Harrington. I think there’s a case that those can be one in the same. I would say broader…I love the idea of going out for a date, but I love those inside sort of dates more. They’re more intimate, there’s the comfort of your shared spaces, the fact there aren’t any crowds around you. Only that important quality time with your partner.”

“I don’t have much to contribute there, seeing as I haven’t dated much in the past year. And now I won’t be for another three years.” He chuckles, combing fingers through his hair.  

“Okay, this question is super serious.” You fold your hands across your midsection, inhaling deeply, eyes shut. “Would you rather have a third nipple or an extra toe?”

“Seriously!” 

“I’m very serious, Steve.”

“Extra toe.” He reaches up to rub the back of his neck again, wincing slightly as he presses into a spot between his shoulder blades. 

Your lips tug southward. “Are you hurting?”

“Just my office chair, I’m sure,” he grumbles, nonchalant. 

“Get on the floor.”

His brows arch. “Huh?”

“On the floor,” you repeat, tapping the space in front of you on the carpet below. “In front of me.”

“Why?” 

“Do you trust me?” 

He doesn’t answer. Instead, long limbs slip off the edge of the couch and settle down where you’ve asked. You move to tuck his hoodie in as best as you can, fingers moving to spread across the slope of his shoulders. He exhales deeply at the first press of your hands in the muscle wrought with tension. A low sigh spills free, head tipping back to rest on the cushion nearest to your knee. Fingers crave to brush the hair along his scalp, to see if he’ll make that same, soft sigh once more. But instead you continue, pressing slowly into his flesh, listening to his cues, figuring out what works and doesn’t. 

“Would you rather have a big family or a small one?” You ask after Steve has gone quiet, thinking back briefly to the moment earlier with Theobald and Cami. 

Steve, with his wishes to be a father. Steve, who wants a huge brood of Harrington babies. Steve, who wants a family. 

And yet it’s not even that. Not the questions as to what he sees for his future. It’s the tangible worry of slipping up in your facade. Of revealing too many cracks in the foundations of your dynamics. That had been the first, and you know if this relationship is going to hold up for three years, communication is a must. Absolute transparency at all times, so as to not muck it all up and land yourselves both in some hot water.  

“Growing up, it was just me. My parents had me a little older in their life. They were already further into their careers by the time I was born. So…it was often just the au pair and myself,” he explains, letting go of another deep breath. 

His body slackens against your knee caps. Warm flesh of your husband pliant beneath your fingertips. 

“I always had this dream of giving my kids the opposite of what I had. Always knowing love, family outings, doing everything with them. Dance class, football, acting—whatever they wanted. And I’d wanted as many as possible. A silly dream of six of them, running all over the world together as a family.”

“It’s not a silly dream. None of your dreams are ever silly, Steve.” 

Warmth pools as Steve slides his hand up and covers yours where it rests against his shoulder. Heart stuttering, you continue, “Your family will be lucky to have you some day. I, for one, haven’t given much thought to that aspect of life. I hope Theo and Cami didn’t find that suspect. I just…”

“Have been busy with school. You’re becoming a doctor, that’s time and hard work. No one can fault you for that.”

“Right. Yeah.”

You resume your kneading, fingers stroking at shoulders, down the sides of his neck, attentive to all the tension. He grows softer beneath your fingertips, head against your knee, his eyes closed. Where you’re sitting you can see the moles on his face, the length of his lashes, the lines of his nose. Pretty. He’s pretty, and it’s always something you’ve known, but being so close—

“Sunrise or sunset,” Steve asks. 

“Hmm, sunrise.” You poke at the middle of his forehead, and hazel eyes meet yours. “That one was simple.”

“I could tell you were overthinking,” he says simply. “We’re not going to be perfect at this marriage thing. But no one expects us to be.”

“I still think we need to get our stories straight at the very least. And I sorta messed that one up with the honeymoon baby thing.” You shrug, palms sliding down a bit onto his upper chest. He’s still sitting there, taking you in with his stare, hand around yours. “Kind of why I suggested this game.” 

He offers you a gentle smile, saying, “Then let’s keep going.”

The conversation continues until the sun begins to change colors. Until the rain has since stopped, voices carrying above the television playing low in the background. You learn Steve’s a romantic; loves movies like the Titanic and The Notebook. And will also admit to enjoying some of the same romantic comedies you do. 

He prefers rainy days, because he enjoys the respite they give from a constantly busy city just outside the walls of your home. He’d rather have happiness than wealth; enjoys chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven for dessert (and you make a note to pick up some stuff to make them on your next planned night together); he’d never had any pets growing up, but he’d love a dog. 

And you tell him about yourself. How you love cozy socks and would prefer scrubs over real clothes; how you also never had pets growing up and would love to adopt and foster as many as possible one day; how you enjoyed fantasy over romantic movies; how you’d watched Titanic about a hundred times in your life and you still cried. 

How you wanted to watch it with him next, and he agreed, stating it would be the next thing you do when you cook together. 

Before long he’s yawning and your eyes are closing. His fingers remain around yours as you knead his muscles, prattling on about your plans for the week, school, your friends. And he talks about his own schedule, his meetings, proposes dinner for the both of you that upcoming Saturday. A cooked meal in, with a movie and some wine. Maybe you tease him a little, because he makes it easy when he blushes that pretty pink, and maybe he grins up at you fondly, eyes hooded in his sleepy daze. 

Eventually, you lay on your side and he remains in front of you on the floor. You’re hardly awake as he drapes a blanket over your form and tucks a pillow under your head, whispering to one another as the sun starts to come up over the city. 

Eventually, both of you fall silent at last, comforting sleep there to find you. 

-

“I want to make it very clear before we go in there that we are not getting a dog. We are donating all the things we bought earlier, and then we are going home and having dinner together,” Steve reiterates for the umpteenth time that day. 

“We are not getting a dog,” you repeat, mock stonily, looking your husband dead in the eyes. 

Clearly unamused, he shoves at the arm you have jokingly curled around his forearm, but there’s no malice there. Only a gentle huff of laughter as he opens his car door and rushes around the other side to help you out. You never need him to, but he insists every time. Even offers an arm for you to grab as you hop onto the sidewalk. Once back on solid land, summer dress dancing around your kneecaps, Steve walks around to the back of the car and lifts the box of pet food, blankets and toys you’d picked up while at the pet store. Today, you decided, you wanted to give back to the local shelter in your new town. 

And maybe you had an ulterior motive of trying to realize a dream of your husband’s by making him fall in love with a shelter dog in a way where his only option is to bring them home to live with you forever. But he’s been adamant all morning—so certain today’s events will not lead to four legs becoming part of your odd little family.

Inside, you’re greeted by one of the workers. A woman named Chelsea rushes around the counter to collect your donations and asks if you’d like to walk around a bit. Steve’s reluctant at your side, sunglasses peeled off and tucked into the neck of his shirt, but he comes along all the same as you grip his palm within your own and drag him along behind you. 

You pass dozens of kittens and cats. Young and old all alike as you go. Some who meow as you pass, and others who linger in dark corners of their confines. It breaks your heart seeing so many, wanting to adopt them all, knowing you’re unable to. Sensing your unease, Steve squeezes your hand tighter and listens for the both of you while Chelsea speaks and your mind wanders. 

“Down here are all our adoptable dogs.”

It’s a sight you never get used to. Dogs barking as you pass, bodies brushing against their cages, yearning for attention. You linger by Chelsea as you walk, rubbing noses and ears and backs. Tongues glide over your palm, wet noses brush your skin, dark eyes hold yours through metal bars. Somewhere in the midst of introducing yourself to all your newest furry friends, you find Steve’s hand is no longer in yours. Turning on the heel, you find him crouched low to the ground, fingers curled inside metal bars, softly speaking to the animal hidden within. 

“Oh,” Chelsea mutters, shock evident in her tone. Steve looks up to her imploringly, then glances back at the dog inside. “That’s a new arrival. A ten month old male Bernedoodle. He’s a black tricolor puppy. His previous owners got him as a gift, and turned him over when he started getting bigger. They’re a smaller breed, but have a lot of energy and unfortunately you see a lot of this happening. People buy luxury pets and drop them off when they become too much. He’s been very timid since he arrived.”

“He just lost his family,” Steve says to no one, swallowing thickly. The woman at your side doesn’t speak, only watches as your husband continues to gently coax the puppy forward. “Hey buddy. I’m Steve. Wanna come over here? No?” 

“Should we…” the woman beside you begins. 

“Yeah, let’s give them a moment,” you mutter, a little breathless as you turn around and face the other direction, quiet footsteps carrying you further away. 

But you still hear it. 

Still hear Steve’s voice in your ears. A sad, “I know what it’s like. Feeling left behind, left alone. Especially from the people you want to love you most. But you don’t need to be afraid of me. I get it.” 

There’s an echo of soft paws padding against a tiled floor. And the soft exhale from Steve. “There you go. See, I’m your friend. I’m here. You don’t have to be afraid.”

And when you and the shelter worker turn around, you find Steve with his fingers in the puppy’s fur, that pink tongue of his brushing over the inside of your husband’s wrist. That resolve in Steve’s eyes crumbles, your heart shattering along with it as you press the heel of your palm to your sternum. 

He turns to Chelsea and asks, “Can we take him out? Just for a minute?” 

Chelsea passes you a knowing look and that minute Steve requests turns into an hour in the yard outside of the shelter. The puppy seems hesitant at first, lingering near Steve’s thighs as you stand nearby. But once Chelsea hands Steve a frisbee and ball, it’s as though the puppy is sparked to life once more. Soon enough he’s frolicking around the field, playful yips streaking the summer silence as he retrieves his toys and rushes back over to Steve, paws pouncing playfully against your husband’s designer jeans. 

But he doesn’t care. 

No—you haven’t seen him light up like this in the nearly three months you’ve been married. The joy illuminated his features. The crinkle of his eyes at the corners. The belly laughs as the puppy eventually knocks him to the ground and demands belly rubs on the grassy floor below. He falls in love before your eyes. With no warning, impossibly fast, and so suddenly it comes as no shock to either you nor Chelsea when he asks about adoption. 

As you sit in the lobby with the puppy on a leash on the floor, you turn to Steve, grinning widely. “You said we weren’t getting a dog.”

Steve pats his new fur son’s head and grins as the dog tips his head back to look longingly into his new father’s eyes. It’s sickeningly sweet, and does things to your insides that makes you feel hot all over. You chalk it up to the shoddy air conditioner system, tugging at the neckline of your dress to let the air chill your slick skin. 

“I couldn’t leave him,” he says, brushing fingers along a furry ear. 

“He picked you.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Fond. Smitten. He’s so in love it’s ridiculous, and all you feel is affection. 

Affection. 

Towards your husband. 

New. But maybe not so scary. 

You lean down to pet the puppy’s neck. He jumps up and scrambles up with his front paws against your lap, licking a broad stripe along your chin. “Steve, we have a puppy.”

Your first pet. 

His, too. 

“Yeah,” he says, but he’s only staring at you. You swallow. “I guess we do.”

A few questions and references and a small adoption fee later, and you’re both the newest proud parents of your still presently unnamed new puppy who pokes his head in the front seat as you drive to the nearest pet store in search of all the things you’ll need to make his transition as simple as possible. 

Steve, ever doting as he is, grabs the leash as soon as he helps the little guy out and greets you as usual on your side of the vehicle. You spend the better half of the afternoon purchasing things for him. A dog bed, food, toys, a new collar with his name and address engraved into it. 

Charlie Harrington, you both eventually decide, when the cashier asks how you’d like it engraved. 

Charlie Harrington, who the doormen at your apartment building immediately fall in love with as you later walk in, you holding the puppy’s leash this time, and Steve trying his hardest to carry all the things you bought. 

Charlie Harrington who bounds happily into your home and immediately starts sniffing around in his new space, excited to simply be around people who love him in such a short span of time and want to play with him like he deserves.   

“I’ll get started on dinner, if you want to show your fur child around the house,” you tease, laying out Charlie’s shiny new bowls on the floor, and the basket of toys and bones you got for him in the living room, right by his bed beside it. 

“You are a sneaky woman,” he jokes, coming up behind you in the kitchen. 

Heat blooms where he rests his hand on your shoulder and presses a kiss to your cheek like it’s something he’s done before in the confines of your home, with no one looking. So casually, and yet stark in contrast to the riot of butterflies that stir to life in your stomach. 

“And why might that be?” 

“Played that ice breaker game with me, found out I never had a pet, and then brought me to a shelter…where I then got a pet.” 

You shrug, turning on the stovetop to let the water boil. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But you’re welcome. Now go—play with him. I know you’re itching to. You’re like a little kid on Christmas right now. It’s kind of cute, Harrington.”

“Thank you.” 

He smacks another kiss to your cheek, his face pink from your compliment, before rushing into the living room where you hear Charlie barking as he’s once again joined by his new best friend. You reach over to tap Steve’s phone, where Spotify is already open from the car ride, and hit ‘play,’ Leon Bridges the background music to your cooking in the kitchen and Steve’s laughter as he crawls on his hands and knees to rub Charlie’s stomach on the floor. 

Perfect. 

It’s about as perfect as a day could be. 

And later, as you sit together in the dining room, with Charlie sitting patiently in the corner, and talk about the evening, you start to think maybe being married to Steve Harrington for three years will be a little more difficult than you imagined it would be. 

Because the feelings stirring in your chest are beyond that of friendship. 

No—there’s a suddenness to the clarity of your realization that you like your husband. And the sinking reality that this is merely transactional. 

In three years you’ll go your separate ways. Just as you both intended months ago at that coffee shop table. 

“You’re overthinking again,” Steve points out, reaching over to center your engagement ring on your left hand. His thumb lingers over the diamonds. “I was telling you about the benefit gala in a few weeks.”

“Oh,” you mutter tiredly. “Sorry. Yeah, uhm, I’ll go. Obviously. It’s part of our arrangement.” 

“If you don’t want to go with me…”

“No, I’ll go,” you say, taking a sip of your wine glass. “Black tie dinner event, I’m assuming?”

“Buy yourself a new dress kind of event, yeah.”

“Okay, yeah.” 

You nod. 

It’ll be October. 

Approaching four months into your agreement. Time is already flying. 

“Our first big event as a couple outside of our wedding,” you state plainly, gathering your things and Steve’s as you rise to your feet. He grabs the wine glasses and follows you down the hall to your kitchen, dumping all your dirty pasta plates inside. “Anyone I should know or be aware of when we’re there?”

“It’s a lot of partners in the company. Some celebrities, actors, musicians, models. Eddie will be there—he’s been invited. It’s a little bit of everyone. This time they’ve organized donations for a shelter for homeless youth in the city.” He hands you your wine glass, peering into your eyes. Noting your lingering hesitance from your overthinking once more, he continues, “I can cancel you as my plus one. Say you’re not feeling well—”

“No,” you place a hand on his sternum. Pause when you realize what you’ve done. He trails his eyes south where you touch. You don’t move away. “I love the purpose of the benefit. I want to be there. I-I want to go with you.” 

“Good,” he says, stepping closer. You could reach out and touch the outline of his jaw like this. The lines of his perfect nose. “Because I want you there with me.”

You don’t miss the way his stare lingers on your face, or the timber of his voice. The darkness in the depths of his eyes. How the weight of his chest against your palm as he pushes forward has it stuck as a barrier between the two of you. Mere inches of separation. 

It’s confusing, maddening, and terrifying all the same. 

Two years and nine months. 

You’ve got this. 

-

-