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elia-the-bibliophile · 6 days

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The Fast Lane to Fashion (Max Verstappen x Female Reader)

Genre: Fluff Word count: 3,1k

The one where Max’s manager hired a personal stylist for him.

Max squatted on the floor, his two cats, Jimmy and Sassy, lounging nearby with the kind of indifference only felines can muster. Max, however, was determined. “Come on, Jimmy, you can do it,” he encouraged, holding out a treat like it was the Holy Grail. Jimmy blinked, his eyes half-closed, clearly contemplating more important things—like napping. Sassy, on the other hand, stretched luxuriously and let out a yawn that seemed to mock Max's efforts.

He had spent the last two hours trying to get them to high-five him, but his attempts were as futile. “This is hopeless,” Max muttered under his breath.

Just as he was about to admit defeat, his phone rang, shattering the atmosphere. He glanced at the caller ID—Raymond, his manager. With a sigh, he accepted the call and put it on speaker, still waving the treat in front of Jimmy's nose.

“Hey, Raymond, what's up?” Max greeted, his attention split between the phone and his uncooperative pets.

Raymond's voice crackled through the speaker, sounding unusually jittery. “Max, buddy, don't be mad, okay? Just hear me out first,” he began, words tumbling out like they were in a race of their own.

Max raised an eyebrow, casting a bemused glance at Jimmy, who had finally acknowledged his presence with a slow blink. “Yea, sure. What's going on?” he replied, curiosity piqued.

“I, uh, well, I've hired someone for you,” Raymond confessed, his tone hesitant.

Max blinked, momentarily forgetting about his feline training. “Hired someone? For what?” he asked, his mind racing through all the possibilities.

Raymond took a deep breath before blurting out, “A stylist, Max. I've hired a stylist for you.”

Max's eyes widened, and he nearly dropped the phone. “A stylist? You've got to be kidding me, Raymond,” he exclaimed, his voice dripping with disbelief. “Why on earth would I need a stylist?”

Raymond let out a nervous laugh. “Well, you know, Max, there have been some… memes about your fashion choices. People are starting to wonder if that Red Bull polo is surgically attached to you!”

Max scoffed loudly. “Seriously? People think I have zero fashion sense just because I like to keep things simple?” he replied, rolling his eyes.

Raymond cleared his throat, relieved that Max wasn't outright furious. “Well, yeah. Something like that,” he admitted.

“What does it matter what I wear when I'm winning races left and right?” Max protested, his incredulity evident. “I mean, come on, mate. This is ridiculous.”

Raymond tried to soothe him. “I get it, Max, I really do. But image matters, surely it wouldn't hurt to switch things up a bit, you know?”

Max sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Fine, fine,” he relented begrudgingly. “But I'm not promising anything. And if this stylist suggests I wear anything other than comfortable clothes, I'm out.”

Raymond chuckled, sensing Max's reluctance but appreciating his willingness. “Fair enough, Max. Just give it a chance, okay? Who knows, maybe you'll discover a whole new side to your wardrobe.”

Max rolled his eyes, unconvinced. “Yeah, sure, Raymond. A whole new side of my wardrobe that consists of more Red Bull polos,” he quipped sarcastically.

Max sighed, turning back to his unimpressed feline companions. “Can you believe this, Jimmy? Sassy?” he addressed them as if they were humans. “A stylist. For me. It's like Raymond has lost his mind.”

Jimmy blinked lazily, utterly unconcerned, while Sassy stretched out and emitted a soft purr.

A wistful smile tugged at the corners of Max's lips. “Sometimes, you know, I wish I was just a cat like you two,” he mused aloud, watching as they continued to bask in their simple, carefree existence.

════════════════════════════════════

Y/N sat in the waiting room at the Energy Station, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her blouse, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. She glanced around, taking in the impressive display of trophies adorning the walls—each gleaming trophy a reminder of Red Bull's dominance on the tracks. The sheer number of them made her feel like she was sitting in a shrine.

This was her first meeting with Max, and the anticipation was practically electrifying. She stole a quick glance at her reflection in a nearby mirror, adjusting her hair and smoothing down her outfit once more. It wasn't every day that she was called in to style a world-class athlete, and the pressure to make a good impression was almost suffocating.

She was acutely aware of the challenge ahead. Raymond had drilled her on the importance of not scaring Max away with any extravagant fashion suggestions. After all, Max was rarely seen in anything other than his team's merchandise, and the last thing Y/N wanted was to make him uncomfortable and lose her job on the very first day.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as a woman in a Red Bull shirt approached her. “Ms. Y/N L/N?” the woman inquired, her voice friendly. “Mr. Verstappen is ready to see you now.”

Y/N nodded, her nerves tingling with anticipation as she quickly rose from her seat. “Thank you,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

The woman offered her a reassuring smile before gesturing towards a door at the end of the hallway. “Right this way,” she said, leading Y/N with practiced ease.

As they approached the door, Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself for the encounter that awaited her on the other side. With a final reassuring nod from the woman, Y/N squared her shoulders and stepped through the doorway.

She sent a quick prayer that Max wouldn’t be too hard on her.

════════════════════════════════════

Max drummed his fingers impatiently on the table, boredom creeping in as he contemplated making a swift exit for the seventh time in the last ten minutes. Despite his mercurial nature, he prided himself on his manners, so he resisted the urge, albeit begrudgingly.

As the door creaked open, Max glanced up with a practiced poker face, giving nothing away. His gaze met the hopeful expression of the woman entering the room, her smile wide and optimistic.

“So, Y/N L/N, who exactly hired you?” was the first thing Max inquired, his tone laced with skepticism as he leaned back in his chair.

“Well, let's just say I went through quite a long interview process," she replied, her voice tinged with amusement. “Raymond, then Horner after that, and lastly, believe it or not, even Geri had a say in it.”

Max raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “All that just to hire a stylist for me?” he echoed, unable to hide his surprise.

Y/N nodded, chuckling softly. “They were very thorough. I guess they wanted to make sure you wouldn't bolt at the first sight of a new wardrobe.”

Max couldn't help but laugh at that. “Well, they got that right. I'm not exactly known for my adventurous fashion choices.”

“Don’t worry,” Y/N said, her tone light and reassuring. “I promise not to suggest anything outrageous. No sequins or feather boas, I swear.”

Max snorted. “Good. Because the day I wear a feather boa is the day I retire from racing.”

Y/N laughed, the tension easing a little. “Deal. Let’s start with something simple. Maybe a t-shirt that’s not branded with Red Bull? Or a straight jeans?”

Max pretended to think it over, stroking his chin. “I suppose I could handle that,” he said. “As long as it’s comfortable.”

“Comfort is key,” Y/N agreed, feeling more at ease. “We’ll keep it simple. I’m here to help, not to turn you into a fashion icon overnight.”

Max relaxed a bit, appreciating her straightforward approach. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got. But remember, if I don’t like it, it’s back to polos and hoodies.”

“Fair enough,” Y/N said, her smile brightening. “I’ll take my chances.”

Max then stood up and walked over to her, extending his hand with a cocky grin. “Max Verstappen,” he said, his tone playful but confident. “If you manage to impress me, then maybe, just maybe, I'll consider keeping you on the team.”

Y/N shook his hand, matching his grin. “Challenge accepted. But I should warn you, I don’t do half-measures.”

Max raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh, really? Well, let’s see if you can handle the challenge. I’m not exactly easy to impress.”

Y/N chuckled. “I’ve heard. But I’m not exactly easy to scare off, either.”

Max laughed, a genuine, hearty sound that filled the room.

Y/N playfully raised an eyebrow. “Honestly, I think this will be my easiest gig yet, considering the bar is practically on the floor,” she said, her tone teasing.

Max's eyes widened in surprise before he hunched forward, laughter bursting out of him. “Oh, you’ve got no filter, do you?” he said between laughs. “I fucking like that.”

She shrugged. “Just calling it like I see it.”

Max straightened up, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “You know what? If this fails, screw it, I’ll just sign you on as my personal entertainer or something. Keep the team’s spirits up.”

Y/N chuckled. “Careful, Max. I might just take you up on that.”

He crossed his arms, his grin not fading. “Hey, a good laugh is priceless in this sport. But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook that easily. Because I’ve got high standards, you know. World champion standards.”

Y/N laughed. “I’d expect nothing less. But don’t worry, I’ve styled worse. Much worse.”

Max's eyes sparkled. “Worse than me? Now that’s something I’ve got to hear.”

════════════════════════════════════

Y/N balanced a stack of freshly laundered clothes in her arms as she approached Max's apartment. She took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. Knocking on the door, she prepared herself. The door swung open to reveal Max, looking casual in yet another Red Bull polo.

“Hey, Y/N. Come on in,” he greeted with a nod while holding the door for her.

“Thanks, Max,” she replied, stepping inside and carefully setting the clothes down on a nearby table.

Before she could even turn around, she felt a light brush against her leg. Glancing down, she saw Jimmy rubbing against her with a purr, while Sassy sat nearby, her wide eyes fixed on Y/N with an unusual interest.

Max’s jaw dropped. “What the hell? They usually hate strangers. They’re acting like you’re made of catnip or something.”

Y/N laughed, bending down to scratch Jimmy behind the ears. “I have a way with cats. Maybe they can sense I’m here to help you.”

Max shook his head, still looking baffled. “Unbelievable. They’ve never been this friendly with anyone. Alright, come on, let me show you the infamous closet.”

Y/N followed Max down a hallway, Jimmy and Sassy trotting behind them like loyal sidekicks. They reached a door, and Max swung it open, revealing a walk-in closet that could easily rival a small boutique. Shelves lined the walls, each one meticulously stacked with Red Bull merchandise in every form imaginable—polos, t-shirts, hoodies, jackets, caps, even socks.

Y/N’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Wow,” she said, turning to look at Max like he was a lunatic. “This is… impressive. And slightly concerning. I didn’t know you could own this much team gear.”

Max rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Yeah, well, I like to keep things simple. Plus, they’re comfortable.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “Simple is one thing, Max. This is an obsession. But don’t worry, I’m here to bring a little variety into your life.”

Max crossed his arms, grinning. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got then. But I’m warning you, if it’s not comfortable, it’s going straight back in the bag.”

“Challenge accepted,” Y/N said, her eyes gleaming with determination. She turned back to the stack of clothes she had brought and started laying them out, presenting each piece. “Okay, first up, a simple white t-shirt. No logos, just pure comfort. Try it on.”

Max took the shirt, giving it a skeptical look before slipping it on. He stretched his arms, testing the fit. “Okay, I admit, it’s comfortable. What else?”

Y/N’s smile widened. “Next, a pair of dark jeans. Classic, versatile, and they miraculously manage to make even a Red Bull polo look halfway decent.”

She glanced at Max, who was eyeing the jeans with a hint of skepticism. “And don’t worry, Max, I made sure they’re not the skinny jeans you seem to love so much. I couldn’t bear to put you—or anyone else—through that kind of fashion torture.”

Max grabbed the jeans and ducked into the bathroom to change. When he came back out, Y/N couldn’t help but beam. He looked good—casual but put together, like someone who actually cared about his appearance.

Max glanced at himself in the mirror and nodded approvingly. “Not bad. Not bad at all. What’s next?”

Y/N pulled out a light gray hoodie. “For when you need an extra layer but want to avoid looking like a walking billboard.”

Max slipped it on, zipping it up halfway. “Okay, I’m impressed. You’ve managed to find things that are comfortable and look good. Maybe you do have some magic up your sleeve.”

Y/N laughed. “Told you. Now, let’s talk about adding some color to your wardrobe?”

Max shrugged. “As long as it’s not neon, I’m open to it.”

Y/N grinned. “Perfect. I’ve got just the thing.” She pulled out a maroon half-zip, soft and stylish. “Try this on.”

Max took it, and as he changed, Y/N felt a sense of satisfaction. This was just the beginning, but she could already see the transformation. And judging by the approving look on Max’s face, he could see it too.

“Well, Y/N, I have to say, you’ve done the impossible. You’ve actually managed to impress me,” Max admitted, his tone light but genuine.

Y/N gave a mock bow. “Thank you, thank you. But we’re just getting started. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be turning heads both on and off the track.”

Max rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of excitement in his expression that even he cannot hide.

════════════════════════════════════

Max had just stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist as he reached for his phone. The bathroom was filled with steam, giving the air a hazy quality as he scrolled through Instagram.

As he scrolled, his eyes widened in disbelief. There it was, a photo of him in that plain white shirt and the jeans that didn’t look like they were about to tear at the wrong move. The caption read, "Is this real life? Max Verstappen spotted in a non-Red Bull polo, and it’s not even race day! Miracles do happen, folks."

Comments flooded in faster than he could read them all. Some were filled with disbelief, while others were downright ecstatic. "I thought I’d never see the day!" one user exclaimed. "This is like witnessing the rebirth of a man," another commented.

Max couldn’t help but chuckle at the reactions. But there were also theories floating around. "Is Max hiding a new girlfriend from us?" one person speculated. "This has got to be the girlfriend effect," another chimed in. "Or maybe Red Bull has finally hired someone to ransack his closet," someone else joked.

Maybe this whole wardrobe makeover wasn’t such a bad idea after all. And if it meant keeping people guessing, well, that was just an added bonus.

He then scrolled through the messages, which has been buzzing incessantly with notifications.

A text from Charles popped up:

“Hey Max, just saw the photos. Are you alright, mate? Should we send help?”

Max couldn't help but chuckle at the concern in Charles’ message. Then another text came in, this time from Lando:

“Mate, what's going on with the sudden style upgrade?🤔😧 Is Horner holding you hostage or something?”

He typed out a quick reply to both Charles and Lando, assuring them that he was perfectly fine and that there was no need to send a rescue team. As for Horner's involvement, he simply responded with a string of laughing emojis, leaving the mystery of his wardrobe transformation to fuel their imaginations.

════════════════════════════════════

The next week, Max arrived at the Energy Station, still amused by the ongoing chatter about his newfound fashion sense. As he stepped through the door, he was immediately greeted by Horner and Geri, who wore matching expressions of excitement.

“There he is! Congratulations!” Horner exclaimed, clapping him on the back. "The reactions to your new look are absolutely fantastic. People can't stop talking about it!"

Geri's eyes practically sparkled with delight as she enveloped Max in a warm hug. “Oh, Max, I can't tell you how thrilled I am!” she gushed. “You look absolutely fabulous today, dear. That half zip and linen pants combo? Simply divine! Y/N has worked wonders on you.”

Max couldn't help but grin sheepishly at Geri's praise. He glanced down at his outfit, feeling a little self-conscious under the spotlight. “Thanks, Geri,” he replied. “I'm glad you think so.”

Horner nodded enthusiastically. “The fans are loving it, the media is eating it up—this is exactly the kind of attention we need.”

Just then, a group of Red Bull mechanics walked by, their eyes widening in surprise as they took in Max's outfit. “Whoa, that Max?” one of them whispered to his colleague. “Shit, I didn't even recognize him at first without the Red Bull gear.”

It seemed his fashion makeover was causing quite the stir, even among his own team.

Geri beamed at Max. “I've been thinking,” she began. “Maybe we should really consider keeping Y/N around. What do you say?”

He glanced at Horner, who was also watching him expectantly.

After a moment of consideration, Max let out a hearty laugh. “Well, I have to admit Y/N does have a talent for making me look presentable,” he quipped, earning a laugh from Horner. “I wouldn't mind having her stick around.”

Geri clapped her hands together in delight. “I'll talk to Raymond about making it official.”

════════════════════════════════════

That night Max lounged on his couch, his legs stretched out in front of him as he stared at his phone. The excitement of the day hadn't worn off yet, and he was eager to see if Y/N had any news about her contract.

His thumbs danced over the screen as he typed out a message.

“Hey Y/N, have you heard back from Raymond about your contract?”

He barely had time to set his phone down before it buzzed with a reply.

“Not yet, but I'm hopeful! What made you change your mind about keeping me around?”

What made him change his mind indeed?

He hadn't really thought about it, but now that he did, it was clear as day. With a grin, he tapped out his response.

“I guess I just realized that I need someone like you around.”

He replied, his fingers flying across the screen then he hit send.

#max verstappen #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fluff #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 #f1 #f1 blurb #f1 fandom #formula 1 x female reader

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vickyvicarious · 1 month

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I know it's been said before, but... I'd like to take a little time to really point out all the many ways the locals are trying their hardest to be kind to Jonathan and to help him however they can, even at risk to themselves.

The innkeeper's wife breaks her silence enough to tell him not to go, and when he won't agree, to warn him about the eve of St. George's Day and ask him to delay. When that fails too, she gives him her crucifix. That's probably her personal protection she's giving up to him.

She's not done. She tells the driver of the coach about Jonathan, and I think asks him to rush through the pass so Dracula can't pick him up tonight.

The people nearby who overhear her look at Jonathan with pity. While they don't directly try to assist here, I can't help but notice that they're on the bench "which they call by a name meaning "word-bearer"" and talking loud enough/repetitively enough that Jonathan is able to look up their words about various supernatural threats. They outright say the word for "vampire", making it the first mention in the book. If we assume they subscribe to a belief where you don't name the evil lest it come after you, that could be them trying to indirectly get him some warning.

The whole crowd try to protect Jonathan from the evil eye when he's about to set out.

That one guy pointed out God's Seat to Jonathan... maybe trying to bring his attention to something nicer, maybe some kind of religious protection? A kind gesture regardless.

The driver makes a fairly black humor joke about dogs that seems to be hinting at wolves coming after them. I wonder if he's half-expecting Dracula to send wolves to hunt them down. Regardless, even though he arrived late to pick everyone up, he pushes really really hard the whole time to try and rush them through before Jonathan would be picked up. He succeeds well enough that they're a whole hour early, even.

As it gets dark, everyone else on board also starts urging the driver to go faster, and watching out the windows for Dracula's approach. They're invested in this too.

When they enter the Borgo Pass, they all start giving Jonathan protective gifts. I suspect those were meant to keep themselves safe as they pass close by Dracula's castle, but they insist he take them all instead.

They sigh in relief at their early arrival, and not seeing Dracula. The driver does the smallest most halfhearted pretense of trying to get Jonathan there, before declaring they'd better leave now since he's not getting picked up.

They obviously can't directly oppose Dracula when he arrives, but I have to mention the guy who quotes Lenore. That's maybe stupidly open about what Dracula is but it's still pretty ballsy even if he didn't really expect the Count to hear him.

They're just... doing their absolute best to help him. I love them so much.

#dracula daily #dracula locals #jonathan harker

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churipu · 6 months

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jjk men & their sleepyhead gf !

featuring. gojo satoru, sukuna ryomen, nanami kento x fem! reader

warnings. none, just them being all soft and whipped for you

note. first of all, anon i am so sorry, i accidentally posted your request on the queue list and fml, i'm so embarrassed but idek how to edit the queue list so out of desperation i deleted it— but i ofc screenshotted this before i deleted the og post, so i am so sorry :(( i hope you enjoy this, and i hope you get to find out i didn't delete your ask and it's here in a form of a screenshot :((

GOJO SATORU. i feel like he doesn't mind most of the time— he does mind it if you fall asleep when you're supposed to be paying attention to him >:(

but whenever you fall asleep, his camera's always on standby, snapping pictures of you from every angle. whether you look good or bad (you never look bad btw), from up above, from below, from the left, from the right, with 0.5, i can go on.

and when you wake up, you find your phone blowing up with notifications from shoko, geto, and him, especially with the notification "@gojosatoru tagged you in a post" and it's just a slideshow post of you sleeping, a few close up shots, and your face with different instagram filters.

you don't even bother at this point since he's not going to stop, and not gonna lie, you did find it a bit funny. and the comments from shoko and geto made you laugh, so... good luck trying to sleep around him, you'll wake up to a whole album of you sleeping on his account.

"satoru, what the fuck is this filter?" it was a filter that made your face a little distorted, and gojo'd just sitting there innocently, blinking his white lashes up at you.

"you look adorable, princess."

"i don't want to sleep around you anymore."

"no, please sleep— how am i supposed to continue my daily updates of you sleeping?"

mind you, he has 200 posts on instagram and 150 of them are just you sleeping + with the cheesiest captions like "my baby is sleeping, pls tell her to wake up bcs i miss her 🥺🥺🥺"

and shoko is all up in his comments like "wake her up yourself, dumbass she's literally in your house."

SUKUNA RYOMEN. the first time you fell asleep around him was when he went out to get a glass of water, but he didn't think of it as anything and thought you were just tired.

but no— you fall asleep anywhere, whenever and most of the time. he gets pretty frustrated when you both spend time, and in a bit, your head leans onto his shoulders and sukuna checks on you, and you were out like a light.

"y/n?" soft snores.

he clicks his tongue in annoyance but doesn't push you away or get angry, although he finds you cute. sometimes snaps a few pictures to keep, but you don't know about that.

and at times, you wake up all tucked in your bed—your favorite plushie beside you, and sukuna nowhere in sight.

you open your phone and there's a few text messages from him.

[ you fell asleep, so i left ] he didn't leave, he said that to make you feel bad and for not giving him enough attention— he stayed in the same seated position for a few hours before prepping you onto your bed, tucking you in and not forgetting to place a smooch on your forehead.

[ call me when you wake up ]

[ love you ] awww.

he's so in love with you.

NANAMI KENTO. he's such a gentle soul, he won't mind if you fall asleep or is asleep whenever he comes over. in fact, he enjoys it when you fall asleep.

he read somewhere that if someone feels tired or sleepy around a person, it's because they feel safe. so nanami just concludes that his girlfriend feels safe around him, safe enough for her to get sleepy and fall asleep on him.

"kento," you murmur half-asleep, stretching your arms.

"hm?" he hums out, opening his arms for you to fall into — which you did, and he craddled you in his arms, placing his cheek onto your head.

"night night." it wasn't even night time, you just had to say it before you go to sleep, and nanami finds you so cute he couldn't help but to squeeze you a little.

"night night," he replies back, kissing your forehead.

nanami just sits there and continues craddling you in his arms, and if he needs to go, he would put you on your bed (on his bed when it's his house), and writes you a short message why he needed to go and when he will be back.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fluff #jjk fluff #sukuna ryomen #gojo fluff #gojo satoru #sukuna x reader #female reader #nanami kento #nanami x reader

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luveline · 7 months

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gorgeous can we get bombshell reader and Spencer May be the first time he’s snappy with her bc he’s stressed and she’s just so taken aback and May be even tears up? And then just a fluffy ending with Spencer apologizing

thank you for requesting! fem, 2.2k

Spencer Reid is extra kissable when he's frowning. Button up and no suit jacket, sleeves pushed past his elbows and hair on the shorter side, he holds a certain confidence in his hands where they're tucked in his pockets. Sure of himself, and clearly agitated.

You're always on his side; you don't think twice about easing into the conference room to see what's wrong.

"Hey," you say with a slight lilt to your tone. You're always on his side, and always flirting. "What's wrong?"

"Why does something have to be wrong?" he asks.

Not mean. Not light. Somewhere in the solid middle, his gaze loyal to the laptop on the desk he stands behind. You step close enough to smell the subtle scent of his cologne, wondering if he can smell your perfume in turn, and if it's one he likes. You try to touch his hand and he takes the desk into his grip instead, leaning forward, out of reach.

"That's not what I meant to convey," you say, still flirting. You're not stupid, you realise his mood, but you're hoping it's somebody else's fault. "But if you aren't happy to see me then I'd definitely suggest there was something wrong."

"I'm just trying to figure something out."

This close, to your own credit, Spencer usually trips up. He's been getting better as you've grown closer, your 'torturing' —as the team likes to call it— only prompting the occasional blush or stammer. You don't flirt with Spencer to torture him no matter what anyones says and you never have, you flirt with him because he deserves to be complimented. He's andsome, intelligent, and courageous. What others might miss you see in blaring neon lights: he's a catch. You intend on making your intentions known, and if that means playing the long game or the slow burn, that's okay. You like to dance.

You put yourself between him and the laptop screen. He can still see it if he cranes his neck, and he does. "You look a little tired, handsome. Looking at a screen all day will hurt you in the end. Neck aches, shoulder cramps, eye strain. Though I can't help with the latter, the former…" His arm is solid under your hand, your fingertips running along the ridge of a stark vein.

He doesn't quite flinch away, but he moves quickly enough to startle you, lamenting, "Could you give me some space, please?"

That's all well and good, you rush to do as he's asked and step back because the very last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable and his voice is frankly acidic, but everything is moving too quickly, you're not as aware as you should be —you smash your hand backwards into a cold cup of coffee and knock it straight into the lap of Spencer's laptop.

"No," you gasp, grabbing the cup before the entirety of it can empty. Coffee wells between the keys and you go to grab it to– well, to do something.

"Stop it!" Spencer shouts, voice sharp as a knife. "You always do this," —quieter, venomous— "you can't help yourself."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I would answer you if I had the time. I'll be busy rescuing my hard drive before an entire month of work is wasted thanks to your dire need for attention."

He slips around you and stalks out the door, coffee dripping from the corner of his laptop in a sorry trail that shines in the fluorescent lights.

Your first rush of tears are driven by indignation; it was an accident, you didn't mean to do that, why would you ever do that? But the second, more encompassing rush is a hot mixture of shame and guilt. What have you done?

You take a hesitant step toward the door but don't bother following him. I'll make things worse, you think, bringing a hand to your face. Makeup marrs your hand as you wipe your cheeks. You stare down at the stains for a long, long time.

I'll apologise, you think eventually, rubbing at the mascara like soot on your palm. Just as soon as I look okay again.

You don't want Spencer or anyone to see you upset. You wear your makeup and your confidence for yourself, not to hide any insecurity but to embolden yourself, to be yourself. But to get to your desk you'd have to leave the conference room bared as you are, and you'd have to face Spencer, and the second option brings more tears.

This is all so messy, and it's your fault.

I'm such an idiot. I'm exactly what he thinks of me.

You sit in the chair furthest from the door with a pack of tissues from the cubby and rub your hot cheeks dry, streaks of mascara in the shapes of your fingertips like soot left behind. It's sitting that gets you —the shock of tears at being shouted at by someone you care about amplifies into a distress you can't explain. It's stupid, it's stupid. You press your face into your hands and curl in on yourself at the table, ears ringing. I'm so, so stupid.

—

The inside of Spencer's lip is bleeding, metallic on his tongue. He's white hot annoyance all the way to Penelope's office, choked as he tells her he needs her help.

"Spencer?" she said. "What happened? Are you okay?"

He realises what he's done. "Please, Garcia, can you do something? I really need to go."

He doesn't hear her response beyond her surprised but emphatic Sure, spinning on his heel to walk back the way he came. He rubs at his temple, moving between a slow trudge and a speed walk as he assesses the damage of what he's said. What did he say? your dire need for attention.

Your sniffing is something out of his fucking nightmares. Who does he think he is? You're sitting exactly where he left you next to that half empty coffee cup, a tissue scrunched in your trembling hands, visible in the small glass window of the door. You must be thinking of what he's said to have missed the sound of his footsteps, or perhaps he's left you too upset to want to look up.

He sees the moment a sob works through you, watches you hold your breath in a painful effort to keep it down, raising the tissue to your eyes and catching your tears before they fall. You're doing a lacklustre job despite your efforts, the oily shine of mascara iridescent on your cheeks. Or maybe that's tear tracks. It's hard to tell.

Spencer fights with himself. He doesn't know if deserves to come running back or if it would be more fair to send JJ or Derek in to comfort you.

"You made your bed," his mom would say, not without affection. "You have to lie in it."

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed to push away the memory, surveying the damage he's done carefully as he crosses the threshold back into the conference room. Your head lifts at the sound of the door, your stammer visible before you speak, "Spence– Spencer. Is your laptop okay? Did I break it? I'm so sorry."

Gideon would tell Spencer to be nicer. Hotch would say Reid in that stern shade of voice that's half disapproval and half fondness. They'd both tell him to be better, but neither of them have ever had to see you as you look now, tearstained and sorry, eyes wide with worry but shoulders tense. He has his role models, and yet none of them could possibly give him a way to apologise that could ever make up for they way he's made you feel.

Little dramatic, Morgan would say. Start with a hug, loverboy. Can't go wrong with a hug.

He should ask but he doesn't, a second transgression against you. Spencer pushes past chair and the sodden circle of carpet to your chair, pausing in case you're going to tell him to shove it. You lick your lips. "Did I break it?" you ask, as though resigned for a yes

He can't temper that amount of self-hatred on you. It doesn't suit you. He much prefers you the way you like to be, confident in everything, flirty and funny and soft, in both touch and touches. He takes your face into a careful hand, tilting it toward the light and weary of your shallow exhale. "I…" He begins and ends, stroking your tacky cheek with his index finger, as though brushing away an eyelash. If it were real he'd say make a wish, and you would wish for him or some similar sweetness, salacious smile to boot, or earnestness fit to fill a mountain. I wish you'd realise how pretty you are and stop denying me the pleasure of a beautiful boyfriend, you'd croon.

His fingers collect at your jaw and slip behind your ear as he cleans your skin with the side of his thumb. You lean into the touch, slashing his hesitancy in two.

"Sorry," he says, pulling your head toward his neck gently as he leans down to hold you. "I'm sorry. Don't be upset, please. Don't be upset "

"I'm an idiot–"

"No," he says, with the facts to back his denial. "I'm an idiot, I should never have upset you like this–"

"I broke your computer, it's just like you said–"

"I shouldn't have–"

"–I'm so needy I could've ruined all your hard work," you say, wriggling with guilt like you attempt to pull away.

Spencer really doesn't want to let you go now he has you, not until he's sure you'll stay in one piece. "If it's ruined, it's my fault for failing to back it up."

He should tell you that he's sorry for what he said. He knew it wasn't right he moment it escaped him, to speak to you like that, and accuse you of what he did. He basically called you selfish, uncaring. He implied it and worse, and for what? An accident? A mis-step that he practically forced you into?

"I never should've said that to you," he says, breaking his hug to crouch in front front you, searching blindly for your hand as he holds eye contact, looking up. You deign to frown down. "And I walked away. And you're crying," —his voice fries with sympathy— "because of me."

Your hand is limp in his. "I'm sorry," he says.

"It's okay." You sniffle and nod, lips struggling into a smile.

"It's not okay."

"Well, I hit your coffee over, so we're even."

"You accidentally spilled my drink, you didn't deserve to be mocked."

"Spence…" Your eyes half-lidded, you wince down at the cradle of his hand where it holds yours. "Did I break it?"

"I don't know. I got to Garcia's office and I knew I did the wrong thing, so I came back."

You swallow audibly. "I just wanted to make you feel better."

"I know, angel." He stands again as your eyes well with tears to hug you, kissing the top of your head. "I'm sorry. That was all me, okay? I shouldn't have snapped at you."

What follows is agony. Spencer patting your back through a panicked bubble of tears, wretched in knowing he caused it, and worse is the look you give him as he wipes your messed up make up away in want of a mirror, like you're grateful.

"Does it look really bad?"

"N–no. You look really pretty," he says.

"Are my eyes puffy?"

A little. "No. You look great." He can't apologise anymore– it won't help you feel better now, it'll just assuage his own worry. What you need is a different reassurance. "It's hard not looking at you, sometimes, you look that nice. But you know that already."

"I don't mean to do that. I didn't mean to."

Spencer puts his hand above your heart. "I know you didn't. I really, really shouldn't have said it. I was being cranky and I struck out like a kid."

"...You're not just saying I look nice to get back in the good books, are you?" you ask.

Spencer leans in, nearly nose to nose with you. "Of course not."

You tilt your head as though you might kiss him. He knows you won't and he's delighted anyways. It means you're feeling okay. He's nearly forgiven, or, at the very least, you're not actively upset. "I thought I liked seeing you pissed off, but now I'm not so sure."

"It's not a good look on me," he murmurs. "But it looks great on you, if you want to get angry with me."

"Well now I can't. I know it's what you want."

"Can I give you a hug?" he asks.

You drop all your acts and slide your arms around his neck. He wraps you up slowly, one arm at a time, careful to put all the pressure exactly where you like it.

"That feels nice," you mumble.

He bends into you and rubs your back. "Yeah?"

"Don't," you warn.

He draws a shape into your back with his fingers, slow, tiny things that make you squirm. "Don't what?"

"You're tickling me." You don't sound unhappy about it.

"What?" he asks. "I can't hear you over the sound of me being a huge jackass. Sorry, angel."

Your giggle is honey into his shoulder, sticky and sluggish as his circles turn to stars.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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steviesbicrisis · 8 months

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A Barbie AU where the Kens decide, in order to get some recognition, to get individual names.

Steve, who’s just a Ken very good with kids, is having an identity crisis after his Barbie, journalist Barbie, broke up with him.

Not even picking a name as unique and special as Steve, so much different than Ken, managed to cheer him up.

Everyone keeps saying he should be happy about the change, and discover who he is outside of Barbie’s orbit, but he can’t see what was so wrong in their relationship. He loved waiting all day for Barbie to look at him, even if it was for a brief second.

As if going through an existential crisis wasn't enough, he has to do it under the constant mocking of his archnemesis, Ke- Eddie.

Eddie, with his long curly and annoyingly gorgeous hair, who has a sense of style he would give all of his rollerblades for, and who's always there to notice whenever Steve makes a mistake.

Eddie even has his Barbie still by his side, cheerleader Barbie, and every time Steve sees them together he gets a sick feeling in his stomach, like a tummy ache. Doctor Barbie visited him a couple of times and found nothing wrong with him, he imagines he's a little jealous of Eddie for being with a Barbie.

Steve talks about this with Polyglot Barbie, his best friend, annoying her to death.

"Why are we talking about Ken, again?" she interrupts Steve's retelling of his last encounter with Eddie.

"It's Eddie" Steve corrects her.

"Right," she nods. She's very supportive of their silly-name-thing (how most Barbies call it), but she still has trouble remembering all the names, "why are we still talking about him?"

They're hanging out at the park, sitting under a tree, Barbie's leg on top of his, and they're holding hands. It's nice. Steve is happy to have a best friend like Barbie.

Steve looks up, meeting Eddie's gaze. He's sitting at one of the picnic tables not far away from them, doing nothing besides glaring at Steve.

Barbie squeezes his hand to get his attention back, and Steve looks away.

"Because he keeps tormenting me! he's even glaring at me right now, I'm gonna get stress wrinkles!" Steve finally replies, in a distressed tone.

"You're being dramatic," she says, matter-of-factly, "Eddie isn't so bad with you. You know, he kinda treats you like his Barbie."

If Steve had a beating heart, it probably would've stopped right at this second.

"What?"

"You know, he's always looking for you, he is always giddy whenever you give him a crumble of attention. He hangs out where you hang out... why do you think he's sitting all alone at a picnic table, just staring at you?"

"Maybe he's waiting for his girlfriend" he suggests.

"Are you talking about Cheerleader Barbie?" she giggles, "she's not his girlfriend, trust me."

"But he picks on me! all the time! Like this morning, I tripped and he made a comment about my legs!" He gestures at his legs with his free hand.

Barbie tilts her head to the side "you mean this morning at the beach when he held you in his arms for ten minutes to prevent you from falling and Barbie had to tell him to let you go?"

"… yeah” he manages to say. He hadn’t realized how long Eddie held him in his arms, he was upset about almost falling in front of him, but he also liked the feeling of his arms around him.

Everything feels different now.

Barbie's look softens "How does this make you feel?"

"I don't know" he answers, honestly "I just can't stop thinking about him."

A loud noise at their right startles them off of their conversation. They turn around to see Eddie lying on the floor, a trash can at his feet.

Steve doesn't give himself the time to realize that Eddie has probably heard their entire conversation and has tripped on that trash can because of it, he just rushes to Eddie's side to help him out.

Eddie stammers while Steve pulls him back up, not making much sense.

Steve is used to see Eddie as an intimidating guy, someone to compete with for Barbie’s attention. He never realized how much he liked to have Eddie’s attention instead, nor how he loved to give that attention back in equal amount.

“Nice legs” he tells him, repeating the same words Eddie told him that morning.

Eddie stops his incoherent stream of words when he hears him “what?”

“You heard me” Steve says.

“I did” Eddie admits. He pulls the trash can back up, to have an excuse to not look at Steve when he asks “you can’t stop thinking about me?”

For some reason, that’s the easiest question Steve has ever had to answer to “yes, I can’t.”

Eddie jolts back up startling Steve, the trash can falling out of his hands and hitting the ground once again.

“Cool” he says, using all of his willpower to hide his excitement by keeping a relaxed face, failing miserably.

“I guess” Steve grins. Knowing he has that effect on Eddie is making him the most confident he has ever felt in his life.

“So, since you can’t stop thinking about me…” Eddie repeats, in a tone that Steve would’ve mistaken for a mocking one until few hours ago “…we could hang out on the beach later. I’ll bring my guitar.”

“I’ll bring mine too then” Steve replies immediately.

Eddie panics “We can’t both have a guitar!”

Steve crosses his arms on his chest “who says that?”

Eddie opens and closes his mouth a couple of times then mutters, defeated, “fine.”

“Great!” Steve takes a step forward and gives Eddie a peck on his cheek “I’ll see you later.”

Eddie, who makes a face again trying to hide his excitement, nods and turns away “cool.”

He walks away slowly, towards the park’s exit. Right by the gate, he throws himself into an hedge. Steve can clearly hear him when he screams words along the lines of “FINALLY”, “I HAVE A DATE” and “SUBLIME”.

Steve turns to Robin who has witnessed the whole thing, while Eddie is still screaming random words from the bushes.

“I think I’m in love.”

#I’ve been wanting to write this since I saw the movie #but it never felt right #this is the best I could do lmao #in case it wasn’t clear I’m making fun of Steve for going from basic name to basic name lmao #I love him #I just think they’re neat #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steve and eddie #steve x eddie #platonic stobin #barbie #Barbie au #Steddie au #steddie au Barbie

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kana-de · 2 months

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★ summary: arlecchino nsfw hcs since her banner is almost out.

☆ cw: nsfw. wlw (fem terms like cunt and pussy used). choking. dirty talk. cunnilingus. strap-on. a bit of belly bulge. arle's hands appreciation.

☾ a/n: this is a repost of the same work bc the first one didn't get any attention at all. also, this is like, the most smut i could write for now so yeah.

— arlecchino loves loves loves holding eye contact with you during sex, especially if it's missionary. her stare is intense, like she'll stab your heart right here and now, but she knows you're only getting more turned on by it. even if it's doggy, she'd bend your back and press it to her chest and she would make you look into her eyes while fucking her strap up into you. her other hand would also slide to your lower belly to feel the bulge of the strap in it.

“don't take your eyes off me. look away once and you aren't cumming tonight.”

— arlecchino knows damn well you get off from just looking at her hands. and she also knows that you love having her hands wrapped around that pretty little neck of yours, so she uses this knowledge every single time. every time she begins with foreplay, her hand sneaks its way to your neck, squeezing it experimentally until she feels your knees weaken or hears a choked whimper leaving your mouth. arlecchino just knows that simply using her hands would be enough to make you cum over three times already.

“you have a very nice neck there, you know. i'm sure that if i'd squeeze a little bit harder, it'd make you squeal nice and loud.”

— is a master at dirty talk, prove me wrong. arle uses her hands and mouth just perfectly. always the low voice, whispering some very hot and dirty things right in your ear. when she's in the mood, she may even use some pet names to flatter you. but usually, she doesn't use anything other than 'dear', 'darling' and 'princess' — the last one is used especially a lot when she wants to pamper you like the princess you are.

“let me guess... you were having so many wet dreams about this, were you not? daydreaming about this for days on end. i bet that now this cunt is soaked already.”

and then:

“what's wrong, dear? cat got your tongue, hm?”

— when arlecchino comes back from work either overworked or mad, she knows she doesn't even have to explain herself to you as she buries her face into your cunt the moment she sees you. i wouldn't call it "taking her stress out on you" though, i think she does it more to calm herself. she eats you out like she's been starving for days even if she did it just yesterday. holding your hips down so you will stop squirming so much after she just gave you your third orgasm. you're becoming too sensitive, but arle doesn't look like she gives a damn, because she knows that if she was hurting you, you'd already say the safe word that you two have.

“shut up and take it. you know i can't help myself."

#genshin impact #genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin smut #arlecchino genshin #arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino genshin impact #arlecchino x fem reader #arlecchino smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x female reader #genshin impact x you #genshin wlw

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midnightwriter21 · 1 year

Text

demon slayer hcs: motherly hashira!reader x the hashira pt 2

characters: fem!reader x muichiro, sanemi, mitsuri, obanai

AN: this is a pt 2 for the request from @danielle-marie

READ THE FIRST PART HERE

MUICHIRO

I LOVE THIS BABY SM U DONT UNDERSTAND

he's the hashira that ur most comfortable around

he was a hashira before u

but u get promoted and its an instinct

child.

must protect.

at first he probably gets annoyed by you

he's not used to someone caring for him the way that u do

but then one day ur sent on a long mission

maybe a few weeks long

and he finds himself missing something

of course he has no idea what it is that he's missing something

he completely forgot about u

but when you get back to the butterfly estate and he sees u

it clicks

he remembers

he missed you

he missed your overprotective nature

he missed your soft caring voice

he missed the way that you brush and style his hair

he REALLY missed that ^

walks up to u, grabs ur hand and tugs u away

doesn't care if you were talking to someone

and doesn't say a word

brings you to his favorite cloud watching spot with a tight grip on your hand

makes you sit down

and lays his head in ur lap

stop im squealing and kicking my feet from the cuteness

SANEMI

my guyyyyyy

have i ever told yall that i love him?

only in every single thing i post

anyways

he HATES you at first

lmfao rip u

your shy and quiet nature reminds him of giyuu

and if theres one person sanemi can't stand

its giyuu

therefore he don't fw u

and doesn't pay u much attention

UNTILLLLL

he witnesses u pulling genya by the ear to the infirmary after a mission

and telling genya tf off for pulling som stupid shit during the mission

+100 respect right there

not only are u actually talking

but ur screaming??

at his brother??

and taking care of him at the same time?????

my guy is lucky if he doesn't pop a boner right there lmfaooo

starts paying more attention to u after that

and is noticeably a lot nicer and calmer around you

will blush beet red and deny tf out of it if the other hashira comment abt his change of heart

but def develops a soft spot for u

MITSURI

SWEETEST HUMAN BEING TO EVER EXIST EVER

she loves u

ofc she does she's the love hashira

but in mitsuri's mind how could she not absolutely ADORE u

not only are you breathtakingly beautiful in her eyes

but she sees the way u interact with the younger slayers

how u genuinely care for everyone's wellbeing

if she wasn't looking for a husband she would wife u tf UP

she still might lol

mitsuri is gonna go out of her way to become friends with you

she's inviting u to her estate for girl's night with shinobu

she's dragging u along to her favorite restaurant for lunch

she's inviting u to join her at the hot springs to relax

she really enjoys ur presence

even if ur shy she thinks ur very soothing to be around

she loves when you do her hair!!

and when u cook for her??

mitsuri alrdy eats a lot

but if u made the food for her??

girl is not letting a CRUMB go to waste

loves the way u take care of everyone

especially when u take care of her

10/10 would recommend a mitsuri

OBANAI

someone pls love this man

he needs it so bad

so dude had SHIT parents

like bad bad

so when he sees ur interactions with the younger slayers he's prob a lil put off at first

like ma'am?

this is the demon slayer corps??

we don't have time for all ur mothering and coddling

but then he's injured on a mission

and waiting in the infirmary for shinobu to show up and patch him up

and then u bust through the doors???

confused asf

shinobu is on a mission and you've been helping out in the infirmary

so looks like ur the one taking care of him today

and turns out his injury is bad enough to land him an extended stay in his lil hospital bed

and after a few days of u taking care of him

with ur red face and soft stuttered words

he learns that you're not so bad

and he actually enjoys being around you

and being taken care of

won't voice this tho

but when Aoi comes in to give him his meds one day he gives himself away by accident

with a

"where's y/n?"

he's a blushing grumbling mess after that lol

after he discharged best believe the next time he gets injured he's not even going to the infirmary

he's hunting u tf down

nobody else gets to take care of him except YOU

and thats period.

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rafeandonlyrafe · 2 months

Text

your duke

words: 4.7k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, mentions of having children, duke!rafe, 1800S au, royalty au, probably a lot of incorrect era things but idk! bear with me yall, maid!reader, implication of noncon but it is not actually described, r*pe aftermath, poisioning/murder, assassination plot, kinda angsty but happy ending, slowburn ish? i fell in love the way you fell asleep, slowly and then all at once

you are humming to yourself as you wipe down the surfaces off the room, collecting the nonexistent dust on your rag before turning your attention towards the bath, filling it with hot water, anticipating the dukes return.

you move onto the bed next, filled with extravagant silks and embroidered blankets. you make it perfectly, erasing any evidence that it was slept in only for the duke to create a mess when he comes back to his chambers.

you know you should feel lucky, getting to work in the palace with one of the kings closest friend and advisor, but it's tedious maid work, barely worth the couple gold coins you get at the end of every day.

you don't realize that the duke has entered until the door slams shut behind him, making you jump up, eyes wide as you turn and give him a quick bow, keeping your head down.

“good evening, duke cameron.”

“evening.” he addresses you back after a moment, allowing you to rise. you have to hold in a gasp, you always forget how beautiful the duke is.

“i filled the bath for you, sir.” you gesture your arm towards the bathroom. “i will take your garments for cleaning once you ready.”

“thank you, y/n.” the duke says, making your eyebrows rise. you have only been working for a couple weeks, and only recently got reassigned to the dukes room. you introduced yourself only once, and certainly expected him to instantly forget your name.

you watch as he goes behind the thick curtain into the bath, entering only when you hear him sink into the warm water with a satisfied groan.

you keep your eyes on the floor as you step around the corner just long enough to grab the clothing off the floor before fleeing with a bow to clean them.

you head to the lower levels of the palace, smiling at the other help that you see as you head towards the laundry room, quickly cleaning his clothes before hanging them on a line meant specifically for the duke.

“on your way back up to duke camerons?” the voice makes your back snap straight, turning to look at mrs. peregrine, her name living up to her hawkish features, a stern old woman but one to be admired for running the entirety of the background of the palace, coordinating maids and assistants, even running the kitchen with an iron fist.

“yes ma’am.” you nod.

“the king has requested that he receives a personal assistant.” she says, looking you up and down with a disapproving look in her brown eyes, so dark they almost appear black.

you wait patiently before she sighs. “my goodness girl, im offering you a promotion.”

“oh!” you raise your eyebrows, not expecting to move through the ranks so quickly. “yes, ma’am… what does being a personal assistant include?”

“you will bring up his meals, take requests and fill whatever he needs and… keep him satisfied.” you immediately understand the implication there, letting out a quick nod. she almost looks sad for a brief second before her features harden again. “get his dinner tray from the kitchen and bring it up immediately.”

you rush to the kitchen, grabbing the tray indicated for the duke. you hurry up the stairs, but are careful not to spill the plates loaded on the silver platter.

“dinner, sir.” you call with a knock, glad when instead of telling you to come inside that duke cameron opens the door for you. you set the tray down at his dining table. you wonder what the palace chambers of the king are like when a dukes looks like this.

“are you my assistant then y/n?” rafe asks, sitting down as you stand at the other side of the table, hands clasped together, waiting, but you're not sure what.

“yes sir.” you nod quickly. “anything you wish i am… here to serve.”

“are you hungry?” he asks, making you scrunch your brows together.

“what?” you know you shouldn't question what the duke says, but you surely must have heard him wrong.

“are you hungry? the kitchen always gives me more than i could ever eat.”

“oh- i- i am fine, sir. thank you.” you say, but your traitorous eyes betray you as you look at the food, bread smothered with butter, steak dripping with juice.

“no more with the sir, please.” he waves his hand. “makes me feel like my father. just call me rafe.”

you let a light laugh slip. duke cameron-rafe is remarkably young to have risen to the ranks so quickly. some even believe he is who the king will appoint if he doesn't produce an heir.

“and come sit down.” rafe kicks out the chair next to you. you step closer, easing yourself down into the wooden chair.

rafe takes one of the plates and loads a few things on it before setting it in front of you with one simple word. “eat.”

you're not going to argue with duke, and the meal is no doubt the most extravagant that you're ever going to get to taste, so you begin to eat, eyes widening when you taste the warm bread, so unlike the old stale loaf you get for cheap from the market.

rafe looks satisfied when your finished, pushing his cup of wine towards you to finish off.

“thank you, s-rafe.” you both smile.

“it's my pleasure.” rafe says, standing up and moving to flop down on his bed, placing his hand on his stomach. “so much good food.”

you bite your tongue, resisting the urge to say that there are people right outside the palace walls starving.

you quickly collect all of the silverware before placing the serving tray outside of the door to take back down to the kitchen later. maybe you'd even be able to sneak some more food now that you have access.

“what else can i do for you, sir?” you ask, looking out the window as the sky darkens. you wonder when you'll be dismissed now that you're an assistant to a duke, not just a lowly maid.

“come here.” he calls, eyes now closed as he lays on the bed.

you move quickly, putting your shame to the side. you know what is being requested of you now as you step to the edge of the bed, looking down rafes body until you are staring at his crotch. your hands reach cautiously until you cant wait any longer, grabbing the hem of his pants.

the dukes eyes pop open, pushing your fingers away. “what are you doing?”

“i-i am so sorry, sir!” you take a step back before sinking to your knees, bending your head down. “i thought you wanted to receive your… your nightly pleasures.”

you keep your eyes trained on the plush rug, but you can hear that rafe has moved to stand directly in front of you.

“you are not a whore.” his words are harsh for a moment, but then he kneels down next to you, his fingers touching under your chin and forcing you to look up at him. “i do not expect you to do anything for me that you do not want to.”

“sir, it's included in being your assistant.” you explain.

“i will not ask you to do anything lewd, understood?” he asks, holding your eye until you nod.

“you… you are a good man.” you say, letting him take your hand to help you stand, your dress falling back around your ankles.

“if only.” he looks into the distance for a moment before shaking his head. “you're dismissed.”

“yes sir.” you lower your head, rushing out of the room.

-- two weeks later --

“would you ask the kitchen for chicken today?” the duke asks as you adjust his outfit, quickly learning his tastes as you fold his collar down.

“roasted?” you question, smiling when rafe shakes his head.

“and make sure you tell them i want lunch too.” you know exactly what the duke means. he will no doubt be eating with the king, but he wants you to get food from the kitchen for yourself. you would refuse, but it gives you something to do as you wait around in his chambers, waiting to be called on.

“yes, sir.” you nod before leading him to the door, opening up the door with a bow as he goes to yet another meeting. he seems to always be involved. you don't know his personal politics, but from the way he treats you, you're sure he must be a good man.

you spend some time cleaning as you wait for rafe to return, as well as getting lunch and wandering the hallways, seeing how far you can go without seeing anyone.

you are relieved when time rolls around for you to draw a bath for the duke, excited to see him.

the door opens as you turn with a smile. “good evening, rafe. how was your day?”

“busy.” he admits with a sigh. you can tell he looks tired. “is the bath ready?”

“yes, sir.” you say, not able to always resist the formalities.

rafe nods, walking past you but not before laying a hand on your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze as a thank you, like he is too tired to even say the words.

you wait to hear the water before stepping in to get his clothes.

“y/n.” rafe says.

“yes sir?” you ask, keeping your eyes cast downward.

“would you… would you massage my shoulders and head? please.”

“of course.” you drag a stool towards the edge of the bath, glad to see the water is still steaming, no doubt relaxing rafe. you keep your eyes firmly away from lower down his body as you rub over his scalp and shoulders, working out the kinks in his neck.

you're almost sure that rafe has fallen asleep as you continue to massage, unable to resist as you lean in and take a small inhale, smelling his unique scent that is near intoxicating. you wish his room smelled more of him and less like you, it seems like he never gets to relax unless it's to sleep.

“why are you always so busy, sir?” you ask seriously. “the other dukes spend half the nights on the town and the other half at their summer houses. you work yourself to death.”

“for good reason.” he simply says. you sigh, you're not going to get anymore than that.

-- three months later --

“would you go to albion with me?” the duke asks, your eyes widening as you almost choke on the perfectly buttered biscuit you have in your mouth.

“of course!” you nod. “ive never left the city before.” you long to see the countryside, and even if you are going as an assistant, you would never turn down the opportunity.

“never?” he raises an eyebrow. “not even as a child?”

“no.” you shake your head. “i had to work ever since i was a young girl.”

“it's a shame.” the duke says. “you aren't like the others…”

“what do you mean?” you question, taking a timid bite of the roast chicken.

“like the people i see sleeping on the streets. you have manners, you work hard… you're beautiful.”

you can feel your cheeks blush bright red. “why thank you.”

“this is when you pay me a compliment back.” he smirks, using the charm he is so well known for.

“you are… very handsome.” you say before taking a quick sip of wine.

“come on, anything specific?”

you know exactly what you are going to say. “your eyes.” you quickly attest. “they're… they're enchanting. i imagine they are what the sea looks like.”

the duke smiles, blue eyes sparkling like the sun reflecting off the waves, and you swear you could melt right there in your seat.

-- one week later --

“is this your first time in a carriage?” the duke asks as the coachman reaches his hand out to help you into the small enclosed area.

“yes.” you nod, taking in the plush seats before sitting down, rafe sitting across from you.

“im glad i get to show you this then.” rafe says with a light smile, opening up the windows to allow you to look out as the horse begins to clop through the city streets.

you watch with excitement as the cobblestone roads turn to dirt and stone paths, brick buildings being replaced by rolling hills, crops, and distant farmhouses.

you chat with the duke throughout your travels, his smile growing whenever you point out something out of the window, loving your excitement when you come across a heard of cows, or cross over a wooden bridge.

“i want to show you everything.” rafe mumbles unders his breath, realizing in that moment how deep he is in.

its only a few more hours before you arrive at albion. your duties are much the same when at the kings palace, retreating quickly to make the dukes room just as he pleases, even adjusting the pillows to how you always find them in the morning.

you explore the help areas of the albion manor, glancing into the various rooms as you learn the layout, since the duke does intend to stay for two nights.

“exploring, are we?” rafes voice makes you jump as you turn suddenly.

“please excuse me.” you bow down when you realize duke cameron is with the duke of albion.

“is this your wife, duke cameron?” he asks, looking over you and your curtsey.

“why, no.” you can tell from rafes voice that he is delighted by the question. “though you would never guess it, she is my maid.”

“such a gorgeous maid.” you can hear them step closer, but you keep your head turned down until the duke of albion clears his throat and you stand.

you can see that rafes face has changed from a smile to cautious displeasure as the duke looks you up and down, a jeer taking over his face.

“she is a wonderful maid. a great conversationalist, too. she rode the entire way in my carriage and i was not once bored.”

“can she dance?” the duke of albion asks.

“ask the lady yourself.” rafe turns to look at you, nodding encouragingly.

“i have not danced since i was a child.” you say, keeping your voice quiet and soft. you know that there are dukes out there sick on power, and you're not sure the duke of albion is one of the good ones like your duke cameron.

“well, we must change that, shouldn't we duke cameron?” he turns to look at rafe, who nods. “invite her to the ball tomorrow night.” it's all he has to say before walking away. you let out a breath of relief once he turns down a hallway.

“you don't have to go to the ball if you don't want to.” rafe says as you begin to walk towards his room. you stay a step behind him like a proper maid. “i will make up an excuse for you if you wish, but…” rafe pushes the door open, allowing you to enter the chambers first. “if you want to don a pretty dress and arrive on my arm, i will not deny you the chance.”

“i would love to. as long as i only have to dance with you.” you can't imagine being passed off to random men.

your duke smiles at you before nodding, setting down at the dining table, where food must have been recently delivered as he portions some out for you.

“where are you to sleep?” he asks as you begin to eat.

“i visited the helps chambers already, i will sleep in a cot there.”

rafe frowns. “a cot? that is unacceptable.”

“it's just as nice as the one i have at home.” you admit with a casual shrug.

“you do not own a bed in your house?” rafe questions. he's never thought too much about your living situation before.

“i rent a room.” you say simply. “i don't even have a house or a whole apartment to myself.”

rafe is quiet until you're both done eating, seemingly deep in thought.

“you are sleeping in the bed tonight and i shall sleep on the settee. and we shall find new living arrangements for you when we return to the palace.”

“sir-”

“there will be no arguments.” he says, with a tone of authority you've never heard before. your mouth zips shut.

“im afraid im going to be sick.” you press your hand to the front of your dress, a soft pink fabric that must be more than your entire yearly salary for just have the material of the gown.

the duke of albion sent a few different options. they're clearly old dresses from maybe his wife or other manor women. you even made an attempt to do your hair rather than just pull it back into a bun or braid like you often do.

“you look beautiful.” rafe squeezes your hand. “and you have nothing to be nervous about. i will not leave your side.”

rafe waits for you to nod before stepping through the doors. he would turn back and take you back to his chambers if you were truly too nervous, social consequences be damned. rafe couldn't care less about his place in society, not when he knows he's been written into the kings will to take over the crown if he doesn't produce an heir with his wife before his death.

you're glad people are paying more attention to rafe than the women on his arm as he leads you around the room, greeting people and introducing you simply as lady y/n, not mentioning that you are his maid and assistant.

you watch a few dances with fascination, the twirling skirts of the women far more appealing then the men.

“want to try the dance floor?” he asks, squeezing your hand gently.

“yes.” you say honestly. you weren't sure, but to look into rafes eyes while the band plays is too tempting.

rafe leads you towards the center of the room, thankful the dance has already been done once, as you mostly remember the moves as he leads you through it, a wide smile on your face.

-- one week later --

“is everything moved?” rafe asks as he enters the room, eyes widening when he realizes it's been completely stripped, even the curtain separating the living area and bathroom has been taken down.

“yes.” you nod. “mrs. peregrine said there is no one else moving into this room, so.” you shrug. you feel a little sad about leaving the chambers that you've grown so close to rafe in, but he himself requested a bigger chamber. he must not ask for much, because the king quickly accepted his request.

two beds. you walk up one more flight of stairs to the newer bedrooms, family chambers for those who live inside the palace with their children, or for those who will have their maid live with them like rafe.

“no more cots for you.” rafe says as you enter the room. you can't help yourself, tearing up when you see your bed. yours.

“good tears?” rafe confirms before pulling you in for a hug. the touching may be frowned on by society, but you find comfort and familiarity in his hold, having grown so close over the past months.

you are humming softly with a smile on your face as you bring down rafes laundry, the last task for the night before also retreating to your bedroom.

“y/n.” mrs peregrine says, her hawk eyes landing on you and the bundle of clothing in your arms.

“yes ma’am?”

“the king has requested a new maid for the night. he wants someone young. go.”

it takes a second for her words to process before you realize what she's asking for.

“i-”

“you can go back to duke cameron in the morning, he wants someone new for the night. go. now.”

you drop the laundry, considering running. either out of the palace or back to rafe, but mrs. peregrine follows behind you like she can read your thoughts until you're standing in front of the door to the kings chambers. you can hear lewd noises from behind the carved wood, the golden handle gleaming.

mrs. peregrine grabs and turns it before pushing you in.

“ah, a new one!” the king grunts, a mess of bare skin taking up the massive bed. “get over here!”

“where were you?” rafe asks, grasping your shoulders the second you enter the chambers, the morning sun not even rising yet, having fled the second the kings head hit the pillow.

you open your mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a loud sob as you lean forward, burying your face into his chest.

“shh, shh.” rafe wraps his arms around you, letting you cry into his chest as his hand strokes gently up and down your back. “i got you. you're okay.”

he leads you over towards the beds, bypassing your own and taking you to sit on his, arms still holding you comfortingly.

“i-i had to go to the kings chambers.” you swallow thickly, glad you don't have to explain any more as rafes face turns to one of anger.

“the king disrespected you. he disrespected me. and he disrespected his wife. something will be done about it.”

you're not sure what your duke has planned, but you trust him.

rafe watches with anticipation. he planned to wait another couple months, to build up the tolerance of the kings food taster to the poison he's been slipping in, but after what you were subjected to, he will wait no longer.

every meal the taster ate outside of testing the kings food has had slowly increasing amounts of poison in it. he hadn't quite reached lethal yet, but rafe hopes he will at least last long enough for the king to eat before showing any signs of sickness.

rafe watches with anticipation, barely touching his own food as the taster tries everything. a bite of mashed potatoes, of chicken, and so on before nodding and passing the plate to the king.

he's too cocky for his own good, not even waiting for a minute to see if the taster has a bad reaction before eating, sure that he was too untouchable.

rafe hides his smile when the kings face turns pale, sputtering before falling face forward into the mashed potatoes, knocked out dead.

the palace is in an uproar. you were waiting for rafe to return to the chambers from his dinner with the king and other dukes when someone bursts in.

“the king is dead. duke cameron is now the king. come now.”

you hesitate before they rush out of the room. your feet move before your mind does, rushing after what you must assume is an advisor.

you hear loud crying, desperately sad, heartbreaking screams as you're lead to the kings chambers. your eyes widen when you see the former queen being dragged out, mourning with loud sobs the loss of her husband and title.

“king cameron is waiting for you inside.”

you walk in, surprised when the door swing shuts behind you. you look around the grand space, not having truly taken it in the time the king had you brought in.

“rafe-” you run to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. he's stood near where the bed used to be. it must have been his first order, to have the very bed you were disrespected in taken out of the chambers. you hope it gets burned.

“i did it for you. for us.” rafe holds you close as it sinks in. rafe killed the king.

“i want you to be my queen.” rafe pulls away to look you in the eye. “i want you to be my wife.”

“i-”

“the former queen is pregnant. hopefully with a boy. we will rule until he is 13 then vacate the throne. we can go to the countryside, i can give you the life you deserve-”

you cut rafe off by pressing your lips against his. he hesitates for a split second before kissing back, holding you even tighter to him.

“id be honored to be your wife.” you whisper against his lips. “i love you.”

“i love you so much.” rafes tongue slips into your mouth, distracting you from thinking too hard as he kisses you, your bodies turning warm as he leads you towards the couch, laying you down on your back as he hovers over you, not allowing your lips to seperate.

“we will…” rafe gasps out, pausing his words to kiss you again. “we will rule. we will amass wealth. we will retire with our money to the countryside.” rafe squeezes your waist. “we will have as many children as you want. none, if you want. anything for you, my soon to be queen.”

“i never thought id be able to have kids.” you sniffle. “you've given me so much.”

you reach up to take rafes face in your hands, rubbing your thumbs over his cheeks before pulling him down for a kiss.

“i love you.” you kiss him over and over. “i want you.”

“now?” rafe looks down at you. “are you sure?”

“yes, please.” you kiss him again. “replace my bad memories with a good one.”

rafe moves slowly, carefully undoing your dress until you're in just your underclothes. he continues to kiss you before turning the attention to himself, taking off his layers until he's in just underpants.

you run your hands up and down over his chest, lifting your hips as he tugs your final layer off.

rafe pulls away from the kiss to look down at your body. a smile spreads over his face before slinking down the couch he grasps your chest in his hands, cupping your breasts.

“i should have had them bring in a new bed first.” he chuckles, pressing his hips down into your thigh, allowing you to feel his length through his underpants.

“i need you now. please.” you whimper out. rafe smiles, unable to keep the grin off his face since his plan succeeded and he finally admitted his feelings to you.

“you never have to beg me for anything, my queen.” rafe says, pulling his final layer off. “you're never going to go without ever again.”

you feel tears well in your eyes as rafe lines himself up with your entrance, sinking deep into you as you both moan out.

“i love you.” you whisper again, needing to tell him as many times as you possibly can.

rafe presses his lips over each over your eyelids, kissing away your tears.

-- 14 years later --

“it's everything i imagined and more.” you smile to your husband, having just returned from the tour of the vast gardens.

“nothing but the best for you, my love.” rafe spent years looking for the perfect retirement property as the new king grew up until he was of age to take over the title.

you push the hair back out of rafes face, admiring his features. there's a few increased lines on his face from the age and the stress of the crown, but the twinkle in his eye is all the same.

“i was thinking once we settle down here i will take you on a vacation to see the ocean. then we can get started on making those babies i promised you.”

“why not start now?” you smile, turning towards your bedroom as rafe quickly follows behind, the halls filling with warm laughter, much to the staffs relief, glad to have a happy couple as the new duke and duchess.

rafe closes and locks the bedroom door behind you, the curtains and windows open, letting in the clean country air, so different from the city that you've finally escaped.

“how many babies do you want?” rafe asks, pushing up the bottom of your linen dress up to reveal that you aren't wearing anything underneath, much to rafes appreciation.

“hmm.” you hum out as rafe tugs his pants down. “two boys, two girls?”

“i like the way you think.” rafe smiles, pressing a kiss your lips. “my queen. you'll always-” another kiss. “be my queen.”

taglist (please let me know if it doesnt work idk why people arent being notified): @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @sourkittie @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @auryyz @raysmayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut @drewsephrry @1aarii1

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ghouljams · 4 months

Text

Courting (Letters from Lt. Riley)

tags: regency au, Ghost x f!reader/OC, courting, letters, Ghost flirting and also being so weird with it, courting gifts

summary: You told Ghost he could write you. He does.

The maids drop off the letter while you're in the study. The wax seal on the front is unbroken, which you find strange. Aren't parents normally supposed inspect courting letters? You suppose you should be thankful your mother isn't a noble by birth, she doesn't have the same care for propriety you know others do. She's always maintained that love is for the people involved and no one else. Though, love is a far stretch for your feelings as far as you're concerned.

Ghost seems to go out of his way to aggravate and annoy you. You will say... you've never enjoyed conversations quite so much as you enjoy them with him, and you've never had a man entertain your debating so well, and you suppose his eyes are rather warm and honeyed enough to catch attention. You like that you can see the curve of his lips under his mask when he smiles, and that the lines beside his eyes crease when he looks at you. And you like his hands, you suppose, if you had to pick something.

You break the seal of the letter and unfold the thick paper. There's a thin sheet of silver paper covering the actual writing and you scoff at the precaution. Surely the man isn't saying anything so scandalous as to need more protection from prying eyes. Still, you're careful removing the tissue-y layer.

Your breath catches in your throat, fingers hovering to trace carefully over the lines of charcoal covering the page. It dirties your glove and you're quick to avoid touching the paper directly, lest you sully the careful work of portraiture. It's you, your profile staring determined off into the distance, a slight frown on your lovingly shaped lips and a gentle crease to your brow. You wonder what your charcoal double must be thinking to have such an expression. You recognize the necklace he's haphazardly rendered, a gift from your mother you wore at the first party of the season.

How long has he been thinking of you?

There's tight cursive at the bottom of the page, "I have nothing to say, except that you're the most beautiful creature I've ever had the misfortune of knowing. -Lt. Riley"

Your heart flutters so hard, batters so aggressively against your rib cage, that you don't even notice the heat in your cheeks. You call rush to find pen and paper to write back.

You're having breakfast with your parents when the maid brings you a letter. You recognize the red wax seal immediately and slide your fingers under the paper's fold to break it quickly. The crack of wax fills the silent room, and you look up from your work to see your parents watching you. You father rests his chin on his laced fingers, and your mother quietly sips her tea. The letter is carefully placed to the side and your mother smiles, setting down her cup to draw one of your father's hands into her own grip.

"Don't let us keep you," You father rumbles, you can't tell if he's upset or pleased. His voice carefully neutral.

"It can wait until after breakfast," You tell him peaceably, picking up your fork again.

"Give it a read now dear, you'll upset your stomach rushing through meals." Your mother, ever the doctor, encourages. You tamp down your smile and unfold the letter, your fingers feeling for another sheet of silver paper. You're almost disappointed not to find one. You suppose you can't expect a gift of that quality every time. Once again the actual letter is short and neatly penned,

"Arguing with me won't make me march down there princess. Not that the idea hasn't crossed my mind, but I'd be gone as soon as I saw you, lost as soon as you opened your mouth. You make me lose all rational thought, and yet you consume my every waking moment. There is no distance I could travel that I would not still be haunted by the memory of you. If I'd never been assigned to your escort I would have been a saner man, miserable for never having known you. Argue with that.

Did you miss every one of your penmanship lessons?

Lt. Riley"

You smile to yourself, your thumb rubbing against the paper. He's pressed little flowers into the folds, their colors bleeding into the page and their petals falling into your lap. You pluck them carefully from your skirt, dutifully avoiding thoughts of your suitor, and place them back in the folds of Ghost's letter. You'll have to write him later, you know he's egging you on, but really he should know better than to criticize a lady's calligraphy.

You look up from your work and meet your parent's stares. Your mother's thumb rubs against the back of your father's hand, you've always hoped for a match like theirs.

"Something nice?" Your mother asks, and you smile at her.

"Never," You tell her, "Lieutenant Riley is as rude in his letters as he was as an escort."

Your father hums, but you think you see the edge of a smile under his beard.

There's very little awkwardness in the letters between you and Ghost. He writes better than he speaks, but the bluntness is still there, the charm that made you first agree to this courtship. He makes your stomach clench, makes your heart flutter. He's rude and argumentative, and you find yourself hoping for every letter he sends you.

He's sweet.

He's terrible.

You hide his letters under your pillows, the ones that talk about kissing you, "Everywhere but your mouth," he writes, "so that I can still hear you." You sit on the chaise and chew your thumb reading the letters that promise you devotion, "you'd never worry where I was, I never wish to stray from your side." You hear your friends discussing suitor gifts, the scandalous things that pass through their aunt's inspection first, that their fathers shake their head at.

You think of the modesty panel laced into your stays, the carefully inked words along the edge of the gift, "if my lips were here they'd never leave."

You pluck Ghost's letter from the tray before your maid can even offer it. Your fingers quick to break the wax seal before you even find a place to sit. He never writes as much as you do, but he's purposeful with his words in a way that makes your heart sing.

"If it's the Scot I think it is your friend is fine. We can discuss when I pick you up this afternoon. Wear walking shoes. Love, Lt. Riley"

You snort, quite a way with words your lover. You nearly trip on your way up the stairs staring at his signature. "Love" be still your heart.

#x reader #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod x oc #ghost mw2 #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod #oc: goose #regency au #return of ghost being an artist which is my personal favorite thing

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dcxdpdabbles · 3 months

Note

you’ve inspired me so here’s a thing you can do whatever with cause I got a migraine and lost my train of thought

so Danny’s working the bar at the iceberg lounge and notices more people are stress drinking, even the Big Names and asks what’s up only to find it’s ✨Tax Season✨

Danny: oh I always forget about that

someone: (aghast) you don’t pay your taxes

Danny: *shrugs* I’m not allowed to pay taxes

wtf does that mean, is he exempt, someone asks but no Danny explains that the first and only time he tried to pay his taxes he received a full refund and a cease and desist order

word gets around and not even the joker want to mess with Danny because what kind of a monster can scare the irs

(This is actually an inherited problem from his parents)

"What did you just say?" Danny looks up from where he is mixing drinks. Across from him is a purple suit-wearing clown- he hates clowns, so he was attempting not to make eye contact- whose whole white face is twitching slightly.

Danny blinks slowly, using every ounce of self-control to not give in to the urge to reach across the bar and slap him. After a moment, he answered, "I always forget tax season."

"You're crazy enough to take on the IRS?" The clown's jaw drops. "I mean Batman, sure, I understand that, but the IRS?"

Danny frowns. "I don't take them on. I don't have to do my taxes."

"How?" A man in a suit covered in question marks demands from further down the bar.

He shrugs his shoulders a little. "I tried it once, but they sent me a full refund and a cease and desist order. They only remind me that I cannot file taxes now."

"Prove it," A man covered in scales hisses.

Danny grabs a rag, using it to clean off the lemon juice. He reaches into his apron pocket, pulling out a folded-up letter. He could have left it in his locker, but stuff always went missing there. Best to keep his stuff on his person while working. "Sure. Here I have it now. I went to the post office before my shift-hey!"

The lade covered in leaves yanks the letter out of his hand, unfolding it and reading the words as though it wasn't a federal crime. Her voice wavers when she gets to the reminder that the United States of America Internal Revenue Service would not stand another attempt at Daniel Fenton's taxes.

"This can't be real," She scoffs, but there is an underline of worry in her voice that she can't entirely hide.

She turns to a man in a strange white and black suit- like it's evenly split down the middle strange. It matches his face, though; one side is gorgeous, and the other is deformed. "This isn't real, is it Two-Face?"

Two-face takes the paper from her hand, carefully reading the words before pulling out his phone and typing away. After a few seconds, he pauses, then gasps. "It's real. My boys just confirmed the Tax ID number. He is not legally allowed to do taxes."

"Holly Molly, you're insane," the clown gasped, backing out of the seat while pointing at Danny as though he was the devil. "Stay away from me you lunitic! I'm not messing with the IRS's boogie man!"

He turned tail and ran, leaving behind a stunned Danny, wondering what he could have said to earn that reaction. His parents back home were also ordered to not do their taxes. It's common.

He turns to his other customers, ready to take their order, but they all pale and quickly duck away from him as well.

Strange.

Then, Danny notices the silence that has fallen upon the Iceberg Lounge. Even the music has been cut off as everyone stares at him in disbelief.

He shifts, a little uncomfortable with the stares. Danny has never grown used to attention, no matter how much he craved it as a teenager. He always wanted to be in the It Crowd and be given an official membership to the A-listers, but he grew to understand that the only way they liked seeing him was in pain.

So Danny learned to avoid attention as he could, which wasn't complex as the part of the town's freaks, but the very few mintues someone did pay attention to him something terrible ended up happening.

Dash stuffed him into a locker while classmates laughed and cheered the bully on.

A teacher calling on him just to make him feel stupid.

His parents realized he was slipping in his grades and reminded him that he was a failure to the family's intelligence.

Or some random GIW agent that "banished" him from his Earth, flinging Danny straight across the universe to whatever hellhole Gotham crawled out of.

He barely got this bartending job only a few weeks ago- lying about his age which he thinks his boss doesn't care about- and using a shade of an old bartender to coach him in mixology.

Shades were different from ghosts. For one thing, they were weaker and unable to be seen by regular people. They could not interact with the world and often didn't even know they were dead. If Danny had been able to see them before the portal, he would have known they were the cause of what is commonly known as a "ghost."

They were the myths.

Jeff Ricci is Shade, one who is aware he died. He was killed in a gang shoot-out a few years after he and his sister ran away from an abusive home. They traveled through three states, dodging police and CPS, before they disappeared among Gotham's homeless population.

The pair of siblings survived for a while doing odd jobs for local gangs- things like drug runs or helping them move guns- which is why Jeff was out there the night the fight broke out.

It was an imperfect stroke of luck, the wrong place and time. The two had been doing so well, too. They had both gotten jobs at the Iceberg Lounge, lying about their ages, where Jeff was a dishwasher, and Lucia was a housekeeper.

After hours, Jeff was taught by his coworkers how to properly mix drinks, waiting for Lucia to finish her job. When the two turned eighteen, Lucia became a waitress, and Jeff joined the bar- though if anyone asked or checked their employee records, both were twenty-one.

With better pay and hours, they could rent an apartment, finally gaining a home after three years of homelessness. Jeff had lived in that home for only a month when he accepted a job to buy Lucia some migraine medication and had perished.

Lucia lived on without her twin, broken far more than before, but she still had the apartment and job at the Iceberg Lounge. She was unaware her brother still followed her around, watching her actaully turn twenty-one while he remained eighteen.

That's how Danny met him, a somewhat see-through man casually following one of the prettiest waitresses. He had assumed he was being a creep, but Jeff had been delighted that someone could not only see him but was willing to protect his sister by threatening him away from her.

In exchange for lessons on proper mixing, Jeff asked Danny to keep an eye on his sister. Help her when he could not. It was a fair trade from one younger brother to another.

The shade is currently leaning against the counter beside Danny, staring at him as though Danny was a god. "You scare the Joker. Shit, Danny, I knew you were some kind of Rouge in the making, but to take out heavy hitters like this before your debut!? That's just terrifying! Would you be willing to pay my sister to be your secretary or something? She's a great typer!"

What a strange place Gotham is.

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #IRS's boogie man #Danny freaking out the Gotham Rouges #The Fentons are outlawed from their Taxes #Danny is in a new dimension and knowns nothing #He isn't even aware he was serving some of the worst criminals of Gotham #Jeff and Lucia Ricci have accidentally made a Deal with Ghost King Danny

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