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murdrdocs · 6 months

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HAUNTING YOUR BED. mike schmidt

description. you, mike, and abby bake a chocolate cake and mike gets to taste it from your lips

→ pt 2 to nothing real

includes. GN! reader (i think), simp mike, abby !!!!, fluff galore, more pining, more domesticity, kissing, one boner mention

wc: 2.2k+

a/n: finally wrote a pt 2 to something who would've thought. title from haunt//bed

When Mike opens the door, he’s too tired to see straight.

His shift ended earlier than he originally anticipated and since he’d clocked out, his body was begging for a shower and sleep. Maybe even just sleep, depending on how comforting his bed looked. If he could tolerate it, maybe even a few bites of a frozen meal.

This is his original plan.

But somehow due to the sleep induced haze, Mike had forgotten that you were babysitting Abby tonight. Not the sitter that had taken your place for a couple of nights, completely incomparable to you to the point where Mike didn’t even waste his time. Abby, though, spent a solid ten minutes each night complaining about the temporary sitter and another five minutes longing for you.

(Mike felt the same but he would never let Abby know lest he wanted you to find out within 2 business days)

So truthfully, whenever Mike opens the door, he’s too tired to see straight, and then as soon as he steps into his home, his vision clears up just enough to see you in the kitchen and his body introduces a burst of energy spurred on by your light squeal and suddenly he can tolerate an hour spent with you and Abby.

“Shit!” your swear shocks Abby as much as it does Mike, the word foreign to his ears from your mouth but it sounds completely natural when you say it. It’s small, a tiny detail, but it reminds Mike that he doesn’t know you. At least, not the you that exists out of the four walls of the Schmidt household.

He doesn’t know what you wear when you’re not babysitting, or what your nonprofessional personality is like. He’s sure you’re more or less the same, but for some reason, Mike wants to consider the opposite.

Despite his rampant overthinking, Abby points at the jar sitting on the end table towards the entrance of the home.

“Swear jar!” she alerts you. Or maybe it’s more of a command. Either way, you shamefully step away from the counter, wipe your hands on the apron you wear, and start to walk out of the kitchen.

Mike guesses you’re heading for your purse, which he assumes is most likely sitting on the bench in front of the window where it usually is. Your plans are halted when you’re made aware of Mike’s presence, and when you say “oh”, Mike feels like he’s living his days over again.

Just a few weeks ago, a similar circumstance, a similar feeling.

Mike touches his hair at the memory, hoping it’s long enough to warrant another cut from you, but it’s the perfect length and he drops his hand.

“Hey,” he greets you first, trying to remain calm and behave how he usually does. But suddenly he doesn’t know how to. Does he usually say ‘hey’? Or has he been saying ‘hi’ this entire time and didn’t realize it? Maybe even ‘hello’?

You seem to care less about that than Mike does, greeting him back casually and then continuing your journey to your purse. Mike watches as you dig around in it for a second, pull a dollar out, and then slide it through the created slip in the top of the mason jar.

Then, you reenter the kitchen and Mike suddenly realizes that time has been moving around him and he’s been stuck between it all, too enamored by you engaging in minute movements to do so himself.

He throws his keys in the bowl and slips his shoes off.

“What’s uh …” He steps into the kitchen, attempting to get a glimpse at what Abby is doing. She’s staring down at the counter, standing on a small step stool that makes her a lot taller than the counter instead of being a few inches off. “What’s going on in here?”

Abby turns around, and Mike gets a glimpse of a big plastic bowl in front of her, along with the carton of eggs, the jug of vegetable oil, and a cake mix box.

If he needs even more clarification, Abby happily declares: “We’re making a cake!”

Initially, Mike’s upset. His logical (grumpy, in Abby’s words) side comes out and he’s thinking about how at least two eggs that could’ve been used for breakfast has gone down the drain and cake provides no nutritional value so not only is Abby going to be hungry, she’s also going to be bouncing off the walls from the sugar intake.

His thoughts show on his face, just like they always do, and then Mike is looking over at you from where you’re grabbing the whisk out of the drawer and your head lifts. “I dropped the shells into the bowl,” you add, initially oblivious to Mike’s inner turmoil. Your mishap explains your out of character swearing, and Mike would comment on it but instead he’s trying to make his face neutral.

But you see it, the exhaustion and slight frustration and worry.

You send him a smile that’s nothing more than one side of your lips pulling into your cheek, pronouncing the apple of it that presents a faux complimentary color to your skin tone. You look … upset? Are you upset?

Mike can’t tell and this makes him feel worse.

He decides that instead of pouting and grumbling about it, he unzips his jacket, throws it onto the kitchen table, rolls the sleeves of his thermal up, and then steps to join you two.

“Let me help.”

Mike ends up wearing a pink apron that he knows for sure does not belong to the Schmidt household. At least, it didn’t whenever he left for work.

Mike attempts to hide his surprise whenever Abby excitedly tells him that you brought the apron for him. His eyebrows lift, he looks over at you, and you’re suddenly really focused on the written instructions on the back of the cake box even though they really are incredibly simple.

“Really? She did?”

Abby hums and Mike hopes you’ll look over at him, but you don’t, instead gnawing on your bottom lip and squinting as you concentrate even harder.

“Mm. It’s cute. I like it.” And that’s when you lift your eyes, sending them over to Mike to give him a quick once over.

“It suits you,” you compliment, just before putting the box down and grabbing the cake pan.

Some time has passed. The cake has been baked, decorated (white frosting with pink, green, and yellow swirls from Abby), and eaten with slightly freezer burnt ice cream. Abby has pouted when Mike declared one giant slice was enough for her.

The shower has turned on and off, Abby has run into the living room to give you a hug and say goodnight, and now comes the part that Mike hates the most.

He’s still tired, maybe minutely more energetic from the sugary cake, but his body is still begging for a good rest. Yet, he doesn’t want you to leave.

You start to grab your things, jacket pulled back on, purse thrown over your shoulder. Just before you can slip your shoes on, Mike stands from his spot on the recliner.

“Do you want another slice?” He gestures lamely at the cake on the kitchen table. “We can’t eat this all on our own and I refuse to let Abby try.”

A small laugh from you as you shake your head. “No, it’s okay. Abby should be able to enjoy the fruits of her labor.”

“She’ll enjoy it too much until she has a cavity and I have a dentist bill.” A pause where your eyes shift over to the cake, then back to Mike.

“I really don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“If that’s what you’re worried about then you’ve got it all wrong.” Mike replies as he walks to the cabinets, pulling out two small plates and then two forks right beneath it. He slices the cake, the pieces almost proportionate but you seem to have gotten just a bit more.

Maybe it’ll take you longer to eat and Mike will be in your presence for just a bit more.

It’s silent for just a few moments before you’re talking about everything and nothing all at the same time.

Raves about the cake the three of you made turns into reminiscing about the triple chocolate cake they used to serve at Sparky’s before they underwent new management. The talk of new management turns into you ranting to Mike about the manager at your day job and Mike listens intensely, thrilled to have a new piece of information to add to the puzzle of your life. When you apologize, a little shy and maybe even embarrassed, Mike shakes it off instantly.

“Don’t apologize for speaking your mind,” he tells you. You joke about the line being poetic and Mike finds himself revealing that he used to write teenage angst poetry in his bedroom at night. When you laugh, it’s not as if you’re belittling him, it’s different. Light, airy, filled with enthusiastic shock and a little bit of wonder.

It makes him laugh, too, and for a moment he forgets that his sister is sleeping just down the hall.

You both seem to remember at the same time, laughter tapering off into small intakes of air and then fizzling off completely in the vibrant night air.

He glances at the clock on the wall.

10:47.

“It’s getting late,” Mike thinks out loud.

When he turns back to you, you look a little sadder. “I guess I should get going then, yeah?”

Shit. Mike wants the opposite. He wants you to stay over for the night. He’ll take the couch if it means you’ll take his bed. He wonders if the small space would smell like you afterwards. He pictures you sleeping in his clothes, forced to wear them instead of the jeans and sweater you wear now.

He’s thinking too far ahead.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You stand anyway, taking a final bite of your cake before you set the fork down. There’s still a tiny piece left, waiting for you, just as Mike is.

He stands too.

“No, it’s okay. You have work in the morning and I shouldn’t be on the road this late anyway.” Your jacket is zipped up, your purse is back over your shoulders.

Mike says your name, firm despite the low volume. It’s vulnerable, a plea almost. It stops you, makes you look at him with wide and wondering eyes.

It’s on him now. He’s the one who has to speak.

He takes a breath. He licks his lips.

“I would like it if you stayed. Honest.”

His admission has weight to it. The words are that of a concerned friend, but the way his hands nervously play with his jeans and the way his eyes bounce around the room with your frame as a continuous anchor says much more than the eight words could have.

Your voice just barely shakes when you speak. “Tell me I’m reading this wrong.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not.”

In the nervous energy that rakes through Mike’s body, it’s unclear to him who moves first. All he knows is one moment he’s staring into your eyes, and then the next his lips are against yours.

The kiss is soft, nothing more than the lengthened press of lips against lips. His hand cradles the side of your face, yours bunches the fabric of his thermal around his bicep. And while it might be nothing objectively, it’s so much to Mike. For him to finally feel your lips against his, rougher than he imagined but even that means something to him.

It’s euphoric.

Your lips pull back from each other, but neither of you move. So, Mike is clear this time whenever he initiates, giving you one more safe kiss before he starts moving his lips against yours. Still, it’s polite, just like you deserve.

His free hand presses into your middle back, pulling your chest into his. He tilts his head just a little for comfort. He’s holding back.

You, on the other hand, aren’t.

You pull Mike impossibly closer to you by his shirt, your other hand digging into the short hair at the back of Mike’s head. You turn the kiss into one of more desperation, parting your lips to introduce open mouthed kisses instead, slipping your tongue against his.

Mike is trying to keep his composure as he reciprocates. He’s trying to muffle his little sounds before they even come out, push them down his throat. But they climb up anyway, jumping from his mouth to yours with the access.

He can’t control himself whenever your body is pressed against his. He can’t hold back when he tastes the chocolate cake on the tip of your tongue and the mint leftover from the gum you’d been chewing earlier in the night. He presses his hips against yours, shamelessly displaying the tent that’s growing. He runs his hands along your sides and back and hips, feeling every curve he has analyzed with only his eyes from afar. You’re softer up close and it makes Mike want to feel you as you are, devoid of any clothing to cover you. He hopes he’ll get his wish soon.

You pull away and Mike has to restrain himself from following your lips.

“If I stay over,” his ears instantly perk up. “Can I wear your plaid pajama pants?”

The grin he gives you is genuine. It hurts his cheeks and heals his soul.

“Of course.”

#mschmidtsworld!#mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #celeste writes fnaf #fnaf movie #mike schmidt fluff

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sankttealeaf · 8 months

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unlocked

pairing ; astarion x (rogue) gender neutral!reader

summary ; a few failed attempts at picking a lock causes you more than enough embarrassment for you, yet Astarion finds it highly amusing.

other info ; based on a true story where my Tav failed 4 times to unlock a door and after switching to Astarion, he does it first try >:( Tav even had a guaranteed 7~11 bonus too. set in act one just as you get into the Underdark. first time writing for him be gentle please :')

warnings ; swearing, a kiss, and suggestive themes in this but nothing too wild!

word count ; 4.1k

The journey down into the Underdark had been tiresome. A few goblins remained at the camp that were hungry for a fight and after spending way too long trying to solve the puzzle in the temple, you were ready to rest. The outpost you found yourself at seemed to be a safe place to set up camp - tall stone walls, a portcullis with a lever on the inside, and whatever those beams of light were that incinerated an angry looking minotaur moments ago. Yes, it would be safer inside here. Everyone else seemed to think so, too.

Gale, Wyll and Karlach began the very important task of searching through the old crates and boxes to check for any edible food, while Shadowheart and Lae'zel took opposite ends to look for anything important that could aid you in your journey - notes, books, signs of life nearby. You decided to check for traps, not entirely trusting that this outpost was as safe as it seemed. It made sense to ask Astarion to join you, the ongoing joke about the two rogues being tasked to scout out everywhere before settling down repeating in your mind, but when you turned to ask for him you found that he was no longer standing behind you. No matter, you thought. You had enough trap disarming kits and lockpicks to keep you company.

The room to your left was bare, with only a few rotted crates and furniture that had seen better days. Lots of moon iconography too, though that was to be expected considering this was an outpost for Selûne. Part of you wanted to go check on Shadowheart and get her opinion on this place - for no reason other than pure curiosity.

You stuck your head out of the room to check to make sure no one had gotten injured or found anything of note down in the main room. Karlach had moved on from checking boxes and was now assessing a few weapons she had found, calling over Lae'zel to check them out as well. Shadowheart stood in front of the large statue, a frown on her face. You couldn't work out what she was thinking and the gentle pressure of your tadpole behind your eye reminded you that you weren't going to know. Not until you asked her in person.

You then spotted Astarion, ever helpful when it came to readying the new spot for camp. He perched on an old granite bench, lazily flipping through a book he had found. You were slightly irked that his attention was elsewhere but it meant that if you found anything interesting around you had first dibs. Darting across the walkway you approach the other gate. This one was locked, rusted and old.

A locked door couldn't keep you out.

You crouched to eye level with the lock, hands instinctively finding where you kept your lockpicks. It should be simple enough - you could pick locks in your sleep. The appearance of the lock was what concerned you, though. Rust had built up over the long years of abandonment and it could prove deadly for your picks if you weren’t careful.

Slowly as to not jam the lock, you began the intricate process of inserting in a pin, moving, waiting, listening for a click. The sound of the pins grinding against iron made you frown, pausing in your attempt to make sure nothing was breaking. With your picks intact, you continued turning.

A loud gasp caused you to flinch, breaking your steady grasp on your picks and hearing the dreaded 'snap' of metal. Shit.

You turned to see what the commotion was - Gale and Wyll stood around an old, rotted burlap sack, a handful of mouldy vegetables laying at their feet. Shadowheart approached them and you heard Gale explaining how an infestation of bugs were eating at an old carrot and it spooked them.

You rolled your eyes at the situation, trying to get back into the groove of it. Breaking a lockpick was bound to happen, it wasn’t that big of a deal. You pull out another pick, ready to try again. Sometimes locks were easy. Sometimes they were bastards to crack. This one was proving to be a pain in your ass as you heard the familiar sound of metal snapping again.

“Shit.” The tip of the pick had broken off and you were now down another. Best of three, you told yourself as you took out another lockpick and hoped to anything that was watching you that this would be the final attempt.

There was an uncomfortable wriggling sensation behind your eye for a moment as you lost focus, the sudden shift in movement from your tadpole causing your guard to go up. And for another one of your lockpicks to break. You’re blaming the tadpole for that one.

"I thought you said you were good at this?" Astarion's voice carried as you turned to look at him, not appreciating how now everyone knew you were failing at the one thing you were around for. It was just a bad streak of luck! The next attempt will be it, you could feel it.

You looked back at the lock. "I am." The scattered remains of old lockpicks said otherwise.

"That's the third lockpick you've broken. I'm starting to wonder if you even know what you're doing." He crouched beside you, a grin on his face. "Perhaps you should leave it to the professionals in future."

You grit your teeth at his comment, pulling out another pick for your fourth attempt. Growing up with dexterous hands and a knack for getting into places you weren't supposed to had prepared you for moments like this. Yet the one time you wanted a quick break the universe cursed you. Maybe it was Selûne looking down and preventing you from entering this room. Had you not wished to be smited by the God in a place dedicated to her you would show her a rather rude gesture right now. If your hands weren't full you would show it to Astarion, too.

The tension wrench felt heavy in your hand as you removed it from the lock, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to loosen up. Astarion hadn't moved, instead taking great joy at seeing you mess up a task you had bragged about being so good at many times before. This wasn't like you. You were quick to blame it on how tired you were feeling. That was it - you were tired. Tiredness, tadpoles, bugs. All excuses no one would believe. And now with Astarion looming over your shoulder watching you as you gently twisted the pick to position, you were determined to not mess this one up.

Your heart pounded in your chest, soon the only thing you could hear as you tried to keep focused on listening for the click of the lock unlocking.

“Are you actually moving it? Or are you hoping it will do the work for you?” Astarion asked, breaking your concentration.

"Be quiet." You shifted in your position and very slowly tilted your hand to the left. Nothing. No click of it opening and no snapping of the pick breaking. It was slow progress, but good progress. The pick was still intact - that’s all you cared about.

You could hear the smug smile as Astarion spoke up again, "All I’m saying is that it’s certainly a choice you're making."

"Hush." You twist it to the right. Still nothing. Maybe it wasn’t you, maybe the lock was the problem? It had to be, you were doing everything right!

“Have you tried--”

Snap.

You took in a deep breath, eyes closed to hold in your frustration at this stupid lock and its stupid inability to open. Was this how Karlach felt before she raged? Maybe you should ask her about it. Once you were calmer, of course. Right now you just wanted to get into this room and find something good and then go to sleep. Gods, you needed some sleep.

“What a shame. Bested by a rusty lock.” Astarion shook his head in feign sorrow, hand over his heart. “How ever are we to move on from this? Whatever shall we do?”

“I don’t see you making an attempt at it,” you mumbled, standing upright and giving the lock a glare as if that would shatter it.

He smiled, head tilted and arms folded. “But it’s already in such capable hands.”

“Do you want to try?” You gestured to the lock, knowing you only had one set of lockpicks left and that he most definitely had a few tucked away in his own bag somewhere. There was a time where you had a slight disagreement over who would be the designated lockpicker but it was decided you would alternate. Or it would be down to whoever found the lock - whichever was first.

“Are you asking for help?” he asked.

"No, I'm offering for you to have a go."

“So you are asking for help.”

You clenched your teeth, avoiding eye contact with him as you willed everything inside of you to utter the words he so desperately wanted to hear. “Will you help me with this lock?”

He held a hand up to his ear and you shook your head, refusing to indulge in this ridiculous game he was attempting to play. “Did you say something, my dear?” he asked, grinning as you crossed your arms over your chest and sighed deeply.

“Astarion, my dear, dear friend. Would you please do me the honours of helping me with this lock, for I simply cannot open it without you,” you deadpanned, though it seemed to be enough for him.

“Of course I’ll help. You only had to ask,” he replied with a gentle applause. “We’ll make an actor out of you yet!” He waved for you to step aside from the door, lockpicks in hand as he stood where you once were and assessed the situation. “I hope you’re taking notes.”

You watched as he got to work, crouching beside him like he did with you as he repeated the actions you were doing moments ago. He wasn’t doing anything different, in fact you noticed he was copying what he saw you doing on your third attempt. You waited for the snapping of metal, but it never came. He furrowed his brows as he leaned closer to the lock, and with one final twist you heard the sound of it unlocking. The lock hung loosely on the gate.

"Was that meant to be difficult?" He stood as the lock then fell to the floor, tucking his lockpicks away in a quick motion. “Honestly, if you wanted me to help you from the start you should’ve said something.”

You stood quickly, bewildered at how easy he made it look. The gate groaned loudly as he pushed it open, giving a grand gesture for you to enter first followed by a wink. If it weren't for the smug look on his face you would have thanked him for it; instead you sulked past him, irritated that he now had something to hang over your head for the next few hours. It was something you noticed he did early on, whether it was because you both had roguish tendencies and there was an unspoken competition between you both, or perhaps he enjoyed being better at something you wanted to do. Either way, you were not about to live this down anytime soon.

The room, now that you were inside, lacked anything interesting in it. A locked door always meant something good was behind it but the more you searched the less you found. Rotten food, old clothes, an old book with pages lost to time. The failed attempts at getting here hardly seemed worth it now. You lit the candles as you went, the warmth from the light putting you at ease. Everything felt a little safer now that you could see. Astarion lingered by the doorway, peering to his right to see what was inside an old crate.

“All that effort for some rotten food…” He nudged a piece of rubble with his foot and you turned, giving him a look.

“At least I was looking around for things,” you said. It was no secret that Astarion found setting up and taking down camp a tedious task - it was no one's preferred job to do but everyone had their role. You had found him on several occasions sweet talking Wyll or Karlach into doing all his heavy lifting, and there was one time you were swept up under his charm and ended up doing his washing up for him. There was one theory that was stuck in your head that he did it because he knew it got under your skin. He had made many comments about how amusing it was to see you irritated at something.

“And you found a room with nothing in it.” He huffed quietly and you turned your back to him to continue your search. There had to be something, why else would this room be locked?

You were about to give up and accept your loss when something caught your eye. Sitting atop a small alcove in the far end of the room was an ornate chest with delicate gold details engraved onto a dark wood. You noticed a keyhole but no key nearby. Of course it's most likely locked. Selûne must be having a field day watching you fail to rob her acolytes of anything worthy.

You caught Astarion's gaze as you moved with a speed only reserved for combat, heading towards the chest. When the lid of the chest didn't move when you tried to lift it up, you grinned. Now was your time to prove yourself. Not that you needed to prove yourself to anyone, especially Astarion, but the irritation of failure was eating away inside of you and you needed to show him you could do the one thing you thought you were good at.

No. You knew you were good at this.

"Are you sure you have it in you, darling?" His voice was low as he approached behind you, looking at the chest. “I would hate for you to break another set of picks.”

You had one set left that was intact. Who knew when you would be able to find another? The odds weren’t stacked in your favour. It was painful for you to do this. You picked up your pride and turned to face Astarion, the smile on his face only added fuel to the fire but you refused to stoop to his level. With a forced politeness you stepped aside, allowing him direct access to the chest.

"By all means, be my guest." You gestured to the lock as he approached, lockpicks in hand again.

"I'm always around for private lessons if you ever need a refresher on how to do this. You'll find I am very good with my hands," he said, repeating a similar motion to what he did at the gate. Your cheeks flushed at the comment and you forced away any images of what a private lesson on lockpicking would look like. For some reason you didn't think there would be much lockpicking involved.

“It’s just a bad streak. I’ll be back on my game in no time,” you mumbled as he hummed in response, pausing to look up at you. “And then you can go back to looking pretty while I do all the hard work.”

“Looking pretty is hard work. Someone has to do it.” He gave you a grin, going back to twisting the picks in different directions to see which would work. You watched him work, eyes darting from his hands to his face and then settling on staring directly at the keyhole. It felt rather intimate to watch him so closely, the way his brows creased in focus or how his head tilted to hear better. Nimble fingers made quick work of the lock, the satisfying click being music to both of your ears.

You were quick to lift open the lid before he could, having been the one to find this after all. Inside was a coin pouch, a few spell scrolls and a couple of gems that looked like they could be worth a lot. Was it worth all the effort? You were hoping for something incredible, but it was better than nothing. Reaching for the coin pouch your hand collided with Astarion’s, who had a similar idea to you.

“Now then, it’s only fair that I take a higher cut. After all I did most of the work here,” he said, taking a hold of your wrist to push your hand away. The cold touch caught you off guard, and though there wasn’t any hostility behind it you wondered what lengths he would go to to get a bigger share of the loot.

You frowned at him, twisting your arm out of his grip in a quick motion. “I found the godsdamn thing! It’s not my fault I had issues with the lock.” Glancing quickly back at the coin pouch, you decided to make another grab for it. Astarion had the same idea - rogues always seemed to think alike, you thought - as you both lunged for the leather pouch. Hands pushed hands away and shoulders tried to push each other away from the chest. A rather strong shove from you caused the chest to fall to the floor with a large clatter, the contents of it spilling out onto the floor in front of you. The shove had also caused Astarion to lose his balance, grabbing onto you as he tumbled backwards to the ground bringing you with him.

You landed on top of him, hitting your head against his shoulder with an uncomfortable groan. The coin pouch had fallen behind where Astarion laid and the spell scrolls fell out and landed elsewhere. There was a moment of silence as you sat up, the positioning of you both causing your cheeks to warm up in embarrassment.

"If this was your plan all along it would have been easier for you to simply say so," he said, leaning on his elbows once you had moved.

"You think I fucked up picking a lock just to try and get us into a compromising position?" you laughed, though it certainly looked that way to an outsider. Astarion sat upright, the both of you now almost flush with each other. You felt his hands rest gently on your hips, fingers digging in ever so slightly.

"Are you certain you don't want me to refresh your memory on the art of lockpicking?" he asked, a hand running up your side. "I'm a very good teacher."

You tried to keep your thoughts from wandering. It was proving difficult as you kept Astarion's gaze, his eyes moving from your own to your lips and back. "I think I'll pass for now. I'm normally good at it, you know this."

"Yet here I am, saving the day," he said with a grin, the annoyed look on your face only adding to his enjoyment at this moment. His hand brushed against your cheek, moving down to lift your chin up slightly. There was something different about all this yet you couldn't place your finger on what it was.

"My hero. However can I repay you?" you asked, not sounding at all interested in repaying him for helping. His eyes looked over your neck, and if you were going to repay him, at least it could be something you had done before. "Did you want to…?" You exposed your neck to him. It came as a shock to you when he shook his head.

"Later, perhaps. I would hate to use up all our fun here and now," he replied, running a finger down the main vein in your neck, the touch barely there. His hand continued downward, stopping at your chest. In another strange shock he laid it atop of your heart as you felt it quicken. It made sense why he would want to feel it, you supposed, but given the circumstances it did throw you off guard.

You placed your hand atop his, feeling the coolness of his skin against yours. The sounds of the others melted away until it felt like it was just you both in the room, hands on top of each other, listening to the rhythm of your heart beat. You wondered what he was thinking as you studied his face, trying to get a hint of his thoughts. His eyes were focused on your hand, and only when you shifted slightly did he blink and look up at you.

"Alright?" you asked softly, giving his hand a very gentle squeeze.

"Perfect," he muttered in response, pulling at the top of your shirt to bring you closer to him.

"This isn't going to give you a bigger cut, you know," you mumbled when you felt your nose bump against his. How quickly things changed between you, you thought. Somehow you always found yourself here, like this, with him. It was like some force was pulling you towards him constantly.

He smiled at you. "Ah, a shame. You foiled my plan." In one quick move, he closed the gap between you both. The kiss was unexpectedly soft, especially given the circumstances. Your hands rested on his chest and you felt one of his arms loop around your lower back, pulling you closer towards him. It was nothing like the hunger and desire you felt all those nights ago after the party. This was gentle. Delicate. Like one wrong move could break you both, the same way you had broken many lockpicks moments before. It was everything you didn't expect to feel when kissing Astarion, and you wondered why. He pulled you flush against him, your hands tangled in his hair and savouring the moment. He removed his right hand from you to prop himself upright, the other staying at the small of your back, keeping you in place. The moment was perfect; nothing could break it.

"Food is ready!" Gale's voice appeared in your mind, arcane echoes lingering behind as you recognized the use of the message spell. At least he didn't yell it out loud and gave away your location, you thought. You pulled away from Astarion, his face contorting into a look of annoyance as you assumed he got a similar message in his mind as well.

"I'd prefer it if we didn't hear the others in our heads when we do this," he complained as you climbed off of him quickly, not wanting anyone to catch you like this.

"Could've been worse. Could've used the tadpoles to tell us," you said, pushing yourself up to your feet and holding a hand out for Astarion to take.

"He would have been met with some rather…" he paused to look you up and down with a grin, "interesting images then." He took hold of your hand as you helped him up and didn't let go for a little longer than normal. You shot him a playful glare, letting go of his hand as you began to collect up the loot that had fallen on the floor.

As you picked up the final spell scroll, you noticed a lack of coin pouch. With a frown you turned to Astarion to ask him if he had seen it. He held it in his hand, counting out coins in the other. That bastard.

"How did you…" You approached him slowly.

He paused in the counting and grinned. "You're easily distracted."

"You know what? Take it. You deserve it at this point, with all the picking locks and distracting me," you said, waving him off. It was annoying but there wasn't much you could do at this point. You'd take the gems and hoped they would sell well. Once you had gathered everything up, you gave Astarion one last look. He held out the pouch for you.

"Your cut."

"Thanks…?" You blinked, and when he didn't elaborate you took it from him slowly, waiting for there to be a hidden meaning behind it. Your fingers brushed against his as you pocketed the money quickly, ignoring the feeling of warmth in your chest at the touch. There was a moment where neither of you moved, unspoken words left lingering in the air as you thought through what to say. After everything that happened between you both you could never find the right words to speak after a moment like this. Instead, you gave him a nod and left the room, heading back downstairs to the others.

Camp was slowly being set up. Most people had their tents sorted and Gale was serving up food, explaining in depth to Wyll what he had done with the supplies that were given to him. You placed the loot on one of the granite benches for the others to sort through later, spotting Astarion joining the group when you turned back.

He gave you a soft smile, and you smiled back.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #reader insert #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion bg3 #tav x astarion #; tealeaf's writing

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lovelybrooke · 1 year

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Average day with Yandere Strawhats

A/N: Due to the popularity of my Yandere Strawhats x Reader post, I decided to write a little scenario about what a day is like with our favorite pirate crew! Like the previous post, this will only involve Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji, Chopper, and Robin. Likes and reblogs are appreciated, enjoy!

Whenever you woke up, you would spend a few minutes staring at the roof above you, pondering if it's worth getting up, or if you should go back to sleep. Taking a deep breath, you would roll out of the hammock you were laying on, take a few wobbly steps and try to regain your balance, and then walk onto the front deck, welcoming the world around you.

Luffy was the first person to greet you, who would usually wait for you outside the cabin door. he would greet you with a tight hug, rapping his stretchy arms around you, forbidding you from leaving. It would be multiple minutes before Luffy would release you from his grasp, urging you towards the kitchen, where the rest of the crew most likely was.

Sanji would be preparing a meal, briefly stopping to welcome you and fix you an extra-large plate, to the complaint of Luffy and Usopp. Sitting down next to Luffy's seat, you would begin eating, watching as Nami sat across from you with her own plate. This was one of the few times of the day where your time wasn't being taken up by one of your friends. You enjoyed eating in peace, and while you would sometimes have to deal with Luffy trying to steal your food, everything was peaceful.

That would immediately change once breakfast was over. Eventually, Luffy would get his fill, and once you were also finished eating, he would drag out of the kitchen to go goof around with Usopp and Chopper. It wasn't all that bad thought. You enjoyed your time with them. It only got bad when they would argue, spurred on by competitions or petty games. Luffy would use his title as captain to get you on his side, physically pulling you near him. Usopp would cry crocodile tears, very clearly trying to quilt trip you, and Chopper would use his cuteness to gear you towards him, which was successful most of the time. In these situations, all you could do was sigh and try not to take a side, because that always led to more drama.

If you were lucky, Nami would save you from these dreadful situations, stealing you away while the others were too distracted by their arguing. Nami would take you to go help here with her cartography, something she only trusted you with. You liked hanging with Nami, because she didn't require you to be right next to her all the time. Obviously, she liked when you were in her vicinity, but she didn't mine if you would read a book or do something separate while she was with you. All she wanted was for you to spend time with her, content with just having you around.

However, you time with Nami would come to an end when you had to go train with Zoro, something she couldn't argue against. When the sun would start to set, you would go and find Zoro, who was usually already waiting for you. You and Zoro would set time training, building your strength in order to protect yourself. By the end, you were exhausted, whereas Zoro looked barely fazed. You would spend the rest of your time with Zoro, relaxing and trying to catch your breath while he critiqued your form. You think this would be annoying, but you knew he came from a good place when giving you critiques. You would also eat lunch around this time, being gifted something Zoro took from Sanji.

At this point, it would be around dinner time, and Sanji would drag you away from Zoro, leading you towards the kitchen to help him with dinner. Luffy would finally find you, attaching himself to you, asking where you were, like he didn't know the entire time. Sanji would shoo him away, telling him to come back once dinner was done.

Cooking with Sanji wasn't always that bad, but he didn't really let you do anything. If you were lucky, he would let you cut vegetables, but you were almost always forbidden from touching anything sharp or hot, which made you wonder why you were in a kitchen. Your role to Sanji was taste tester, trying bits and pieces of all his food and giving him suggestions. Sanji was one of the most talkative, Luffy being a close second. He would ask you about your day, what you did, and how you were feeling, even though your answers were almost always the same. He would listen attentively, which would always make you happy, especially since the others would sometimes only focus on themselves. You would help him set the table and notify everyone that dinner was ready, Luffy already halfway through the door when he heard your voice. Your plate was always the first one ready, then obviously Luffy, who would force you to sit with him, just like at breakfast. Sanji would watch you like a hawk, making sure you ate everything, and encouraging you to eat more when you were finished.

After dinner was you and Robin's book club, where you would either talk about a book you both have been reading, or continue reading a book you received on one of the islands you explored. Your club was thinly veiled gossip time, where Robin would encourage you to dump all your feelings on the other members on her. For a while, you would spill your heart out, telling her about your worries about your friends becoming too protective, resulting in her giving you useful advice. However, you soon realized that she was telling the others about what you said. Luffy coming to you and making you promise you wouldn't leave, Zoro's training being even more tough, reprimanding you about how weak you were, and about how you needed him to protect you, or even Chopper crying and saying that he just wanted to make sure you were okay, that's why he would lock you in his office when the crew went to fight a dangerous foe. After that, you were more careful about what you told Robin.

Your day would end with Luffy, both of you sitting on the head of the Going Merry. This was one of the few times Luffy was quiet, simply taking in the view with you. His hold felt different, more protective when you were here with him. He would only speak up if you did, and it seemed that he enjoyed the silence, so you kept your mouth shut. However, sometimes he would confide in you, telling you about his own worries, not just for you but for his crew, a stark contrast to the bubbly and bright Captain that he usually was. You secretly wondered if he was doing this to quilt trip you into forgetting about leaving, constantly reminding you what would happen if you did. Though, most of the days he was quiet, and you would fall asleep in the safety of Luffy's arms, and he would take you to the cabin to put you in your hammock. You would wake up, not knowing how you got here, and start your day over again.

#one piece #yandere one piece #yandere x reader #soft yandere #monkey d luffy #luffy x reader #roranoa zoro #zoro x reader #nami one piece #nami x reader #usopp #usopp x reader #tony tony chopper #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #nico robin #one piece fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction

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