#cat!len fic

[lenle-g]

@soniabigcheese asked me for "John and a ginger cat called Bagel", inspired by @gumnut-logic

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Dead Boys Finale AU: Monty's POV Chapter!

Because I'm about to head to my grandparents' house where they have the spottiest internet known to man (though I promise I will find a way to upload Sunday's chapter), I am hedging my bets and posting today's chapter early.

So, here we have it: Monty's chapter in Hell. Warning- this is by far the heaviest chapter in this fic and ft. torture, some body horror, solitary isolation, lots of references to Esther's...everything, and, well, just Monty's fucked-up processing of all of said trauma.

Basically, I'm really proud of it and I can't wait for y'all to scream at me for it!

[mellobellooo]

they can't help themselves, really

[sleepy-bunbun-ace]

each of the vs' breeds in the prsk x twst au

school sekai (dogs):

miku - pomeranian

luka - borzoi

stage sekai (bunnies):

miku - english lop

rin - lilac rabbit

street sekai (hamsters):

miku - european hamster

len - asiatic dwarf hamsters

meiko - syrian syrians

wonderland sekai (fluffy cats):

miku - calico cat

kaito - maine coon

empty sekai (owl):

miku - a snowy owl that is half of kanade's height

[moonlitcelestial]

Keep going to see more Marigold pics! Featuring her t-rex arms. There is also a rogue Poh that showed up and leaned on me.

This is Poh, he's a mess and insists on leaning on me like this.

[formulaonecrumbs]

little bean 👩‍🍼

Lando Norris x older sister!reader

summary: reader meets newborn baby lando or in her words ‘bean’

warnings: nothing but tooth-rotting fluff and the love of an older sibling

A/N: the pipeline of a fangirl where u go from wanting to be ur comfort persons lover to their sibling. like i just wanna take care of this boy 😔 this is just the kind of fic i want to read but im a scaredy cat and don’t like requesting (i’m one y’all dw, i get u) then i realised i could just right it myself 😝 SO ENJOY! i’ll probably wrote more parts even tho y’all didn’t ask for them cause i’ve been working on these for about a month 🤷‍♀️ love uuuuu ❤️❤️

༻ ❤︎︎ ༺

home film #1 (out of a gazillion)- found in a cardboard box labelled ‘memories’

(recorded: st mary’s hospital, bristol)

timestamp: 2:34 am 11–13-1999

the camcorder is a little shaky when it turns on, the screen filling with warm hospital lighting and the soft beeping of monitors. cisca’s voice is gentle behind the camera, her laugh quiet as she whispers, “you’re shaking it again, adam.”

then it focuses—on you.

a small girl in a fluffy pink jumper, hair slightly messy from the rushed morning, hands tightly clutching a tiny stuffed rabbit. you stand near the hospital bed, eyes wide, not quite understanding what all the fuss is about.

“come on, sweetheart,” cisca says from behind the lens. “go on, say hi.”

you glance up at your dad, who’s sitting by the bed, holding something small. very small. the blanket is blue, the top of a tiny head just peeking out.

“is that him?” you whisper, taking a step forward, as if you’re not sure the baby is real.

“that’s your baby brother,” adam says softly, turning slightly so you can see better.

your eyes light up. you don’t say anything for a moment, just stare—then you walk closer, fast and determined, climbing onto the chair by the bed with all the clumsy energy of a three-year-old.

“can i hold him?”

cisca gasps a little behind the camera. “she’s so brave,” she murmurs, clearly touched.

“let’s sit you down first, yeah?” adam says gently. he helps you sit properly, adjusting a pillow on your lap before placing the tiniest baby you’ve ever seen into your arms.

you look down at him, eyes huge. he’s asleep, his little fist resting on his chest, his cheeks round and red.

“he’s squishy,” you say.

“he is,” adam chuckles. “his name is lando.”

you frown. “lando?”

“mm-hmm.”

you look down at the baby again. “he looks more like… a bean.”

everyone laughs.

but then you go quiet. your fingers brush over his blanket, careful and slow, like you already know he’s fragile. you lean down just a little, resting your cheek against his tiny head.

“hi, bean,” you whisper. “i’m your big sister. i’m gonna take care of you forever.”

cisca sniffles behind the camera. “oh, adam,” she whispers. “she loves him already.”

you don’t move for a long time. you just hold him like he’s your favorite thing in the whole world. lando doesn’t even stir—just stays curled in your lap like he knows he belongs there.

right at the end of the video, before it cuts out, you look up at the camera.

“mum?”

“yeah, love?”

“he’s my favourite.”

fade to black.

THE END :>

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Animal Farm: Tuesdays

Three Yandere Dog Men x Gender Neutral Reader

CW: Noncon, knotting, nonhuman genitals, cum swallowing, spitroasting, biting, male harem, dog men, reader fucked silly, general yandere behavior, licking, scent marking Word Count: 555 (The next long awaited installment in my farm series. I hope you all love it. <3 I did not bother having this beta read, sorry for any mistakes. The original fic can be found HERE along with the links to the other installments)

You were still tired from the thorough orgy that the harpies had given. At least they provided you with plenty of gentle aftercare. But now it was Tuesday. And that meant that you were the property of the dog-men. Another day in the endless cycle of being a cumdump for horny monster men. You really dreaded time with the dogs. They always ended up biting the hell out of your neck. You entered the small cabin that the dog men inhabited and one of the cat men, Lionel, came stumbling out with a dazed look on his face and cum dribbling down his thighs. Good… maybe that would mean there urges were already taken care o- Your train of thought was interrupted when you were thrown on the bed by the most assertive of the three dog men, the one that had the ears and tail of s German Shepherd, Thorn. His claws slid under your waist band and partially pulled down to reveal your hole which he lapped at like a treat. “Fuck, I have been waiting a week for this farmer~” Apparently breeding Lionel did nothing to quell the desire to bury their knots in you. When he got tired of fucking you with his tongue he slid his dick in to the base, the bone in it jabbed you painfully until it mercifully swelled to full size. The stretch was only mildly uncomfortable. After bringing you to climax his knot inflated in you and kept the two of you tied with him periodically humping gently to enjoy the sweet friction against his knot as he plied you full of his hot seed. He gave your neck a quick bite before sliding out of you and then before you knew it one of the other two, this time the husky-like dog man, Corr, was slamming into you. But the third, Len, the fluffy one that had the features of a Newfoundland, couldn’t wait his turn. So while Corr was busy breeding your overstimulated hole Len took it upon himself to slide past your soft lips. The smell of his musky cock filled your nostrils as his nuts slapped your chin with every thrust. You whimpered and moaned lustfully into his cock as Corr started to knot you. Corr bit you on your shoulders and back as he began the long process of slowly depositing cum in waves into you as dog men did. Your body shook as you came again, but you started gagging a bit as Len knotted in your mouth. His dick twitched periodically as it sent another wave of bitter cum down your throat, leaving you no other option but to swallow. If you thought you were done you were sorely mistaken. Thorn had gotten hard again and plunged his cock right back into your now cum-lubed hole the second Corr had pulled out of it. A few hours later, when the fuck fest was finally done, the dog men all turned very loving and gentle. They licked you clean of their seed and bathed you, but they rubbed your clothes with their scent before allowing you to get dressed again. They spent the rest of the day feeding, cuddling, and caring for their little mate who was too dazed and tired from all the sex to really do much.

[tateszn]

camera

a/n: thanks for almost 40 followers <3!! lowk becoming a superman-centered blog. i thought this was cute. out of the box premise? perchance? clark says serving lawwl. 643 words.

all of my fics are black!reader

you splurged and brought a brand new camera! it was one that you’d been eyeing and doing research on for a while. you bought it because you felt that you deserved it, but did you really need a reason? you also went ahead and bought a few sd cards. you knew you wouldn’t be able to stop recording everything for a while.

ever since you purchased it, it was a hassle to get you get you to put it down (as expected). you were constantly filming everything, in awe of your new gadget. you’d film everything you found interesting, whether in public or around the house. 

“look at my wonderful boyfriend, guys,” you point the camera to clark, “he’s chopping up fruit for the both of us. what a gentleman, mr and mrs kent tought you right.” 

“guys? who are you showing this to?” 

“hmmmm.. i don’t know.” you mumble while slowly zooming the lens at his smiling face. the small screen is soon filled with his face. 

“should i show what i’m cutting up?” clark is starting to understand why you recording everything is so enjoyable. he knows that the both of you being two peas in a pod makes you happy. he’s loving the fact that he has the ability to put a smile on your face.

“ouuu yes please!” 

“okay ‘guys’ we have apples, strawberries, dragonfruit, and a small watermelon.” he flashes the camera a smile and a small thumbs up. you smile behind the camera. 

“i’ll leave you alone, i’m going to show them my music.” ‘them’, really being no one. maybe some people someday, but for now, this was your own little video diary. 

when you’re out and about, you make sure to have your camera in your purse, just incase you see something cool. (obviously!) clark sometimes reminds you to bring it. partly because he knows you'll be dissapointed if you forget it, and partly because he also likes to record silly little videos with you while you’re both out.

“clark, record me so i can show them what i’m wearing, please.” he’s absolutely more than happy to oblige. you hand him the camera with a smile.

“how do i start it?” he asks with a confused tone. he’s staring at trillions of buttons, he couldn’t even begin to tell you which one does what.

“press the red button on the top.” you giggle. 

“okay, got it,” clark’s face lights up at his success, “look at my girl. ‘serving’ as she would say.” he narrates as he’s recording.

“boy, what do you know about that.” you laugh as you turn around to show the complete ensemble. you walk up to clark once you feel like the camera has had enough of you.

“alright! your turn.” you take the camera from him. clark stands in front of the camera awkwardly but charmingly simultaneously. 

“oh yeah, look at how handsome my man is, yall.” clark laughs and walks up to you to press a kiss to your forehead. he loves your compliments, but he’d be lying if he said they didn’t always get a little flustered. 

while you’re walking on the street, clark would randomly point at things and tell you to record it. 

“look! record me petting this cat!” he says, and of course you do it. you crouch down close to clark, and carefully capture the sight. the cat’s purrs are starting to be the only thing filling your ears after a while, the both of you immensely focused for some reason. the feline soon gets curious of the device in front of her. she begins to shove her face into the camera and sniff the lens.

“seems like she loves the camera, too.”

your storage is filled with videos of you and clark. you dont mind it at all, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

thank you @anitalenia for the divider!

[jessicas-pi]

ok first of all. thank you SO SO MUCH for putting your thoughts out there!! The fact that you have thought about this enough to have this much of an analysis is amazing to me. And it really helps me see how my own story reads to someone else! And I just love hearing your thoughts in general!

And please know that this is not ever meant to sound like i'm being all wElL AcKTuAllY, I just get really excited to talk to you about my story and I'm gonna try to not come off too loud but if i do, uh... sorry in advance? just know that if I were saying this to your face, it would be with a big stupid grin as i bounce up and down and flap my hands cuz!!! im talking about my story!! you're listening!!! you have thoughts back!!! i have thoughts about your thoughts!!! let's tell each other our thoughts!! :D :D

Also, apologies if some things in the first bit are vague, I'm really trying to keep this spoiler free for future events 😅

So, first off! There IS a reason Sabine failed to rescue Ezra so many times. And there IS a reason Sabine got to "cheat the system" and save Ezra without a big lesson learned (though the time she truly saved him, she did pass a 'test' of sorts, but, uh, more on that in a further meta.). And there IS a reason that it doesn't make sense for the Force to test Sabine so many times without her learning anything!!

And really, the reason is pretty simple.

It's not the Force.

It's not some all-encompassing cosmic power leading her on a journey to become a better Jedi. If it was, she wouldn't have gone through all of that. Heck, she might not have gone through any of that! And that's why it doesn't make sense for the Force to test her that way.

Because it's not the Force, and it's not a test.

It's the Mythosaur.

It's an actual being with motives, and those motives are---hopefully this doesn't spoil too much, but---primarily selfish. Sabine isn't being guided to a lesson that will teach her how to let go of her attachment. Sabine is being made into a better tool.

And when Sabine finally saves Ezra, it's not because of her own merit. A lot of it does have to do with how she finally lets go of her fear of failing that's prompting her to try to blunt-force her way through the portal and just trusts the Force. But she never would have been able to do it on her own. There are massively powerful Force-aligned beings that are in the middle of a cosmic chess game here. Not exactly against each other, per se, but they have significantly different methods of doing things.

In the end, a lot of the weird Force things that happen aren't really caused by the Force itself. They're caused by...

Well.

If you know you know, and if you don't, you'll find out soon enough!

So, yeah! she doesn't save him because she learns a lesson. She saves him because someone powerful wants her to. and, I admit, she does have a bit of an attachment issue with him!

(But---okay, so I gotta be honest. I'm really, really jealous of how well you write metas. Because they always make sense and mine can be pretty confusing. So I just want to clarify! I am probably definitely guilty of exaggeration in the name of emphasis in this last meta. I probably definitely need to work on that in the future. But for this one, like... please do take the strongest statements in there with a grain of hyperbole-flavored salt!)

Ok, on to more semi-coherence!

I'm just gonna start off this bit by guaranteeing you that this fic isn't gonna go the easy fake-marriage-of-convenience path. It's a funny plot device, it's great for an unserious fic, but as goofy and self-indulgent as this fic can be, when it comes to the actual relationship development? We do things the hard way here. I maaaay be guilty of the fake-couple-on-a-mission thing in a future book though. sorrynotsorry XD

And---ok, so, yeah, the idea of her using his feelings to pull off a BFF-fake-notmarriage thing as a way to keep him close would be very Not Cool of her. But, remember---Anakin suggests the marriage idea, jokingly. Zhaya suggests they do the BFF-oath-of-fidelity vow. But Sabine?

She considers it momentarily and says that it could work, and then dismisses it and says that they'll talk about it later. Because really, with more than five seconds of thought, she takes in the implications of what it would mean to him. In the moment when she's considering it, she thinks of their friendship and of the idea of staying beside him always, and that's tempting---but then she remembers the rest, and discards any vow as something to talk about later. (Later, as in, never. Or, maybe, as in, when they feel the same, and could make a vow in honesty. Because she won't hide behind a lie for something that big. She knows it would hurt him. He's too important to her.)

And, slight topic jump, but I gotta say---this bit you said here?

Not that I think that they would ever stop being friends; but if Sabine doesn't want to a pursue a romantic relationship with Ezra and yet that's something he does want in his life, then she knows that there's a possibility she will become #2 to him at some point, even if he remains #1 to her.

you are SO RIGHT. SO right. Like, not to go too heavily into possible spoilers, but... girl, have you been snooping in my Future Scenes I Wrote Now Cuz I'm Impatient document? Because that's practically a direct quote from Sabine during a Welp, Guess I'm Processing These Feelings About My Entire History Of Relationship Development With Ezra Aloud To A Friend Now conversation.

Also, on rereading my meta, I just realized I definitely needed to clarify something!!

So, when I said that ezra's feelings are soft and silent and hers are tumultuous and fervent, I wasn't talking about, like, a permanent thing for them. That part of the meta was supposed to be about their dynamic immediately post-reunion. I guess what I mean is, like, when they reunite, Ezra's all like "Sabine, hi! Missed you! How are you doing?" versus Sabine is like "oH my fORCE you're aLIVE you're HERE i watched you die so many times i failed you so many times YOU'RE ALIVE YOU'RE ALIVE you're BREATHING I can feel your presence and it feels like home it's YOU you're REAL you're not dead i didn't fail you i didn't let you die i saved you after all there was hope there was always hope I MISSED YOU SO MUCH"

So, like. Not the most healthy mindset to be in! But not a permanent thing, either. And, like... also, kind of understandable? I mean, the last interaction she remembers having with him was cradling his bloody corpse in her arms. that. uh. that kinda messes a girl up, yknow? So she's totally exploding with Ezra-Flavored Emotions right now. Everything she feels in this moment is bigger than what she'll feel later. And that's why she acts, like you were saying---selfishly!

The way she's treating his feelings isn't Average Sabine Behavior. It's Emotional Mess Sabine Behavior. She is completely out of whack here. Not that it's okay for her to mash down his feelings in any circumstance, but it's not how she's going to act once she can take a deep breath and cool down a bit.

Because the truth is that she cares about Ezra. And if she knew he wanted to talk about it, she would do it. She hides from it because it's the easy thing to do, but he's never wanted to talk about it with her before, either. She's trying to do what, as far as she knows, they both want. As far as she knows, he wants to get over it. And... he kinda does!

He likes her. He loves her. He really does. But he also feels that as things stand between them right then, the best solution would just be for him to get past his feelings. It's not like he only likes her romantically. They are friends. There's just this extra stuff on his side, too. So wouldn't it be simpler for him to get rid of some old feelings, than to wait and see if she'll get new ones? It's logical, yeah---but it doesn't mean he can't make himself stop feeling things, just like that.

And in the current moment, I don't think he's thinking about it at all! Sabine's here. She's happy. He's happy. If she did lie about him not saying something stupid---which he's actually pretty sure she did; Force-bonds can be real snitches when it comes to lying---that just means it's not going to be a problem for them! (...right?)

Both of them, I think, are still hoping they can make this work without needing to talk about it. They both like their friendship and they both want to keep it. And they're both afraid of losing each other if they talk about it, but Sabine is just as afraid of hurting him as she is of losing him. It isn't entirely selfishness, on her part. She's trying to keep something that's important to both of them---even if she's going about it wrong.

Anywayyy I have no idea if all this word vomit makes any sense whatsoever! But that's about all I got. And thank you so so much again for sharing all your real thoughts! I genuinely appreciate them, and it's given me Thoughts And Ideas to think about, too!

The Time Heals ‘Verse meta ramble, part 2: In Which I Scream Some More About Sabine And Ezra

Whoo! So! What was SUPPOSED to be a little backstory about The Line from Time Heals All Wounds turned into a massive rant. But that’s over, and you’re all as depressed as I am, and now we get to move onto other stuff!!

(spoiler warning continues!)

So now I’m going to ramble a little bit about the specific relationship dynamic between Sabine and Ezra currently in this because AGH. I just. I gotta talk about it. fair warning, the following rant has no discernible thesis statement and wanders around aimlessly. but hey, that's just how I roll.

Okay so Time Heals primarily follows Sabine. So that’s the lens we’re looking through. And it’s easy to forget that Ezra’s timeline is entirely different from hers. But it is. A story that has taken a year-and-a-half, more or less, for her, has been mere months for him.

Because Ezra died only weeks after the Battle of Lothal, remember?

It’s six months after that, when Sabine gets pulled into the past. It’s months after that when she rescues him. By the time they’re reunited on the Coronet, Sabine has lived an entire year in a galaxy without Ezra in it, and a few months more in a galaxy not knowing he’s there.

She has seen him die thirty-three times. She’s mourned him. She still mourns him. She dreams about his dead body in her arms. He haunts her. To an embarrassing degree, her life is centered around him.

Meanwhile, Ezra’s timeline looks like this:

—he purgills Thrawn into the unknown and Thrawn imprisons him —some weeks later, Sabine kicks open the door to his cell, slaps him, hugs him, proclaims she’s watched him die 32 times, provides no further explanation, and then someone tosses a thermal detonator into the cell and it all goes black —he wakes up somewhere on Mandalore during the Clone War and promptly gets adopted by four tipsy art majors —a few months later, the Force tells him to get a move on —he reunites with Sabine that afternoon and everything's great!

So as of chapter 15 of book 2, which is where we're at now, Ezra’s spent three, four months in the past—missing everyone, yeah, but missing Sabine least, because she’s the one who saved him, and that’s given him a gut feeling that she’s still around. To him, Sabine has been a wistful thought that comes and goes. He tells his friends stories about her and misses her. But he doesn’t mourn her.

Meanwhile, Sabine’s spent over a year believing that he is lost to her forever because she couldn’t save him. (She doesn’t know she saved him, remember? She’s forgotten. It’s all a blank, and she’s afraid to hope.) She is still in the vise-like grip of grief, even if she’s functioning around it. There has never been a moment when she has not been thinking about him. (And in a way, it’s his fault, because he loved her, and he told her so. And she cannot forget it, no matter how hard she tries.)

His feelings towards her are soft and silent. He's content to wait until he sees her again, without aching too badly at her current missing presence in his life. He is at peace.

Her feelings towards him are tumultuous and fervent. She's desperate to see him again and terrified that she'll lose him. it’s like nothing she’s ever felt before. She is the farthest thing from peaceful.

So, while Ezra's feelings may seem to run deeper than hers—he is kinda in love with her, after all—he's also completely normal about her.

Sabine, on the other hand, has been torturing herself with the memory of him for over a year. He's a bundle of guilt and grief and mourning in her brain. Her feelings for him are clear-cut, platonic, and so all-consuming that they verge on an obsession.

So really, he doesn't care about her more. He cares about her differently. But not more.

But—and this is important, not so much for the story, but it's important to me that you know this—Ezra doesn’t know she's changed. He knows the old Sabine, who was his best friend, even if sometimes she was distant. He doesn’t believe she cares about him as much as he cares about her. And he's resigned to that! It’s ok! He’s ok! He’s used to it, he’s used to hiding how much he cares, and nobody else knows. So he’ll go on hiding it and she’ll go on ignoring it and it won’t matter.

But the Sabine that Ezra entrusted his blade and his homeworld to with one last, long look is a different woman than the Sabine that kicks down the door of his cell on the Chimaera a few weeks (a year) later.

And where does the difference lie?

It lies in the fact that she lost him. It lies in the fact that he died in her arms. It lies in the fact that he has consumed every waking thought of hers for months. 

It lies in the fact that she will. not. let. him. go.

She didn’t let him go when he was dead. And now that he’s alive? Now that he’s with her again?

Well.

There is no holding at arms-length. She would clutch his living form as tightly as she held his lifeless body, if she dared. She doesn’t, but she still reaches out to him—bumping shoulders, brushing hands, touching him just to know that he’s there. He is everything to her now. It’s not a love like his. It’s wider than that. It’s relief and joy and comfort in his presence and an impossible dream come true.

If Sabine had been the same Sabine he knew before, maybe things wouldn’t have changed course. If she had gone on ignoring it and he had gone on hiding it, maybe time would have faded his feelings, and maybe she never would have grown any for him.

But in a world where she holds him desperately near, near enough to feel his heartbeat and know he’s alive—in a world where their fledgling bond doesn’t lie dormant and unknown, but is woven strong and glows warmly, tethering their very souls together—in a world where he is everything to her, and she shows it—now that’s a different story. As he slowly finds out just how much he means to her—and he's grown to mean far more to her now than he did before—it throws him off-balance.

And as for her?

Well, this is where my Ramble Part 1 becomes relevant! Because he told her. And she knows. And now that she knows, she can’t look past it like it was never there, because it is there, and glaringly obvious when she looks for it. (She can't stop seeing it.)

The path they've always hoped to take—the one where it goes away and they are fast friends with nothing more between them—is no longer an option. By admitting his love, the other version of himself made it impossible for her to ignore it. By holding him so close, she makes it impossible for him to hide it. (In a way, they've doomed each other.) And she knows he can’t hide it, and he knows she can’t ignore it, so the only choice they have left—besides honest, which is a thing neither of them is ready to face—is to do their mutual best to pretend it doesn’t matter, and not talk about it.

But it does matter, and sooner or later, they'll have to talk about it.

And deep deep down, they both know that, too.

~~~

tune in next time for what I expect to be a ramble about a couple specific scenes! unless I write a different ramble first! We'll see!

[darkintothedawn]

LIKE TEENAGERS || Stiles Stilinski 'Teen Wolf'

Pairing — Stiles Stilinski x Gender Neutral reader

Summary — You and Stiles try to get some loving making out on but some mistimed giggling that's a little loud wakes up the kids.

Memo— This is the first of the queued fics, it should have posted yesterday but I forgot that I had paused it. Sorry this is so short, most of the rest of the draft fics are as well :(

Word Count — 1009

Masterlist | Stiles' Adventures

You honestly couldn't say how the laughter had started. Something dumb, something so ridiculously Stiles. It was probably his impersonation of Mieczysław Jr. using his "mature" seven-year-old voice while dramatically lecturing the cat about "Boundaries and personal space." Or maybe it was the exaggerated retelling of Claudia's earlier meltdown because there were only T-Rex shaped dino nuggets left and she "Specifically wanted Stegosauruses or nothing at all." Either way, the result is the same: you're both wheezing from how hard you're laughing, curled up into each other on the living room couch like teenagers who haven't quite realised they're supposed to be asleep.

It's past midnight, the lights are low, the soft glow from the kitchen spilling into the living room blinds. Outside, the world is quiet. Frozen. Inside? Chaos incarnate. Soft, joyful, stupidly sweet chaos.

Stiles has his legs tangled in yours, one arm flung around your shoulders, the other hand trying—and failing— to wipe the tears from his eyes as he gasps, "She really said 'the nuggets have failed me' as if she was mourning a national tragedy!"

You're clutching a tiny throw pillow, one she made herself, like it's the only thing anchoring you to this plane of existence. "She was devastated. Her dino kingdom had fallen in front of her eyes, you could see the betrayal."

Stiles snorts, laughing even harder. He leans into you, forehead pressed against yours, and suddenly his hands are in your hair—because they always end up there, soft and familiar and home. His hoodie is hanging half off your frame, one of the sleeves pushed up as your fingers trace lazy lines against the nape of his neck.

He smiles, crooked and warm and impossibly fond. "I love you," he murmurs like it's sacred.

And you don't say anything, you just kiss him.

It's not even a fancy, cinematic kiss. It's a married kiss. It's soft and slow and full of love that's been through late-night feelings and emergency room visits and the 14 hour drive to Disneyland that definitely tested the limits of your collective patience, It's a kiss full of "I love you, I'll always choose you, even when life is chaos and we're running an caffeine and T-Rex dino nuggets."

But right as you deepen it, right as he cups your cheek like he's trying to memorise the shape of you, right as his tongue reaches yours—

"Ew,"

You both freeze. Your mouths still technically touching mid-kiss when the voice echoes down from the hallway.

Stiles mutters against your lips, "Tell me that was the cat."

You don't even need to turn; you already know it wasn't the cat.

You do turn though, and yep, there they are.

Two small, dishevelled gremlins in pajamas standing in the dim glow of the kitchen light.

Mieczysław Jr., seven-going-on-forty, in his Spider-Man pajama pants and oversized hoodie (probably stolen from a pile of Stiles' old clothes), arms crossed and expression full of dad energy. Claudia, six, with perpetually tangled hair, dinosaur slippers, and her favourite triceratops plushie held in a vice grip like she's ready to chuck it (full force) at the next person who makes her witness something emotionally scarring.

"Were you guys seriously making out?" Mieczysław asks, completely unimpressed, "At night? In the living room?"

Claudia makes a face like she's just watched someone eat a particularly nasty bug. "That's disgusting, Daddy."

Stiles doesn't even flinch. In fact, he lens down further into you and grins, totally smug as he gives you a few quick loving pecks.

"Gross? That's how you got here, kiddo."

Your jaw draws. You swat at his chest, eyes wide, promptly shoving him lightly away. "Stiles!"

The kids collectively shriek like Stiles has just confessed to murder. Claudia literally covers her ears and screams, "Too much information!!!" and Mieczysław Jr. yells, "I'm telling Grandpa! You guys need boundaries and and space!"

You bury your face in Stiles' shoulder, laughing so hard your stomach hurts. He's vibrating with laughter too, arms wrapping around you like it's the most natural thing in the world, which it is. It always has been.

"Okay, okay," you say between gaspy giggles, breathless and flushed red. "back to bed, both of you. Go on."

"But we heard," Claudia says stubbornly, scowling like a tiny dictator. "We thought you were watching Bluey without us."

"No Bluey," Stiles says, brushing a hand through her hair as she waddles and toddles over to get a closer look at the two of you. "Just us being in love."

He looks at you when he says it, and yeah, that's still a little shocking sometimes. That he looks at you like that, even after all these years.

Mieczysław Jr. groans like he's physically in pain. "You're acting like teenagers, it's yucky."

You grin. “That’s called a healthy relationship, sweetheart.”

“Sounds fake,” he deadpans, turning to walk back to his room.

Claudia pauses at the hallway entrance, looking over her shoulder. “You can still kiss. I guess. Just… not with tongues. That’s the line.”

And then she’s gone.

The house falls quiet again. Well, quiet except for your muffled snort as Stiles collapses onto you. “We’ve traumatized them.”

He hums, kissing the top of your head. “Nah. They love it. They’ll thank us later for setting a positive example.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Positive example of what? Inappropriate late-night living room makeouts and chaotic parenting?”

He smirks. “Exactly. We’re doing great.”

You laugh again, burying your face in his neck. His arms tighten around you, and the two of you just sit there for a second. Married. In love. Tired. A little ridiculous. Totally thriving.

After a while, he tilts your chin up with a look that’s still as soft and hopelessly enamoured as it was the first time he ever kissed you in a Beacon Hills parking lot.

“So, where were we, love of my life?”

You roll your eyes, but your smile is hopeless. “Being disturbing, apparently.”

Stiles just winks. “Well if loving you is disturbing, then I’m a menace to society.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just the Two of Us: Table for Two

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you meet someone you never expect at the grocery store.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“It’s not exactly coffee,” Steve says as he sits across from you, setting down a cup before you. “Pumpkin cream, special delivery.” 

“Oh, sorry, I guess I should’ve mentioned. I don’t do much caffeine. It makes me jittery,” you explain. 

“That’s fine. I don’t have it very often. Don’t really need it...” he flicks the side of his own cup. “The serum, you know.” 

“Serum...” you say. 

“Oh, uh, it was the stuff they gave me to make me the way I am,” he sits back, pressing his palm against the cup. 

“Right, right, sorry. I guess I forgot.” 

“Forgot?” He echoes. 

“Yeah, I mean, just that... I mean yeah, you’re Captain America but I just... I guess...” you can’t quite organize your thoughts. “Also, you’re Steve, the guy who is sworn enemies with self-checkout machines.” 

“Wow, we’re already joking about that?” His brows arch. 

“No, no, I’m not joking,” you say with a sly bat of your lashes. 

“Huh, you’re not as nice as you look, are you?” He clucks. 

“I have been taught to respect my elders so I’ll just agree,” you say. 

He stares at you and for a moment, you think you’ve gone too far. His blue eyes stick to you, pale yet vibrant, and his jaw is chiseled and perfect. You gulp. 

He laughs before you can apologise, He shakes his head, “you got me. If you hadn’t swooped in to help this geriatric, I’d still be fighting that scanner.” 

“Well, I got a leg up. I used to stand behind one of those daily. I’m sure if I was given a shield, I couldn’t do much with it,” you grin. 

You lift your cup and blow over it, taking a sip of the cream. Mm. The spices aren’t too strong or anything. 

“Maybe not but there’s all sorts of ways to save people. To help them,” he says. 

“I guess,” you agree and look around. “This place is nice. You been here before?” 

“Nope. Gotta be honest, I try to keep to myself. Public places aren’t exactly--” 

“Oh my god, I knew it!” A shrill squawk makes you flinch. A girl appears in a pair of thick-framed glasses like cat eyes, tugging along another by her wrist. They look about your age but colourful. She sports a rainbow jacket as her friend wears a polka dot dress. Their accessories are all novelties from various nostalgic sci-fi shows. 

“Captain,” the woman salutes. She is an adult after all, yet you feel she’s a bit childish in the way she stands agog of the man across from you. 

“Hi,” the other waves shyly. 

You hide behind your cup. You feel like an intruder on the moment. And you can tell by the tic in Steve’s cheek that he’s uncomfortable. Still, he turns to them and smiles. 

“Hello, how are you?” He asks. 

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh,” the girl in the rainbow jacket fans herself, “we’re like your biggest fans. I can’t believe you’re here.” 

The other one giggles. 

“Would you like me to sign something--” 

“Can we get a picture? She blusters over him.  

He keeps his picturesque smile and nods. He stands as the girl looks at you, “hey, you, do you wanna like, take our photo?” 

You blanch but get up. Steve glances at you with a glint of concern, “you don’t have to--” 

“I don’t mind,” you assure him as she hands over her cell. “Everyone squeeze in.” 

You step away from the table and aim the lens at the them. The unicorn horn on the phone case makes it difficult to angle. Steve stands between them as they flutter with joy. 

“Now say cheese,” you say. You click a few frames and lower the phone, “here, think I got some good ones.” 

You give the woman back her phone and she greedily checks the pictures. She squeals and shows the other. Steve sits as you go to join him at the table. 

“So, like, are you dating her?” The rainbow-adorned woman bats her eyes behind her lenses. “Because I heard you were with Sharon Carter and you two broke up on your last mission.” 

“Jamie,” the other girl whispers. 

“Sharon’s a work colleague. And a professional,” Steve insists, kind but blunt. “You two have a great day. It was nice to meet you.” 

“I don’t believe you,” she insists. 

He dips his chin and shrugs, “well, then I’m sure I can’t say much to convince you.” 

“So, you were dating,” she accuses. 

“Excuse me,” you intone. “Hi,” you give a small wave from your side of the table, “I’m not trying to be rude but we were in the middle of a conversation.” 

Steve says your name quietly, “you don’t gotta--” 

The girl raises her phone and snaps a picture of you before you can say anything else. Then she takes a step back and takes one of both of you. You frown as Steve stands. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” 

“No one ever told me you were an asshole,” she sneers. “And a liar. I’m going to put this all over Tiktok. And Insta.” 

Your heart races as you stare at her phone case. That was so strange and uncalled for. “Can you please delete that?” 

Your voice is drowned out by her rant about her socials. Steve crosses his arms, “I’m telling you to leave, right now.” 

“Oh, Captain, what are you going to do?” She sticks her tongue out. 

“Please delete it,” you say again, still unheard. 

“Now,” he growls. 

The girl’s taunting smirk falls from her lips. Her friend yanks on her arm and they both flee. You stare after them, mortified. You hide behind your hands as you measure your breaths. It’s fine. A long shot. You’re just paranoid. 

“You okay? I’m so sorry. I shoulda warned you,” he says. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just... I don’t really... go online. Like I don’t share my picture,” you lower your hands slowly. “She didn’t even ask.” 

“I’m sure she has all of five followers,” he scoffs, “hey,” he reaches across the table. “You sure you’re okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I can’t--” you exhale and rein in your nerves. “That happen a lot?” 

He shrugs. 

“Wow. I couldn’t do that. I already knew you were brave but that is a lot. And you were so nice, despite that attitude,” you shake your head. Suddenly you realise why he was so uptight when you recognised him earlier. 

“Thanks for trying to help,” he says, “it’s a habit of yours, isn’t it?” 

“Big help I was,” you tut. 

“Well, if you weren’t here, it would’ve been awful but it’s not so bad.” He smiles as he considers you, “you told them to go away so nicely and you didn’t have to.” 

“Yeah, I’m not one for confrontation but that was pretty intense.” You say. 

“I should keep you around,” he chirps. “Like a bodyguard or something.” 

You laugh, “okay, now you’re making fun of me.” 

[curiositydooropened]

Hell Hound • Part One

Being FWBs with metal rockstar, Eddie Munson, is all fun and games until a dozen red roses show up at your door with a warning: Stay Away from The Devil or you will die. Despite your protests, Eddie appoints his personal bodyguard to keep an eye out for you.

Pairing: bodyguard!Steve Harrington x photographer!Reader, rockstar!Eddie x Reader

Wordcount: 10, 712

Warnings: unrequited love, slowburn, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort, violence, gore, weapons, fighting, death threats, stalker *This chapter also contains allusions of voyeurism, sex, drinking, recreational drug use, religious elements

This blog is 18+ only. I do not give permission for any of my fics to be duplicated, reposted, or put into AI. Thank you!

Navigation • Masterlist

---

Moodboard • Fic Masterlist • Part Two

The interior of the L never looked that beautiful, at least not through Steve’s eyes. Every experience he’d had was tainted by Bears fans or teenagers filming videos on their phone, or God, don’t remind him about St. Patty’s Day. No, the seats were too small for his shoulders, the windows too short, and the whole thing smelled like plastic bags.

Your perspective was vastly different. You were just the right height to catch the sunlight as it filled the train car with that golden glow. The city whirred by, a kaleidoscope of bright lights and reflections off the glass. You positioned poles and handholds just so with satisfying symmetry.

No, the city had never looked as beautiful to him as it had through your lens. 

Steve said that to Robin once, and she wretched over the line and made him promise he’d never repeat it to you. He hadn’t, but he’d also never let one of your photos go un-complimented.

He enjoyed the roll of your eyes, the sink of your teeth into your bottom lip as you soaked in the praise and pretended to be shy, to be embarrassed, that you hated your craft. 

He’d seen that look dozens of times tonight, timid gratitude that poured out of you and onto every surface in this little gallery space. You’d caught his gaze a handful of times, reassured him with a smile that you were okay, great even, oozing with sheepish pride. He’d just nod and go back to admiring another of your photos.

“You know, we used to live in that apartment…” An elderly woman told you, bony hand clung to your forearm. 

“Really? Which one?” You humored her.

“That one, just there, our first year of marriage,” the woman nodded. “Fifth floor.” 

“Fourth floor!” Her husband corrected from your other side.

“It was the fifth floor, now don’t argue with me.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” the man winked at you, and your eyes lit with mischievous delight. You nodded along, conspiratorially while the woman rambled on about the neighbors’ cat meowing and another neighbor practicing saxophone into the wee hours. 

“It was so romantic,” she clutched your hand to her chest.

“It was so annoying,” the husband grinned back at you.

Fed up with her husband’s antics, the woman shot him a rueful look. Then, she patted your hand and told you how lovely your work was before asking for the powder room. 

When she’d been properly directed, her husband leaned to your ear and asked how much for the photo. 

Steve lingered nearby, waiting for the transactional handshake before he stepped in. “Mind if I inquire about this piece?” 

You sucked your cheeks between your teeth and sidled up beside him. His bicep tingled where your skin brushed. “What questions do you have about this one?” 

“Where was it taken?”

You shot him a look, and he tried not to let the smile split his face. The photo you were currently staring at was a portrait of a mom and daughter looking at their reflection in The Bean.

“How’s it going?” He elbowed you, glancing once more around the room at the patrons to your first gallery showing. He’d agreed to come run point for your opening, soft-pitching the idea for Munson to hit out of the park.

“Amazing,” you sighed, the delight on your face swooping at his stomach. 

“Told you.” He grinned, and you swatted his arm and told him to shut up. He really could watch you for hours, the micro-expressions on your face prettier than any photo you could take, though your talent came up a close second. 

“I thought he couldn’t make it,” you gasped, staring just past Steve’s shoulder and out the gallery’s front window.

Steve blinked once, twice. The rapid flash of headlights cast your cheekbones in shadow. He spun on his heel to find his employer and friend, Eddie Munson, slipping out of the backseat of a tinted-windowed SUV. He cursed under his breath and excused himself, shouldering through a confused crowd to meet the rockstar at the door. 

“Harrington,” Eddie pushed his sunglasses through his curls, pupils blown, and flashed a wolfish grin.

“Thought you couldn’t make it.” Steve responded, glancing down alleyways for any paparazzi. He knew once Eddie was spotted in public, they’d come in droves. 

“And miss this? Nah, wouldn’t dream of it, Sugar.” 

You’d followed Steve out into the rain, slipping through party guests to greet Eddie. The rockstar wrapped studded-leather arms around your slender waist and greeted you with something salacious whispered into your ear. Steve knew because of the shocked look stretched over beautiful features, and the way you’d swatted at Eddie’s shoulder as if he’d said something bad enough to curl your toes. 

“We should get inside,” Steve grit his teeth. “Don’t want to alert the paps.” 

“Come on, Sugar,” Eddie dipped into a low bow to let you enter first. “Give me the grand tour.” 

—

“I think I’ll buy all the ones left,” Munson quipped with a lazy arm tugging you back into his chest. 

You snorted, and shook your head. “Then no one else will be able to buy them, which is kind of the point of a gallery.” You gestured around at the carefully placed frames on carefully designed walls. 

“Well, good. Maybe I want you all to myself.” 

Steve’s eyes ached to roll. He collected plastic flutes and discarded trays of half-eaten vegetables and tossed them into large, black garbage sacks. 

“Are you coming over tonight?” 

“I just had my gallery opening,” you barked a laugh, pulling away to help Steve with the table you were leaning on. “I need to sleep.”

“You need to celebrate,” Eddie rationed, tugging you back into him. You yelped, your thumb going into a rogue slice of cake. With waggled brows, Eddie pulled your thumb into his mouth, licking it clean.

Steve thought he might be sick. He turned his back and held open the bag in front of him, just in case. Unfortunately, he could still make out your reflection in the windows out front. Your meticulously picked-out slacks hugged your curves, and Munson’s ringed fingers slipped over the breadth of your backside to squeeze you closer to him. 

“Anything else you need help with?” Steve’s voice tasted awkward, a little too loud, too scratchy. 

You separated from Eddie and dumped your haul into Steve’s bag. “I think that’s it. Thank you for everything, Steve. Really. And I’m serious about paying you.” 

“Yeah, that’s not happening.” He said, twisting the bag closed with a knot. 

You shot him another look and said, “Eddie, tell Steve to let me pay him.” 

“You don’t take money from her, you don’t take money from me, pal.” 

Steve did roll his eyes this time, and glared over your shoulder at the rockstar zipping and unzipping his leather jacket. “Yeah, we have a contract, dumb ass.” 

“I’ll have my lawyer sue your lawyer.” 

“Your lawyer is my lawyer.” 

Eddie grinned. “He’s got me there, Sug.” 

You scoffed and snatched the bag from Steve’s hand. “Fine, I’ll have to come up with some other way to repay you.” 

Steve was thankful for mood lighting and the late hour. His face heated another twenty or so degrees, and he scratched at the hairs prickling on the back of his neck. “Eds, you need me to call you a car?” 

“Would you mind, Stevie-dearest? Sugar, I gotta take a piss. Care to show me the can in this place?” Eddie stood up and adjusted the crotch of his tight jeans for show. 

“You’re a class act, Eddie Munson. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” You gripped the hefty garbage bag in one hand and took Eddie’s hand in your other as you led him back into the office space of the warehouse. Before the heavy door closed, both of you made eyes at Steve, one friendly, the other randy.

Steve’s stomach churned, and he pulled out his phone to call a car. 

Working with Eddie had been tedious, but simple. Call him a car, shield him from paparazzi and groping fans alike, bring him his hangover cure breakfast, ask beautiful women to sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement before his plethora of one-night stands. 

You were the toughest pill to swallow, a beautiful girl at a hometown gig. 

Hometown gigs meant rowdy afterparties, venue-catered alcohol and executive-catered drugs. It meant too-lax security checkpoints and easily-bribed security detail, and after months on the road, Steve wasn’t in the mood for anyone’s bullshit. So he posted himself at the Green Room door, one eye on the metal detector, one eye on the front man who’d hired him, and prayed the ache between his shoulders would go away soon. Eight more hours and he’d be at home in bed for a long awaited and much needed vacation.

Eddie was two water bottles in, and his hand still trembled when he introduced himself to some recording mogul.

Steve snapped his fingers at some kid and told him quickly to hand Munson another bottle of water and get him a towel. 

When the items had been delivered to a thankful rockstar, Steve turned back to the collection of items being tossed into plastic trays on the outside of the metal detector: a cell phone, keys with a neon carabiner, a leather wallet, a DSLR.

“Whoa, whoa,” he stopped the attendant from picking up the camera. “There’s no press on the guest list.” 

“No press, just freelance,” you said from across the metal threshold. You wore a well-loved leather jacket, softened and faded with time and an expression that toed the line between compliance and try me.

Steve swallowed, shook the stars from his eyes, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Sorry, this is a camera-free zone.”

You narrowed your eyes for a moment before stepping back over the threshold and against the current of waiting party-goers to fiddle with the camera.

“Here,” you cupped something in an outstretched hand, waiting patiently for Steve to accept whatever gift you had to offer.

With caution, he accepted the tiniest of SD cards, bright blue.

“Call it insurance?” You smiled, tongue behind your canine in a way that made him itch under the collar. “Find me before I leave and give it back?”

Munson had found you first, dragging Steve with clammy hands to meet his “dream girl”. He gave the signal for Steve to start pulling up the contract on his phone as he made his way down a long, concrete hallway.

You hadn’t flinched, just cocked a brow and signed your name on the dotted line with a, “Thanks, Steve. Have a great night.”

He kept your SD card. He didn’t even tell Robin that it rested on the corner of his dresser next to a picture of Dustin on his graduation day. 

He assumed he’d never see you again, but Munson had grown a fondness for you, and soon you were a regular part of Chicago meet-ups. Every hometown gig became a room full of you. 

Steve heard giggling from the office, that soft melodic bounce of your laugh against the bass of Eddie’s voice. This was the worst of it, catching you two in compromising positions around parties or Eddie’s ornate penthouse, and pretending like it didn’t kill him inside that it wasn’t him with his hands on you, making you laugh, smelling the warmth of your throat.

His phone buzzed in his hand. 

Robin: How was the gallery opening? Did you tell her you’re in love with her yet? We on for our FaceTime date tonight?

Steve: Eddie showed up. Yup. See you in 10 hours.

Robin: Shit. I just sent you money. Buy yourself a fifth and we’ll drink it together.

A car rolled up outside, blinding him with strong headlights.

“Munson, car’s here!” He called, praying you could both hear him.

There was the shuffle of a few things in the back, and with the clack of Eddie’s boots, you both returned. You looked a little more windswept than before, and Eddie’s sunglasses has been pulled back over his eyes, despite it being nearly midnight. 

“Steve,” you breathed, approaching him with arms outstretched for a friendly embrace. “Thanks again for all of your help tonight. You have no idea how much it means to me.” 

He gave the tightest squeeze he could under supervision and let your hand fall into his to give you one more gentle squeeze. “Anytime. It was really no problem. Do you need a ride home?” 

You shook your head, smile wedged between your teeth. “I guess Eddie wore me down.” 

“Yeah I will.” He snorted, and you shushed him. 

Steve nodded and started for the door. “Cool. Well, have fun, you two. Be safe.” 

“Thanks, man,” Eddie knocked knuckles with his friend, rings sharp against Steve’s scarred fists. “I’ll call tomorrow.” 

Steve swallowed and glanced over his shoulder to bid you one last, weak smile. 

You waggled you fingers, and he stepped out into the cool night air. 

—

“You are the most embarrassing person I know in real life.” Even Robin in lag was brutal. 

Steve sipped his coffee and rubbed at tired eyes. He hadn’t slept much. Mostly, he scrolled and wondered exactly what you and Eddie were getting up to, wondered why it wasn’t him. 

“You asked if she needed a ride home?” 

“I was being polite,” he grumbled. He took a banana off its tree and began to peel. They had all begun to brown. 

“You’re so sweet, Stevie. Like a little lost puppy dog.” 

“Oh fuck off, Robin. Remember you and that girl in Buchapest?” 

“Bucharest,” she corrected his pronunciation. “And she was merely a fleeting crush.” 

“You cried over her for like three weeks.” He shot his best friend a look over the screen. 

The lighting was horrible in her Istanbul flat, internet connection worse. Steve told her he’d pay for anything better, but she argued that he needed to quit babying her and let her live the nomadic experienced she’d always dreamed of. 

“Okay, okay,” her connection stuttered in and out, face pixelated as she ducked out of frame and back. “So you’re going to be alone forever. That’s not so bad.” 

“At least I have you.” Steve nodded, mouth full of squishy sweet banana. 

He nearly choked when his phone began to ring in his hand, your name and photo popping up on the display screen. “Robin, it’s her.” 

“What?” 

“She’s calling me.” He held his phone to the camera on his laptop to prove a point. 

“Speaker phone!” Robin squeaked. 

With a sigh, he answered, phone pressed to his ear to respect your privacy. Robin glared. 

“Hello?”

“Steve?” The worry in your voice had his heart kicking up in his throat. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Robin echoed his sentiments until he snapped his fingers and put his finger to his lips to quiet her.

“Nothing, it’s um… could you… are you busy?” 

“Nope. Not busy at all,” he said. Robin threw a silent fit on her end. “What’s going on?”

“Could you just… come down to the gallery? I need your help with something.”

“Yeah,” he frowned, walked the rest of his banana to the garbage can. “Like, later today?”

“Or right now. Could you come right now? As soon as possible?”

His stomach dropped to his feet. “Yes. Yes, I will be right there. Keep the door locked until I get there.”

“Okay. Thank you.” 

He hung up and rushed to the door to get his shoes on. His keys and wallet were in his pocket before he heard another voice echo throughout his kitchen. 

“Harrington!? Hello!? Earth to Dingus!”

“Shit,” he sidled up to his laptop. “Robin, I am so sorry.” 

She managed a knowing smirk and a laggy nod. “Yeah, you owe me, big time Harrington. Text me everything that happens.”

“I love you,” he agreed. 

“See you next week!” 

“In real life!” He hung up before she had a chance to blabber on, and he was out the door.

—

The worry etched across your beautiful features was devastating. 

Steve yearned to wrap you into his arms and promise he’d protect you, to kiss the frown lines from between your brows, to tickle at your ribs until you smiled again. 

Instead, he stood three feet away, inspecting a bouquet of three dozen red roses that had been delivered to the gallery that morning with a note attached.

Roses are Red

Beauty is You

Stay away from the Devil

Before he kills you

A printed photograph was pinned to the card, a pap photo from a gala you and Eddie had attended together a few weeks ago. Eddie’s shoulders were squeezed into a rhinestoned blazer, flash reflecting off his sunglasses. Devil horns and a tale had been crudely drawn over his features in red ball point pen. You stood beside him, hand-in-hand, curves standing out in a black silk dress. One small strap was dangling off your shoulder. The same pen was used to etch slash marks through your exposed throat, so hard it had ripped through the page.

“Is this… like Eddie wouldn’t do this, right?” Your voice shook, hand trembling against your cheekbone. You balled a tissue into your fist.

“No! God no,” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, Jesus, I hope not.” He muttered under his breath. “Have you called him?”

You shrugged, nodded. “I tried, and texted. He was still asleep when I left.”

Steve cleared his throat with a nod, remembering you’d gone home with the rockstar. You probably slipped out of black silk sheets and into the black and grey marbled shower. You probably toed around in front of the massive high-rise window, searching for various garments that had been removed on every inch of the house. Maybe you’d made yourself a latte, with a splash of lavender like you like it, wearing an oversized black hoodie that smelled of weed and cigarettes and some cologne Steve couldn’t afford.

“I can try again,” you fished your phone from your back pocket and dialed.

Steve plucked the card from the roses for any indication of a delivery service or floral company, but the card was blank, ivory, high-quality. “Who delivered these?”

“Old guy, balding, green vest,” you shrugged. 

Steve nodded.

“Hey, Sugar,” Eddie’s voice rasped over speaker. “S’matter. Did you leave something here, or d’you just miss me?”

“No, um…” You changed your balance from one foot to the other. “Eds, did you send me roses?”

“Fuck, you want me to eat you out and send you roses?” The rockstar chuckled.

Steve swallowed and didn’t dare look at you directly. He felt the heat radiating off of you as you frantically turned off speaker-phone and held the device to your ear, covering your face with a hand.

“No, babe, Jesus. I got a delivery of roses today with a um…” Your voice trembled again.

Steve brushed delicate fingers to your arm and held out his hand to take the phone.

You gave it willingly.

“Eddie, hey,” Steve sighed. 

“Harrington? What is going on? Am I still asleep?”

“No, dude, she called me when she couldn’t get ahold of you. Listen, there’s this big bouquet of roses here with a death threat attached. You didn’t have anything to do with this, right? It’s not some kind of prank?”

“A death threat? What do you mean? A prank? Jesus, how shitty of a person do you think I am? Is she okay? I’m coming down there.”

Steve winced around the shuffle of bedsheets and the sound of Eddie clomping around his bedroom.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, dude. Here, let me send you a picture.”

Steve took his own phone out to take and send a photo, rifling past a barrage of text messages from Robin. 

You’d propped yourself on the reception desk, eyes darting between the flowers and outside. The morning light poured in, hollowing your cheekbones and painting your walls pink. 

Steve reached for your elbow, running his thumb over the bit of skin there to pull your focus back.

You offered a sheepish smile and squeezed his wrist.

“Oh what the fuck?” Eddie yelled through the phone, startling you both. 

“Yeah, it’s bad,” Steve agreed, rubbing at tired eyes.

“Is she okay? Let me talk to her. Wait, Harrington, do you think it’s Carver?”

Steve’s blood ran cold. 

Jason Carver was a religious zealot from a small town with a vendetta for Eddie Munson and “demons like him”. Two years ago, his army of his cronies marched to a Corroded Coffin show in Milwaukee and set the place on fire. They managed to get everyone out of the bar before the roof collapsed. More Molotovs were thrown before the cops arrived.

Since Carver wasn’t in attendance and denied any involvement in inciting the riot, he received a slap on the wrist and no jail time. The band did manage an airtight restraining order, but Steve doubted that looped in contact with Munson’s hook-ups.

He cursed under his breath.

“Yeah, fuck is right. Let me talk to her. Don’t let her leave your sight. I’ll pay you triple if I have to. Twenty-four hour surveillance. You hear me?”

“Don’t worry about the cash, man,” Steve shook his head. “I won’t leave her. I’m going to call the delivery company and see if they can give me any more information on the purchase, and then I’ll call Joyce and see if she can’t get her written into the restraining order.” 

“Thank you, man. I want you to take her home to get her stuff and then bring her over here. If it is him, he can’t get to her here.”

Steve hated that he was right.

“Put her on for me. Thanks again, bro.”

With a resigned sigh, Steve slipped the phone back into your trembling hands.

He overheard Eddie’s tone slip into something softer, “Sugar, how’re you doing? Are you alright? I’m so so sorry this happened to you, my sweet girl.”

You gave Steve’s hand one more squeeze before you wandered off across the gallery for some privacy in your phone call. 

Steve opened his browser to began searching for the delivery company’s number with a pit in his stomach and an unfillable ache in his chest.

—

Robin: OMFG that’s so scary. Is she ok? Are you ok? Is Eddie ok? I’m going to be there in a week, plz don’t get murdered.

—

Your keys clicked in the lock, and you toed open the door to your little apartment. Light poured in through large windows, casting warmth on the small space that the dark hallway hid. You stepped in first, and Steve followed with trepidation. 

He’d never been to your house, and when he walked over the threshold, he was overpowered by how you it felt. The whole place smelled of you, of your shampoo and the perfume you spritz on special nights. Your little kitchen table was scattered with stacks of old mail and rolls of film. A laptop sat open on a squishy futon sofa. Beneath your television were a handful of films he knew you loved. 

“How long um… how much should I pack?” You squinted, pinching at the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry,” you sighed. “This is a lot, and I don’t know how to handle it.” 

Once again, he felt the ache to pull you into him, to whisper sweet words into your hair. Instead he gestured to a bar stool. “Take a seat. Take a breath. I’m going to check the house, if that’s alright.” 

He winced as your face flooded with realization, and fear. 

“It’s probably fine. I just want to be safe.” He tried to sound nonchalant, shoving his hands into his pockets.

You swallowed, nodded, gestured for him to go ahead. “Sorry it’s a mess.” 

He waved you off with a knowing smile and started down the hallway, relieved when he turned to see you sitting as instructed. You’d been on your feet all day, making arrangements with the gallery owners to have someone take your shift for the evening and tomorrow. When you weren’t on the phone or emailing buyers, you were staring out the windows, a far-off gaze in your eye. You held that now, looking down your living room windows at the busy downtown street below.

Steve took the first door to the left and found a small bathroom. Some tiles in the corner were cracked, and the sink was scattered with the remnants of a makeup bag, a toothbrush. The bathtub’s curtain was pulled back to reveal a loofah dangling from the faucet. 

Your bedroom waited at the end of the hall. His fingertips pushed the door open, breath shallow, face warm.

Sage green linens were crumpled on your bed with three overstuffed pillows. Dirty clothes littered your floor in piles leading to and from the closet. That black satin dress topped an armchair, the strap snapped.

Steve swallowed.

A hefty dresser sat to the right of the door, the top scattered with trinkets and photographs. He was surprised to find his own image scowling back at him, arms crossed, black t-shirt on, leaning against a concrete wall. The sun hit him just so, framing his eyes like a superhero mask, the rest of him cast in shadow. God, all of the world really was better through your lens.

“All clear?” Your soft voice startled him.

He cleared his throat, cheeks warm, to find you at the doorway, hugging your arms to yourself. He smiled. “Clear. I’ll just wait in the front room.” He gestured to slip past you.

“Actually, do you mind hanging out? It’ll only take a second.” You gestured for him to sit on the bed before you scampered about your room, picking up the dirty clothes and depositing them into the hamper.

He remained standing in the doorway, arms crossed like they were in the photo. “Get enough for a couple of days if you want, but we’re going to get this figured out.”

You wore your anxiety like a jacket, hunched shoulders and furrowed brow, a shell of the vibrant woman he knew. 

He took a few steps forward, halting your frantic shoving of clothes in a backpack.

You blinked back up at him, eyes wide, hands trembling.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

You laughed then, a manically sound that didn’t meet your eyes. “Steve, am I just insane? Or stupid? Am I the dumbest person in the entire world?” 

“What?” He tried not to focus on the way your hair haloed around your face, light pouring in through gossamer curtains.

“I knew the novelty of sleeping with a rockstar would wear off eventually, but I was thinking like he’d cheat on me with a super model or maybe I’d get a curable STD, but not this.” It was the most you’d spoken all day, your old self sinking back into your voice.

Steve smiled, itched at the back of his neck, shrugged. “Eddie’s a very charming man.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I mean, okay, Eddie’s good, but he’s not death-threats good.”

Steve felt a little surge of excitement at this knowledge, maybe a bit of competition sparking in him again. “Sure, but he’s a good guy. He really likes you.”

“I think he calls me ‘Sugar’ because he forgot my real name and got too embarrassed to ask.” 

Your confession had Steve’s jaw on the floor, and when you laughed, he felt light as air. This time your laugh met your eyes, met your mouth, your cheeks. You swatted at his chest.

“Steve, you were supposed to tell me that’s not true.” 

Steve snickered and merely shrugged.

“Ugh, I’m so stupid.” You pushed past him and to the bathroom to start collecting your toiletries. The anxiety was temporarily snuffed and replaced with the ease of routine, of being in your space surrounded by your things, and Steve felt himself relax a bit knowing you were comfortable.

—

Joyce: Got it taken care of, sweetheart. Hop says he’ll file a report and to let him know if you need an extra hand. Dinner next weekend? Steak and potatoes? Take care of yourself.

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—

Munson pulled his ragged hair up into a bun with a hair tie he kept around his wrist. Steve often wondered if it was yours, or if the rockstar pulled it from the locks of some groupie on the road, long nights spent in truck stops and blues houses. The tie had lost some elasticity over the years, and tendrils managed to fall into the man’s eyes, and even still, he looked cool, casual, calm.

He was anything but calm. His knee bounced as he took a glass of water from Steve filled for him. “What did I do wrong, man?” 

Steve sighed and sat across from him, back to massive windows overlooking the city lights. He kept his mouth shut, not wanting to be caught in the middle of this tiff you were having. 

“I mean, I just want to keep her safe. I’m the one that got her in this mess in the first place.” Eddie extended an inked arm toward his bedroom door. You’d been in there for over an hour now, having excused yourself to bed for the night. 

You’d made a point that you were going to bed alone.

“Should I not have told her how I feel?”

Steve pinched at this bridge of his nose, eyes tired and struggling to focus in a room of black velour upholstery and gold trim. 

The spat started when Eddie informed you he’d booked your ticket to join him in England for the next few months while Corroded Coffin records their next album. It ended when Eddie, on bended knees, hands gripping your ribcage, told you he loved you.

Steve watched the entire exchange awkwardly from the kitchen, trying to blend in with white marble countertops.

Apparently, today was a day for firsts. He’d never seen you as nervous as he had in the gallery that morning, and he’d never seen you as angry. You were the silent type, but he felt the rage radiating off of your frame, the clench of your jaw, the subtle brush of Eddie’s hands from your waist.

He caught your gaze when you exited the room, and your demeanor shifted to apologetic, embarrassed maybe. He managed a tight-lipped smile and a wave. 

“Harrington,” Eddie snapped his fingers. “Come on, you’re good with women, right? Help me out.” 

Steve snorted. He’d been good with women, sure, but not since you waltzed into his life with your SD card and that smirk.

“How do we make up?” Munson’s shoulders were hunched, face fraught with worry.

With another drawn out sigh, Steve shrugged. “Give her space, man. She had a really scary day. You remember your first death threat, right? She needs time to process and not for you to demand she be shipped off to another country for two months.” 

Eddie nodded, too much, too exuberantly. “Okay, okay. You’re right. That makes sense. I just…” He lowered his voice. “I just don’t want to lose her.” 

That emotion, Steve understood. It was a fear that prickled at the base of his neck anytime Eddie winked at another girl in the front row, anytime he had his arms looped over two women backstage, anytime his phone sat on the coffee table between them with Sugar blowing up the notifications, neglected. Didn’t Eddie know what he had in you?

“We won’t.” He shook his head. 

Eddie nodded. “You’re a good man, Steve Harrington. I’m sure going to miss you.” 

Steve frowned at that, arms crossed over his chest. “Miss me? The hell are you talking about?” 

“When I’m in England,” Eddie explained, reaching forward for the tin lunch box he kept tucked under the coffee table. The lid hid the glass with a clang, and he reached in for rolling papers, a lighter, and a ziplock bag full of weed.

“Are you firing me?” Steve wasn’t following.

Munson snorted, rolled a neat joint, licked it closed. “Harrington, it’s a good thing you’re pretty.” 

Steve warmed, as he often did when someone complimented him, and frowned. “Cut the crap. What’re you talking about?”

“You’re going to stay here, with her.” He nodded your direction and lit up, flame glowing in big, brown eyes while he took a drag. He held onto it for a minute, shoulders going slack, knee stopping its bounce. He tilted his head against the back of the couch and released a large billow of smoke skyward, casting the room in a sickly sweet haze.

“She’s right, man,” he continued. “It’s not fair of me to take her from her gallery. She worked too hard for this.”

He sat up, offered the joint to his friend. Steve declined, head already starting to spin.

Eddie shrugged and took another hit. “I need you to protect her.” 

Steve nodded. That was the easiest thing his friend had ever asked him to do.

“While I’m away, think you could do me another favor?

More smoke billowed from the man’s pink lips, that familiar Munson charm tugging at the corners of his mouth until his teeth were bared in that irresistible grin he was so famous for. He leaned forward then, gesturing for Steve to meet him at the center of the coffee table.

Steve leaned forward, and then a little more when the gesturing didn’t stop, rolling his eyes. “What now?”

Eddie’s smile fell to something far more serious, concern etched in his features, Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes big like a baby deer in the headlights. Steve had only seen him this scared a handful of times. “I need you to use those killer wingman skills of yours to make her fall in love with me.” 

Steve’s mouth almost fell open. He had to clench his jaw to keep from doing so, blinking across the six-inch gap at his friend. He could taste the weed on the other boy’s lips, the sweat off his brow. 

“Please, man. I can’t lose her.” 

—

Robin: You said yes!? How much do you actually hate yourself, Harrington?

Steve: You don’t want me to answer that, do you?

Robin: Was it the baby deer eyes?

Steve: Obviously.

Steve thanked Becky at the front desk with a wink, desperate the ego stroke he got every time she smiled at him like he hung the moon on a string. 

Mood boosted, he balanced the coffee order in one hand and his phone in the other and ducked into the nearest elevator that would take him to the penthouse. 

Steve: What do we think of Front Desk Becky?

Robin: You leave that sweet girl out of this. 

Sufficiently deflated by his wise best friend, Steve keyed in the code to Eddie’s penthouse and let himself back in. Your sneakers remained on the entry rug, camera bag discarded on a nearby table. 

Eddie’s bedroom door was open, satin sheets crumpled and pillows stacked to accommodate one. Upon quick glance, the ceiling mirror reveled the room to be empty. 

Steve frowned. He hoped he hadn’t woken you. 

He pressed forward down the hall and into the open living space, setting the cardboard coffee carrier on the kitchen island before turning to find you pressed against the glass, silhouetted in pink morning sunlight. Eddie’s face was buried into your neck, hands unseen, and your eyelids were heavy, pink lips bowed in ecstasy.

Steve froze. He knew he should look away, leave the room, make a noise, but his gaze lingered on the soft skin of your thigh hitched up Eddie’s leg, the curve of your calf, the point of your toe. 

He could hear his heartbeat thundering, breath held, desperate not to make a sound or to scream and run. 

Eddie dipped to his knees, mouth finding purchase lower on your chest.

Steve caught your gaze. Your eyes widened, and you shoved Eddie away from you and scrambled to cover bare skin with an oversized black hoodie. 

“Steve,” you breathed, and Jesus it was dizzying. “I’m so sorry. I thought you left.” You pulled the hoodie down in a vain attempt at covering your thighs, looking everywhere but at the bodyguard in the kitchen.

He felt his own face warm, tapping fingertips to the countertops. His throat felt tight, a loss for words. His pants felt tighter.

“I ordered us coffee, Sugar,” Munson recovered the quickest, taking your hand to help himself off the floor and lead you into the kitchen.

You resisted his pull, taking a few steps back to say, “I’m going to get ready.”

“Need help?” Eddie waggled his eyebrows, grinning like a dog. Steve tried to ignore how wet the man’s lips looked.

You shook your head, venturing a glance Steve’s direction and looking immediately away when you were caught. Then you slunk off back to the bedroom from whence you came.

When he finally heard the click of the door, Steve frowned at his employer. “Guess I should’ve knocked.” 

Eddie waggled his brows at Steve, too, taking his cup from the carrier and managing a sip. 

Steve was ready with an ice water to cool the man’s burned tongue. “Does this mean you made up?”

Eddie shook his head fervently, tonguing at his water like a dog. “Hell no. She told me she’s going to the gallery today because, and I quote, she ‘can’t be held hostage in this velvet prison forever’.”

Steve grinned over his own steaming coffee and shrugged in commiseration to his friend.

Eddie nodded, took a gentler sip of his own coffee this time. “Had to shut her up when she started telling me to ‘have fun in the UK’ and maybe I should look up some old friends while I’m there.” 

Steve swallowed and nodded. “I mean, Lizzie.” 

“Don’t make me pin you to that window, Harrington,” the rockstar warned, inked finger extended with a scowl. 

Steve followed his point to the window, wherein he could just make out the smudges of four distinct handprints, two much smaller than the others. There was also the faintest of smudges where your ass had been pressed against the glass. Steve coughed at the saliva gathering in his mouth.

“Eds?” You called upon reentry, voice echoing off concrete floors. “I’m leaving. I’ll… call you or something.” You were dressed and you had a tube of lipgloss in your hand, uncorked. 

Eddie scrambled for you, scooping you up in his arms. 

You stiffened, glancing up at the bodyguard keeping watch in the corner. 

Steve swallowed, made himself look busy. 

“Sugar, Steve’s going to keep an eye on you, just until we figure this death threat thing out, okay?” Eddie cleared the hair from your face.

Steve glanced back up to see you roll your eyes.

“I don’t need a babysitter. No offense, Steve.” You held a hand up to him. 

“He’s not a babysitter,” Eddie snapped, “and he’s going to keep you safe. I can’t lose you. You hear me?” He pulled your gaze back to him, cupping your small jaw in large hands. “I love you.” 

“Eddie,” you winced, tugging at his wrists.

The rockstar dropped his hands, shoulders hunched in defeat, and he turned to give Steve a pleading look before he turned back to you. “Alright, Sug. I’ll see you in two months. I’ll call as often as I can.” 

“Okay,” you nodded and allowed him to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

—

Your lipstick stained the lid of your lavender latte, peachy pink. Your nails were freshly manicured for the gallery opening, and you always wore that delicate gold ring on your middle finger. 

You set your cup on the countertop and didn’t look up from your laptop to say, “If you’re bored, you don’t have to stay here. I promise I’ll tell Eddie I never left your sight.” 

Steve smiled over his own cup. “I’m not bored.” To appear occupied, he settled onto the desk behind yours and pulled out his phone.

The first image on his feed was yours, something you’d managed to snap of the old woman and her husband from the opening. They stared at the portrait of their apartment building, hand-in-hand, and you’d taken it at just the right instant, when the husband was smiling down at his wife.

Mr. and Mrs. Edgar Jones • Chicago

The gallery opening was everything I’d ever hoped for. Thank you to all sponsors and patrons who attended and to everyone who helped pull this together. If you’d like to check out my work, please drop by the gallery and say hello.

Steve hummed to himself, double-tapping, and typed a comment.

sharrington: Best gallery opening I’ve been to.

“Steve,” you scolded, “quit commenting on my shit. I’m standing right here.” It was the first smile he’d seen since yesterday. 

“Oh, sorry,” he grinned, crossing his arms over his chest again to say, “Yours was the best gallery opening I’ve been to.”

That beautiful smile tugged even higher on your cheeks, despite your eye roll. “It was the only gallery opening you’ve been to.”

“You don’t know that,” he feigned offense.

You cocked a brow, bursting his facade until you were both snickering a laugh.

“Okay, but come on,” he pushed himself off the desk and strolled out into the open gallery. Egg shell white walls were naturally lit by skylights and the fourth glass wall of the small space. “This place was packed with people obsessed with your work, myself included.”

“Yeah?” You smiled, but remained behind the shelter of your desk. “Which one’s your favorite?”

A bubble of giddy excitement kicked in his chest, and he turned to face your artwork. The sunlight reflecting off the lake was good, the streak of streetlights in the rain, a collection of big, red brick buildings: all of these were his favorite. You’d managed to capture his city in unique and beautiful ways.

He pointed at each one and glanced back to see you shaking your head, eyes brightening and mouth failing to hide that smile.

Finally, he found that photo of the L he was admiring that night and wrapped his knuckles near it. “This one. You managed to capture no plastic bags.”

You rolled your eyes, but let his gesture pull you from your desk. “You can’t see it, but there was one caught around my ankle when I took the shot.”

Steve laughed. “Now that’s something I’d pay to see.” 

You sucked your cheeks in a pout and glanced down the row at all of your photos, your accomplishments on display. “Steve,” you muttered. “Can I… vent for a second?”

“Of course,” he nodded, turning to face you, giving you his undivided attention.

You turned your body toward him as well, hands tucked under your arms. “It’s about Eddie.”

Steve felt his brow raise, but he nodded, miming the zip of his lips and extending you the key.

You chewed around another smile and extended your hand for him to place the invisible key into and wrapped your beautiful fingers around it. Then, you looked back at your photograph and chewed on your words.

Steve leaned forward to catch your gaze, pull your focus back on him.

You sighed, shrugged. “It’s just… Eddie’s used to having women fall at his feet and do whatever he says, isn’t he?”

Steve tried to keep his expression stoic, but it was hard when he thought of all the bras he’d kicked off of a stage, all of the groupies Eddie fingered in the wings, all of the women he’d had to call a ride share for to ensure they got home safely, too wobbly on their legs to drive.

You barked a laugh. “I know he is because I’m one of them.” You didn’t seem amused.

Steve frowned, shook his head. You deserve more credit than that. You weren’t like the others, not by a long shot.

“He came to my opening, right? He saw how important this was to me. Hell, he told you to help me run it because he had faith in me that it was going to be big.” You gestured around wildly as you spoke, frustration building in your tone. “And yet, he expects me to just pack up everything and fly to England for two months?”

Steve swallowed, chewing on his own words now.

“I know, it’s because he’s worried about me, and I do appreciate that, but it’s also like… I feel like he didn’t know what he had in me until he saw me get spooked, and now he’s trying to lock me down.” You frowned. “I can’t be broken. I’m not a horse.”

Steve nodded.

You paused a moment longer before looking into his eyes again. “If I ask you something, you promise to be honest with me?”

He nodded again, slowly. He’d do anything for you.

“Do you think he’s really in love with me?”

Steve’s heart shattered at the hope that lingered in your voice. He swallowed, remembered his promise to Eddie, and nodded.

You let out another strained laugh, as though you couldn’t believe it, and centered yourself before asking another. “Do you think he’s going to sleep with other women while he’s away?”

Again, Steve steeled himself with a deep breath, and shook his head. Eddie wouldn’t if he knew what was good for him, and what was good for him was you.

You cocked a brow, unbelieving of this answer, and toyed with another question in your mind for a moment. “Do you think I should go with him to England?”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head, gesturing around at your beautiful gallery. Two months with Eddie Munson wasn’t worth giving all of this up. If he was serious, and he really did love you, he’d prove it to you when he got back. 

Your lips ticked upwards at that answer. “Hey, this zipped-lip Steve thing is kind of fun. I should have made you shut up a long time ago.” 

Steve rolled his eyes and snorted at your delight.

You reached your hands out to grab his, swinging them back and forth between the two of you. Your hands were warm and and small and soft. “Hey, Steve, is there something you really, really want to tell me, but can’t? Because you can, you know.” You smirked. “This is a safe space. We’re all friends here.”

Sunlight poured in through the windows, casting your face in a golden glow. Your eyes sparkled, cheeks round, lips that soft, peachy pink.

There were so many things he wanted to say to you, he didn’t know where to start. So he caressed the backs of your hands with his thumbs and nudged you ever-closer.

The toes of your sneakers touched. Your eyelashes batted. You tilted your face skyward to look up at him. You licked your lips.

God, he wished he could kiss you. He wished he could taste the lavender of your latte and the length of your throat. He wished he could press you to the glass and let the world know you were his. He wished he could tell you every day for the rest of his life how beautiful you are, how talented you are, how perfect you are. 

The smile fell from your face. You released one of his hands to brush hair from his forehead. 

He held his breath. 

You searched his gaze for something, your own features filled with worry, and you nodded. “You’re really scared about this Jason Carver guy, huh?”

Steve blinked. He’d forgotten entirely about the roses, the death threat, the reason he’d been paid to spend time with you, to watch over you, to protect you. 

He cleared his throat and looked down at your hand in his. He brushed the back of it again with his thumb. His throat was tight, voice raw. “I just want to keep you safe.”

A bell rang, putting a few feet between you. You adjusted your hair and straightened your top before shooting him a ‘wish me luck’ look and stepping away to greet your newest buyer.

—

Hopper: No leads on that delivery. I’ve got Callahan asking around. Powell’s looking into Carver. Keep me posted on other developments.

Steve tapped nervous fingers to the deli’s glass countertops, craning his neck for a vantage on your gallery windows. 

You’d practically forced him out, insisting this was your favorite sandwich place in town and nothing else would suffice. When he offered to pay for delivery, you reminded him how uncomfortable you felt with deliverers right now and promised you’d lock the door behind him. He wished he could have convinced you to join him.

“Dude, we’re going as fast as we can,” the sandwich artist snapped, cutting pastrami into thin slices. 

Steve frowned back at him, confused for a moment, before taking his hand from the glass and shoving it into his jeans pocket. “Oh, sorry.” His foot tapped instead.

An 80s love ballad played over the speakers, and the whole place smelled of cold cuts. A small line had formed behind the counter of people going about their day-to-day. 

Steve looked at each one of them as a suspect. Though, he was pretty sure Babushka in the headscarf wasn’t eliciting death threats to beautiful girls via three dozen red roses. She felt more like the cast-a-spell type. 

He snorted and glanced back out the window just in time to see a black car pull up to the gallery. A man stepped out. 

“Forty-five?” The deli employee called out.

Steve took a few steps toward the window, squinting against the glare to see a tall man with white hair approach the glass. He wrapped two knuckles on the front door. You met him there.

“Dude, your sandwiches!” The guy behind the counter called, and Steve cursed, grabbing them with a thanks and a nod.

He glanced up just in time to see you unlocking and opening the gallery door, and he began to run your direction.

“Hey, man! You forgot your pickles! Asshole…” 

The wind whipped at his ears, and he nearly ran out in front of a moving vehicle. The driver honked and flipped him off, and Steve waited for him to pass before checking both ways and crossing to get to you again. 

He made a mental note of the black car’s license plate: GCCF and swung open the gallery door with a ring of the bell. 

The man stood beside you, tall and lanky, with broad shoulders and a haircut that hadn’t changed since the early 70s. He wore a grey suit, and a black tie, and a smile as he admired your photos.

You smiled at Steve from across the space and waved.

Relief warmed Steve’s spine, and he toed to the desktop to place the sandwich bag, careful not to make any noise so he could overhear bits of your conversation.

“That sounds like an amazing opportunity,” you said, even-keeled, though Steve knew you were bursting inside. “I’m honored for the invitation.” 

“I’m glad you agree,” the man chuckled. “Your talent really is a gift to this city, and we’ll be proud to display your work in our halls.” 

You were beaming. Steve’s stomach flipped.

“Now, our guests usually love to speak with the artists featured in the auction. Are you free Friday evening? Could I coax you to attend?” The man turned to face you now, reaching into his inside pocket for something.

Steve took two steps forward. 

The man extended you a small, white slip of paper. 

You read it over with a tight-lipped nod. Then you smiled. “I would love to go.” 

“Excellent,” the man nodded. “It is black tie. Could I give my assistant the name of a plus-one?” 

You swallowed before answering. “Sure, Steve Harrington.” 

Steve felt his face warm, and he nearly tripped over a power cord stepping back behind the desk. 

The man you were speaking to nodded with a knowing smile and glanced down at his watch. “Well, unfortunately I must be going. I have a lunch meeting to attend. Good timing too, it seems as if your lunch has arrived, and it smells delicious.” He ventured a glance Steve’s direction, and the bodyguard squared his shoulders. 

“Thank you so much for dropping by, and for your business. I look forward to the event.” You smiled, extending a hand for the stranger to shake.

He reciprocated your gesture. “Thank you for your work, my dear. It is breathtaking. Expect that deposit by end of day, and we’ll see you Friday evening. Have a great day.” 

“You too.” 

Steve watched you watch the man walk to the door and get into his car. Your chest was still, breath held until the black car was started and began to drive. 

Then, you began to jump up and down, screaming, like a teenaged girl who had just been asked to prom. 

Steve frowned, shaking his t-shirt to dry the sweat that clung to his back. “What’s going on?”

You grinned and did an adorable little skip and hop back to your desk, sliding two pieces of paper across for him to read. Then, you broke into the sandwich bag.

Steve peered down at a stark white business card with grey lettering, and a matching invitation. 

Martin Brenner

Founder and CEO

Gifted Children of Chicago Foundation

Gifted Children of Chicago Foundation

Annual Gala and Live Auction

“So, this guy, Brenner or whatever,” you explained, peeling the parchment paper from your bread, “just came in and bought my entire playground collection. Can you believe it? All nine photos. He said he’s going to hang them in the halls of his school.” The sound that came from your lips exceeded dogs’ hearing in pitch.

Steve bit back a smile to let you continue.

You took a huge bite of your sandwich first, olive oil clinging to the corner of your lips and dripping down the back of your hand. 

Steve shook a napkin from the paper bag and handed it to you.

You thanked him, mouth full, and swallowed before mopping your face. “Then he says he wants to offer up another one of my pieces in their annual live auction.”

Steve snapped a photo of the two cards and sent them to his contacts in the police force for some background information, nodding to let you know he was listening.

“Do you own a tuxedo, by the way?” You asked, cheek chipmunked.

Steve frowned back at you. He’d been head of security for Corroded Coffin for upwards of six years. He’d been to more award shows than he could count. Of course he had a tuxedo. 

“What?” You feigned innocence, cracking into one of the sodas you’d pulled from the vending machine while you waited for Steve to return. “If you have to be my new bodyguard, I can’t go to this gala alone.”

He sighed and began to neatly unfold his own sandwich, lettuce falling every which way. “Yes, I have a tuxedo.” 

“Really?” You grinned. “I should bring my camera.” 

He shot you a look. “You going to tell me why you unlocked the door for a random stranger while I was picking up your lunch?” 

You swallowed. “He sent me an email?”

Steve maintained eye contact while he popped the tab on his own soda, shoulders squared. He felt like a dad every time he interrogated Eddie for late nights out with no correspondence. The stance didn’t translate well to Robin over text. 

“I figured I could take an old man,” you shrugged.

Steve cocked an eyebrow.

You sighed. “Okay, I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”

Satisfied, for now, Steve took a bite into his sandwich and stared back down at the business card on the tabletop, hoping this guy didn’t have any ties to Carver or whoever it was that sent you that note.

“No pickles?” You frowned, peeking into the mostly empty paper sack.

—

1 Voicemail

Hey, kid. It’s Hopper. Brenner’s one of Chicago elites, but as far as we know he’s harmless. He runs that school for gifted kids. Real pillar of the community type. Could be mob ties, but who the hell in this city doesn’t have mob ties? 

Couldn’t find anything on the delivery company, and no florists in town filled orders that big. Something’s definitely off. Powell spoke to Carver’s assistant, but he was out of the office. Keep an eye out.

Joyce wanted me to invite you and the girl to dinner. Stay safe, kid. Let me know if anything else comes up.

Lucas: All safely on the plane and ready for take off. England won’t be the same without you, man. Take care.

Eddie: Ready for take off. Thanks for taking care of my girl, big man. See you in two months.

Robin: You’re sitting in your car watching her apartment? You’re a creep, Harrington. Please tell me you don’t know the color of her bra tonight.

Steve groaned and rubbed at tired eyes.

He hated that he knew your bra was a soft, stone grey. He’d seen the strap slip down your arm. You’d caught it and pushed it back up, mid-conversation with a browser this afternoon. 

He glanced up from the glare of his phone at your open front window. He couldn’t see anything substantial from this vantage, just the shadows cast on dimly lit ceilings as you moved around your home. 

Maybe Robin was right, maybe he should go home and rest. No more threats had been issued today, that he knew of. You seemed to be less afraid than you were the day before, and with Eddie gone, maybe you weren’t in as much harm as you had been. Still, something gnawed at him. 

Steve startled when his phone began vibrating in his hand. Your name, and a photo of you grinning back at him, filled his little car with light. He answered. “Hello?”

“I can see you.”

Steve gulped and shifted to look back up at your window. You stood there in an oversized sweatshirt, waggling your fingers.

“Come inside, please.”

“What?”

“Bring your fedora and binoculars and come on up. I’ll buzz you in.”

You met him at the door in baggy clothes with two glasses of wine in your hand. You waited for him to step out of his shoes and shrug off his jacket before handing him one glass, and then you led him to the little futon propped up into a sofa near a loved coffee table.

A few candles burned, casting everything in flickered shadows. The place smelled of lavender and honey and smoky amber. 

“So,” you raised an eyebrow, sipping from your glass. You pulled your legs up to be crossed and tilted yourself to face him. “Tell me about this Carver guy.” 

Steve frowned, stretching an arm across the back of the couch to appear comfortable.

“Well, if it’s serious enough that Eddie’s got you staking out my apartment, I need to know who I’m up against.” You frowned, taking another sip from your glass, the legs spilling from your sweet lips and back into the liquid. 

Charity events attracted a diverse crowd, metal bands and church groups converging for the greater cause, their own positive PR. Knocked elbows at the start of the night often led to knockouts once the open bar started flowing. The mob made connections and burned bridges and somehow, the world kept turning.

One such event, Steve had eyes on Munson from across the room. The rockstar was flirting with some senator-to-be or another, a good friend of the Obamas, if he remembered correctly. Sinclair had eyes on the other band members at other tables. They all seemed happy, buzzed, low-key despite studded tuxedos.

Steve clocked the approach before Eddie had. A blonde man in a white suit caught sight and B-lined from near the stage.

Steve crossed to intercept him, stopping the young man with two fingers to his chest before he could get around the final linen-covered table. “Can I help you?”

The stranger’s face split in a menacing grin that sent chills down his spine. Never in his life had Steve felt something so cold. All his instincts went on high alert, fight or flight. One fist clenched at his side.

“I was just hoping for a little tête-á-tête with Mr. Munson,” the man gestured a hand out.

Steve dropped his hand, noticing the steel tie pin in the shape of a cross. “He’s busy at the moment, but let me take down your information, and we’ll see if we could find time for you at a later function.” 

“Are you his secretary or his babysitter?” Still with the grin, dead between the eyes.

“Why? You looking for a playdate?” Steve squared his shoulders, inches taller than the other man. 

“I’m just looking to ask one question.” 

“Shoot,” Eddie approached from behind Steve, shoulders squared in the same manner as his bodyguard. 

The other man tucked his hand into white jacket, and Steve stuck his hand in front of Eddie, just in case, until Carver retrieved his business card and handed it over. Sleek, white, with grey lettering.

Reverend Jason Carver

Faithful Servant of Christ

“Do you, Mr. Munson, take responsibility for casting yourself and all of your followers to the very depths of Hell to burn for an eternity?” 

Steve didn’t take his eyes off of Carver, but he could feel Eddie’s grin growing beside him. 

“You’re damn right I do.”

Carver seemed just as pleased with this answer as the rockstar had been. He nodded, an odd twinkle in his eye, and said, “Thank you so much, Mr. Munson. I hope you and your hell hound have a lovely evening.” 

That was the one and only time Steve had met the man, and he’ll never forget the weight of his presence. 

You’d set your wine glass on the coffee table beside his, and you were curled closer now, frown creasing your sweet brow. “And then he burned that place down in Milwaukee?” 

Steve sighed, playing with a loose thread on the futon, fingertips dangerously close to your shoulder. He wished he could sweep your hair back, kiss the crease from your forehead, reassure you he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. 

“Well, first, he had all of the funding pulled from that almost-senator, set her up for public exposure, basically ruined her entire life. When asked to comment, he said ‘jezebels and harlots get what they deserve’. Fucking asshole.” Steve scoffed.

There was a far-off look in your eye, like you were considering the weight of those words when compared to you.

Without a second thought, Steve brushed his knuckles against your cheek, pulling your focus back to him. “Hey, you know I’ll never let anyone hurt you, right?”

You surprised him by leaning into his touch, nodding. You released a shaky laugh, your voice caught in your throat. “I was really trying to be brave.”

Steve smiled, and opened his mouth to tell you you were, to tell you you were beautiful, to tell you he’s been in love with you from the moment he met you because you were all of those things.

Your phone began ringing, loud and incessant, a vibration from the coffee table that lit up the room with a photo of Eddie’s face. 

You ducked away from Steve’s touch and patted at warmed cheeks, reaching for your phone. “I should probably get this.”

Steve nodded, cleared his throat, reached forward to take a long swig of alcohol. It went down dry. 

“I actually think I’ll go to bed.” You silenced your phone and stood up, backing slowly from the living room. “You don’t mind the futon, right? Here are some extra blankets and a pillow.” You gestured toward a little wicker basket beside the sofa. “Use whatever you’d like in the bathroom.”

Steve stood to mirror you, hoping his smile seemed more reassuring than he felt. “Sleep tight. If you need anything…”

You nodded, smiled. “Thank you. Goodnight, Steve.”

“Night.” 

Halfway down the hallway, you answered your phone, sweet nothings murmured for someone else.

---

Moodboard • Fic Masterlist • Part Two

[A/N: So yeah, this just kind of... came out of me. It's been cooking since February, but I've sat down like three times over the last week and spewed out 10k. And I got too excited to wait to post it, so here you are. Please give me all your thoughts and feelings. Is bodyguard!Steve my new favorite Steve? Is rockstar!Eddie my new favorite Eddie? Maybe so. xoxoxo]

[writingforstraykids]

Home - Jinnie Bday fic🖤

Pairing: OT8 x gnReader

Word Count: 1711

Summary: In Stray Kids you found a family in ways you would've never imagined. They were your home, your safe place, your everything.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, found family, 9th member

A/N: The happiest birthday to you my sweet Jinnie @jinnie-ret 🖤 I hope you were able to enjoy your day and I wish you only the best for your next year!! Hope you enjoy this little something🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Your journey to find a family within Stray Kids wasn't an easy one, but it was undoubtedly one of the most rewarding experiences of your life. Each member brought something unique to the table, filling different roles in your life that you didn't even know you needed. From the very first day you met them, it was clear that this group of eight would become your family in ways you'd never imagined.

From the moment you became part of the group, Chan took you under his wing. His warm smile and welcoming demeanor immediately made you feel at ease. He was always there to guide you, whether it was through a tough choreography or just a rough day.

"Y/n, remember, it's not about being perfect. It's about doing your best and growing every day," Chan would often remind you with a reassuring smile.

Chan's presence in your life was akin to that of a protective older brother. He always knew when you were feeling down and needed a pep talk or just someone to listen. His dedication to the group and to you was inspiring, and his belief in your potential pushed you to strive for more.

Minho, with his sharp dance moves and even sharper wit, quickly became someone you could rely on for both comfort and a good laugh. He had a way of teasing you that always made you feel included and part of the group.

"Y/nnie, you call that a dance move? Even my cats can do better," he'd joke, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Despite his teasing, Minho was incredibly caring. He had a knack for knowing when something was wrong and would often check in on you with his unique brand of tough love. His duality of being both a playful friend and a compassionate confidant was something you cherished deeply.

Hyunjin, with his ethereal visuals and artistic flair, quickly became your creative soulmate. Whether it was painting, dancing, or just discussing life, Hyunjin had a way of making everything seem beautiful and meaningful.

“Let's paint the town red tonight, literally," he'd say, handing you a paintbrush with a grin.

Hyunjin's passion for the arts was contagious, and he often encouraged you to explore your creative side. His ability to find beauty in the mundane and his unwavering support helped you see the world through a different lens.

Changbin, with his fierce rapping skills and even fiercer determination, was the motivational coach you never knew you needed. His relentless work ethic and positive attitude were nothing short of inspiring.

“If you want something, you have to fight for it. We'll always support you, but you have to play your part," he'd often say, his eyes filled with intensity.

Changbin's tough love approach pushed you to your limits and helped you break barriers you didn't think were possible. His constant encouragement and belief in your abilities were a source of strength on your toughest days.

Jisung, with his infectious laughter, quickly became the lighthearted joker of your new family. His ability to make you laugh, even on your worst days, was a gift you cherished dearly.

"Y/nnie, Y/nnie, Y/nnie! Why did the-" he would say, bursting into laughter before he could even finish the joke.

Jisung's lighthearted nature and playful spirit brought joy and laughter into your life. His ability to find humor in any situation was a constant reminder not to take life too seriously and to always find reasons to smile.

Felix, with his deep voice and even deeper compassion, was the gentle heart of the group. His kindness and empathy knew no bounds, and he always seemed to know exactly what to say to make you feel better.

"Sometimes all you need is a little bit of patience and loads of cuddles,” Felix would say, his voice soothing and reassuring.

Felix's gentle nature and warm hugs were a constant source of comfort. His ability to listen without judgment and offer genuine support made him someone you could always turn to in times of need.

Seungmin, with his calm demeanor and wise insights, quickly became the voice of reason in your life. His ability to stay grounded and offer practical advice was something you came to rely on.

"It's okay to take a step back and breathe. Not everything has to be perfect," Seungmin would remind you, his voice steady and calm.

Seungmin's level-headedness and rational perspective were invaluable. His guidance helped you navigate the challenges you faced and made you appreciate the importance of balance and patience.

Jeongin, the youngest member of the group, quickly became the little brother you never had. His youthful energy and innocent charm were a breath of fresh air, and his admiration for you was heartwarming.

"Can you show me that dance move again? You're so cool!" he would say, his eyes wide with admiration.

Innie's enthusiasm and eagerness to learn from you made you feel appreciated and valued. His presence was a constant reminder of the joy of discovery and the importance of nurturing those who look up to you.

-

As time went on, you found yourself growing closer to each member, forming bonds that felt unbreakable. Each one of them brought something unique to your life, filling different roles that together created a sense of family you had always longed for.

One day, after a particularly grueling practice session, you all decided to unwind at the dorm. Chan suggested watching a movie, and everyone quickly agreed. You all settled into the living room, snacks in hand, ready to relax and enjoy each other's company.

"Y/nnie, you get to pick the movie," Chan said, tossing you the remote.

After much deliberation and playful arguing, you settled on a comedy, knowing it would lift everyone's spirits. As the movie played, you found yourself sandwiched between Minho and Jisung, both of whom provided a running commentary that had you in stitches.

"Why is he doing that? That's such a dumb move," Minho remarked, shaking his head.

"Right? I could've written a better script," Jisung added, making you burst into laughter.

Felix and Innie were engrossed in the movie, sharing a blanket and occasionally throwing popcorn at each other. Seungmin and Hyunjin were seated on the floor, discussing the cinematography and artistic elements, while Changbin and Chan were busy trying to outdo each other in a push-up contest during the commercial breaks.

"Y/nnie, care to join us?" Changbin asked with a challenging grin.

You laughed, shaking your head. "I'll leave the push-ups to you two. I'm quite comfortable here."

As the night went on, you felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for these moments. The laughter, the camaraderie, and the simple joy of being together were things you treasured deeply.

Of course, it wasn't always smooth sailing. There were times when tensions ran high, and disagreements were inevitable. But even in those moments, you found strength in your newfound family. One particularly challenging day stood out in your memory.

You were in the studio, working on a new track. The atmosphere was tense, as everyone was feeling the pressure to deliver something exceptional. Voices were raised, and frustrations were palpable.

"I think we should try a different approach," Chan suggested, his tone calm but firm.

You were feeling overwhelmed, and his suggestion felt like another critique. "I don't think that's the problem, Chan," you snapped, immediately regretting your tone.

The room fell silent, and you could feel the weight of your words. Chan took a deep breath, his expression softening. "Let's take a break."

As everyone dispersed, Felix approached you, his expression concerned. "Hey, it's okay to feel frustrated. We're all in this together."

You nodded, tears threatening to spill. "I just want to get it right."

Felix pulled you into a hug, his warmth comforting. "And we will. But we need to take care of ourselves too."

After a few moments, you rejoined the group, ready to try again. Chan's understanding smile and the supportive nods from the others reminded you that no matter how tough things got, you had a family to rely on.

For every challenge, there were also moments of triumph that you celebrated together. The day you released your first successful track as a group was one of the most memorable.

"Y/nnie, we did it!" Jisung exclaimed, pulling you into a jubilant hug.

The energy in the room was electric, as everyone danced and celebrated the hard-earned success. Min and Hyunjin were already planning a celebratory dinner, while Changbin and Innie were busy taking selfies to capture the moment.

"Group photo, everyone!" Seungmin called, setting up the camera.

As you all huddled together, arms around each other, you felt a profound sense of belonging. The smiles, the laughter, and the sheer joy in that moment were a testament to the bond you shared.

Looking back, you realized that finding your family in Stray Kids was a journey filled with highs and lows, laughter and tears. Each member brought something unique to your life, creating a sense of belonging that was irreplaceable.

Chan's protective nature and unwavering support made you feel safe and valued. Minho's teasing and tough love reminded you of the importance of balance and perspective. Hyunjin's artistic soul and passion for beauty inspired you to see the world through a different lens.

Changbin's motivational drive and fierce determination pushed you to achieve more than you ever thought possible. Jisung's lighthearted jokes and playful spirit brought joy and laughter into your life. Felix's gentle heart and deep compassion provided comfort and understanding.

Seungmin's calm demeanor and wise insights offered guidance and clarity, while Innie's youthful energy and admiration reminded you of the joy of discovery and growth.

In Stray Kids, you found not just friends, but a family that supported and uplifted you in ways you never imagined. The bond you shared with each member was a testament to the power of love, understanding, and unity.

As you looked around at your new family, you realized that you were exactly where you were meant to be. Together, you faced challenges, celebrated successes, and created memories that would last a lifetime. In Stray Kids, you found your home, your family, and your place in the world.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @michelle4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @dis-trict9

[sickuma]

TULIPS — a König fic.

❱ This will have two parts (or more) depending on how the comments on tiktok are /j but it'll probably be more than two! please keep in mind that the **" "** in italics are their memories, or something they said before the incident.

ꜝ？angst warning, as well as mentions of injuries. pairing is König x reader !

this is unedited, grammatical and spelling errors are to be expected.

➴ SYNOPSIS — You and König were in a mission when you see a lens-flare aimed right at his chest, without hesitation, you lunge and take the hit for him.

VORFRUEDE — the joyful intense anticipation that comes from imagining future pleasures.

"[name], call for backup." 

You nod, doing your best to comply as much as you can despite the exhaustion which enveloped your body,

It's your duty. It's your job to protect,

"Backup's on the way, König. Evac is almost there too, we just have to—"

You will never die for these people,

You wouldn't allow yourself to die for the military. No matter how brutal your battles are, you've sworn to always put yourself first.

"König."

A ragged breath escaped your lips.

You would never choose someone else over your own life.

No one would come first before yours,

No one else but him.

"König!"

It was as if you caught a brief glimpse of your world crumbling down, seeing that red dot aimed right at his heart, you couldn't hear anything else but this blinding ringing.

Without another thought, you lunged towards his direction. Pushing him aside roughly as you take the hit for him,

As if this moment was purposely slowed down, you saw his eyes widened through your blur of a vision, you saw the glint of panic in his eyes.

"König, when we retire, 

let's have a small house and garden."

"[name]!"

König found himself falling on the hard floor, not feeling the impact of your push as his attention focused on your trembling figure,

He saw it,

He saw how you froze, how your head slowly turned down to look at the horrifying wound. Raising both your hands weakly to look at the stains of blood.

"In that garden, we'll grow tulips."

His frightened gaze laid on your collapsing figure. Without wasting a moment more, he rushed towards your limp body, lifting you up to sit you somewhere safer.

With tears stained eyes, he dropped to the floor, holding your trembling body close to him as his clouded vision attempts to stop the threatening tears,

"Keep your eyes open, [name]."

His body shook, he could feel his hands shake terribly. Looking down at you with a horrified expression.

The love of his life laid limp on his lap,

And it's because of him.

Of all the reasons, did it have to be him?

"Evac is— evac is coming. Please please please."

He knew the bullet hit somewhere fatal, otherwise you wouldn't have gone into shock. He saw the life fade from your eyes,

But you raised your weak hands to caress his clothed face, a smile making its way to your blood stained lips.

"The tulips, könig, they're gonna be so pretty."

"no, no, no." He shook his head as he saw the acceptance in your eyes.

"I've never loved anyone as much as I did with you, Keep that—keep that in your mind könig."

He shakes his head vigorously, screaming for you to wake up. Shaking your trembling body, 

The tulips, we still haven't planted them.

Wake up.

"[name] you can't, please, the tulips."

Who knew loving you would be a beautiful tragedy?

Have you known,

[name]?

Have you known that you'll be taking my heart wherever you go?

Have you known I'll grow those tulips, just for you?

"Grow the tulips for me, my love."

"I won't." He shook his head repeatedly. 

"Without you, I won't."

With your weak, strained voice you spoke. For him you kept trying,

"We'll plant them together—right Liebling?" He desperately spoke, keeping his hand tightly placed on your wound to apply pressure.

"Just as we planned. Together. In our small house. After we—" he paused to sob, letting out the clashing emotions that pierced through him.

"You even said that we'll have a cat, he's gonna be named Leaf because of our garden. You said I'll wake up next to you, I'll wake up to you playing with my hair—because I like it so much—right? [name]?"

"We still have to do those."

His lungs felt trapped in every word he spoke, it felt as if he’d pass out. Never had he felt so weak and hopeless, not for a mission, not for something,

Especially not ever for a person.

And yet here he sat, crying uncontrollably for you to stay and fulfil the plans you’ve made together. 

"You still have to—"

"You still have to marry me," he whispered. 

"Schatz bitte."

He cried, as he couldn't do anything else but wait for evac. He needed you, 

He can't lose you.

Not now. Not ever.

"I know I sound selfish, I know you're hurting and you want to rest but—I just—what would I be without you?"

Tulips,

Without their roots, they are lifeless.

Tulips without their sunlight are bound to wilt.

You felt your own tears trickle down your face,

"Liebling, I won't just let you go. I won't. Even after we planted those tulips," He paused, unable to control his emotions as he looked into your weak eyes. Your eyes that are on the verge of giving up,

"I'll keep needing you, I'll keep holding on."

And as if on cue, he hears the door thump. For a moment, he felt relieved, his tears abruptly stopping as his head turned towards the door. “[name], see? Evac is—” His heart dropped when the realisation hit, it wasn’t evac. They would have asked first, they would have given callouts. It’s the syndicates,

With an exhausted breath, his eyes grew darker, placing [name] on the corner hurriedly and gently. “Stay here, call for evac again alright? Don’t—don’t close your eyes [name], please.” He placed a kiss on top of your head before he picked his weapon up once again, sparing you one last glance before he quietly made his way towards the entrance. The sadness fading for a moment as rage replaced the burning emotion in his heart,

They did this.

They're taking you away from him.

With gritted teeth he strides, coming in contact with the geared enemies. As if he’d forgotten how exhausted he was, he fought efficiently. Taking hits and giving just the same, he was enraged, and they felt it. How he grunts and how he raised his hand. His strength and size overpowered them easily, 

It was as if he lost himself, he looked almost unreal. Taking lives with a clenched jaw, he felt anger. As he remembered what could possibly happen because of what they did,

What he can possibly go through.

He pants, staring down at the bloody sight. Taking in the smell and the horrendous end he made them face,

It didn't feel accomplished. Inside that room, you sat with a bullet deep inside your body. Defeating these people didn't feel as accomplished as it did before.

He weakly walked back—praying to whoever that you’re still breathing, that you’re still alive to continue on with your lives, still alive to plant the tulips with him. With droopy eyes he saw your bloody figure, sat with closed eyes and the talkie wrapped around your hands,

His tears fell once again, “schatz, I'm back.” he whispered, collapsing beside your body. Throwing the talkie and replacing it with his hands, clasping yours together with his tightly. 

The tulips,

“We couldn't separate them so we had to fit both of them in one evac vehicle.”

The captain looked at horangi in question, “Couldn't separate them?” “König held them too tightly, we were only able to separate them when we arrived here. Roze suggested letting them share a room together but due to some policies, the hospital didn't allow it.” he explained further, as they looked at König’s sleeping figure,

He had a frown despite being in a deep sleep.

“I see.” the captain mumbles, “make sure to let him know that [name] is safe, I'm certain hell would be loose if he didn't see them near him.” Horangi nodded, he spoke just before the captain reached the door. “[name]’s in a coma, doctors have informed us that they’re unstable.” “They’ll pull through, for König they will.” the captain replies without turning his head back. “They spoke of their retirement recently, [name] wouldn't disappoint König.”

“What color of tulips will we have?”

“Mm, white.”

“Why's that?” he asks you,

“To symbolize how sorry I am.”

He gasped, sitting up on the bed with his hands tightly wrapped around his neck, attempting to catch his breaths. The dream had hunted him, the look on your face,

The apologetic tone you spoke with,

What did you mean by that? What are you sorry for? Before he could take in his surroundings, he exited the room. Uncaring about the chords that connect to him, he walked and walked till he reached the front desk. “[name]. Where is their room?” He spoke sternly, catching the nurse off guard, he knew he looked terrifying but that’s not of his concern right now. He needs to know you're here, he needs to know you have a room, because if you dont it can only mean one thing.

And he’ll refuse to believe that. “Ah— [name] under the KorTac factions is it?” the nurse stuttered, flipping through the pages of their record book frantically, not wanting to cause the soldier any more agitation.

“Room 405 sir. The patient who’s in—” Without hearing any more words from the nurse, he ran, hurriedly ran to wherever that room could be. Worriedly reading the numbers in each room as adrenaline enveloped his body. Relief, happiness, everything all at one, he could cry.

But not yet, not until he sees you, not until he holds you. “[name]!” He chimes, barging inside the room recklessly. There was no one else inside, only you on the bed, sleeping soundly. He pants, walking closer, feeling his hands tremble by the sight of you. “Liebling.” he mumbled, reaching for the chair and sitting by you. “Love, you're here.” He could feel the tears fall at last, feeling his heart at ease. The sight of you removed the thousands of worries on his shoulder, that dream meant nothing, you had nothing to be sorry for. You didn't leave him, “You didn't—you didn't go.” he broke down, laying his head down on your hands which he held. Sobbing to you. “When we go back, let’s retire as soon as possible, okay?” he mumbled, lips trembling as he spoke. His voice broke with happiness. Croaking out whispers of  ‘I love you’s’ while he laid on your hand. “No more of these. No more.” “Let’s buy a house, a small one. Then we’ll go get leaf and—and, the tulips, my love.”

The tulips,

In our home.

Let’s grow the—

“Tulips?” His breath stopped, he froze as you spoke. He raised his head to look at you, weakly staring back at him. “What tulips?” “Where am i?”

The rasp on your voice was heard, the confusion evident and visible from the way you spoke and looked at him. He felt his heart drop, 

“Who are you?”

[catboymoments]

I feel like you’ve kinda changed a lot recently tbh.

Like I don’t mean any harm. I just mean you went from not being okay with things like Bakudeku, selfcest and other extreme kinks, etc, but now you’re all like, yeah that’s all fine.

Like, what changed your mind on all that? (Genuinely asking)

Also, follow up, what things in fiction do make you feel uneasy?

((Cause I recall you mentioning things like enjoying drawing gore or listening to songs about cannibalism))

This is a bit of a weird ask but since you’re asking genuinely and nicely I’ll expound

Short answer: I got older

Long answer: I grew up, I met a lot of people and realized that there’s a lot of things irl that don’t really… matter that much in fiction? Or matter less? Or they’re really not as bad or world ending as I once thought they were when I was a teenager. When your world gets bigger than the walls of your high school, the things you worried about in fictional worlds become less significant.

for starters let me say that I was never not okay with selfcest I just didn’t really say anything about it until it was brought up, like I really don’t see how it’s a problem. It’s just the age old question of “would you fuck your clone.” and I was a bit of a late bloomer sexuality wise but I’ve always been a bit less vanilla when it comes to kinks- I just keep most if not all of my discussions and art of it in private conversations or under lock and key on priv. I value my privacy and I only want adults to see it.

What changed my view on doing different stuff in fiction was the revelation that I can explore darker topics and complex relationships without it being a moral failing or me endorsing or condoning it and I don’t have to just stick to making fluff. I don’t have to keep my content “”unproblematic”” because it’ll make me problematic somehow, that’s just not how it works. Like I can write about bad stuff in fiction and write stuff as horror and abuse or just explore relationships and how they’d be good or bad and examine tragedy from a well rounded lens. It was like Rock Lee taking off his leg weights for me. I can draw anything .

What makes me uneasy in fiction is when dark topics are romanticized or sexualized. when they’re presented as something “hot” or desirable, or it’s made not with the intention of telling a story or being significant- like for example there’s a difference between someone writing a fic about Hunter being a victim of csa and the horror of that vs someone writing a smutty fic of Hunter x Belos for the purpose of whacking off. There’s a difference between gore and violence on a character for the sake of torture and pain vs angst for a reason. Angst that makes sense. Bad things happen in real life and are okay to be portrayed in fiction, but sometimes I can tell when something is meant to be masturbatory. That’s what makes me uncomfortable!

Also I had a fascination with gore ever since I was a little kid and found warrior cats amvs and I drew a lot of battle scenes with red pen but I think I got all of that out of my system in childhood, I don’t draw gore anymore for the sake of gore LOL like I can’t even play mouthwashing bc I know it’ll make me nauseous

I hope this helps ??

[contritecactite]

Since @fandomtrumpshate starts up again soon, I thought I would babble a bit about my experience last year! Specifically, let's chat about podficcing. A nice and arbitrary 9 reasons to do the thing below the cut!

Thing 1: It's so much fun! I am bouncing up and down at the prospect of doing it again. In fact, I am planning to offer a slot for any fandom this year rather than just ones I'm familiar with!

Thing 2: Nobody was bothered by how amateurish my readings are, how basic my recordings were, or by the extra whistle and sibilance and mouth sounds that sneaked in. Nobody was annoyed that I don't do accents or intense voicework/character voices. It's something I want to improve in the future, but it's really not necessary—reading a fanwork aloud is first and foremost about making it accessible in a new format. Anything else is just icing!

Thing 3: People who want their works read are going to be communicative! The folks I worked with last year were happy to go back and forth until we decided which works were the best fit for me, and they were happy to answer my questions about how to read/interpret certain lines, etc. It was so much fun to toss around idea with them (even if we didn't end up using them all)!

Thing 4: This is a zero-entry-cost hobby (assuming you already have a device of some sort to read fic in the first place). You don't need fancy equipment and software. You can get the job done with an inbuilt audio recording app on your phone, and if you're in a quiet and non-echoey place, it can sound just as good as something made with a dedicated mic and such. Don't let "but I don't have a recording space" hold you back! Sit in your favorite chair and put your phone by your face while you read me a story. That's really all you gotta do.

Thing 5: In direct contrast... it is a good excuse to dip a toe into gear and software. There are lots of fairly cheap suitable microphones, and Audacity is free. I recorded one short fic via three different methods just to troubleshoot for fun!

Thing 6: You don't have to get it right the first time! (Or second or third or...) I save outtakes (profanity warning!) for the creators whose work I read. Sometimes a cat walked in and told me a mournful tale at top volume. Sometimes the neighbors turned on a leaf blower. You can even get silly with it on purpose if you need to warm yourself up! I do a lot of yelling "this is so silly and I am so embarrassed!" into the mic before I try a serious read.

Thing 7: You get to spend so much time with a work and its characters! You're gonna read that thing so many times to make decisions and to alert yourself to what's coming next. You'll be able to recite it around a campfire and it'll feel cozy and familiar (or, you know, extra painful if it's heavily angsty).

Thing 8: If you play things back and tweak them as often as I did, it goes a long way toward getting past hating the sound of your own voice or feeling disconnected from recordings of yourself. I've always been so so shy and hesitant to speak aloud in real-life conversations. I won't claim that I'm completely over any of those things, but spending time getting familiar with what I sound like in an objective, task-oriented setting has helped me learn to listen for my own vocal cues when I'm feeling too overwhelmed to process other kinds of feedback. I'm much more aware of what my uncertainty sounds like, for example, and am better able to cover for it now.

Thing 9: If you're also a writer as I am, it helps you look at your own writing through a new lens! I have been known to write 50+-word sentences, but now I (sometimes) stop to consider the punctuation breaks. How readable is this paragraph? Where would I take a breath if I were reading? Where would the emphasis naturally end up and how do I change that of it's not what I wanted?

I think people who are Better At Things might not necessarily have all the same experiences I shared here, but personally, I'm grateful for the opportunity, and I look forward to doing it again!

Here are the works I read for FTH last year:

Evil Plans by Sodium_Azide

The Night The World Didn't End by Aethelflaed

and the one that belongs to the earlier outtakes:

It Came Upon a Midnight Clear by my dear friend QuothTheMaiden, who still seems to like me just fine even though there's a terrible whine behind the whole thing (this was the troubleshooting fic btw. Software updated and defaulted to the wrong device, but I picked the better read over the better sound quality in the end).