#cw being disbelieved

[lxnarphase]

━━ ❝ sweet, sticky, thick, and pretty ❞

☾₊‧⁺...synopsis : toji wants to give you another baby

☾₊‧⁺...cw : toji fushiguro x fem!reader, smut, penetrative sex, pre-established relationship, overstimulation, unprotected sex, breeding kink, dirty talk, rough sex, begging, smug and cocky reader, feral toji

☾₊‧⁺...a/n : this is a post from my old blog but i revamped it and i really wanted to share this again because i was really proud of it. and yes, it's another breeding kink + pregnant kink. consider it a part two, since it takes place after megumi is born

toji never thought he’d get off on the idea of having another kid with you.

yet here he is, dick hard in his sweatpants as he thinks about you carrying his baby again...how you'd start to fill out all over again, that cute chubbiness coming back, how he'd have an excuse to dote on you whenever you complained about the simplest of things.

it starts off with how he sees you coo over megumi, calling him your sweet baby. you're such a good mother, too, it's clear you'd likely be the favorite parent to that little brat.

but god, does he find it attractive just seeing you be a mom to the kid that he gave you.

the day you ask megumi what he wants for his upcoming 4th birthday at dinner, neither one of you is prepared for the words that come out of your son's mouth.

“i want a baby sister,” he states bluntly as he chews on the steamed carrots, looking at you and toji. it was clear from how confident the little guy is that he's put a lot of thought into this.

“but, i don’t want her to look like daddy. he’s ugly, i want her to look like mommy.”

little brat. you straight up choke, trying to stop the laugh-coughs as toji looks at his son, offended. this really is his son, because who else but you and the kid he made with you could have the nerve to say shit like that to him?

“twerp, you look just like me, you realize that, right?”

megumi huffs, looking at his dad in the cutest little glare. “that’s 'cause i'm a boy, though," he explains as if it's obvious, his precious little cheeks puffed up as he stuffs more of his food in his mouth.

"my sister has to be like mommy. you’d be an ugly girl, daddy.” toji just rolls his eyes, pinching the cheeks of the mini him, ignoring his protests. as the two bicker, you think. would it...really be that bad to have another baby? you always wanted a girl, after all, and toji took such good care of you and megumi...it couldn't be that bad. “well, uhm,” you begin, catching the attention of toji, an unfamiliar smile on your face.

there's a mischievous look on your face right now, his eyes narrowing as he waits for your response. whatever you're about to say is either going to haunt him for the next few days or make him roll his eyes at you.

“i'm sure daddy and i can work something out for you, 'gumi, but let’s think of some other things, too, m'kay?” 

ah.

you went the haunting route.

ignoring the little cheer his son let out, toji can't hide the disbelieving look that crosses his face when he processes what you just said.

'daddy'?

you've said the word, sure, usually when you talk to megumi about him. but something was different about how you said it, the way you looked at him when you said it, the barely visible flutter of your eyes...a silent promise there'd definitely be a deeper conversation about it later.

the very day megumi has a sleepover with the neighbor's kid, yuuji, toji is mentally cheering. he loves his son with all his heart, he truly does, but having a toddler in bed meant limited contact with his pretty wife.

it's only been 3 days since that little comment you made and it's been on toji's mind constantly. every time he tried to bring it up with you, megumi would interrupt and toji was not being the reason his son ended up traumatized because he overheard mommy and daddy talking about making babies in the kitchen.

"bye, gumi! make sure you behave for mr. nanami, okay? have fun with yuuji," you coo as you press two kisses to your son's cheeks, snapping toji back to the present.

"see ya, kid, be good," toji says, giving a nod of acknowledgement to nanami. megumi barely says goodbye before he runs after yuuji to the car, his run a bit awkward because of his overnight backpack.

waving goodbye to nanami, you shut the door, turning to look at toji with that smile as you.

"hi, toj."

you think you're so cute, don't you?

"hey, mama."

toji can't even lie, you are. wearing his t-shirt and sweatpants? yeah, your the cutest thing he's ever laid eyes one. his hands rest on your hips, pulling you flush to his chest. fuck, you weren't even doing anything but he could already feel himself getting hard just from looking at you.

he's never been so whipped in his life.

"d'you wanna talk," you murmur lowly, your finger running over the thin silver chain on his neck. "we could go to the bedroom...and talk about the baby thing."

toji's eyes darken at the suggestion, knowing exactly what would happen the moment you both go into the bedroom. "yeah. think it's 'bout time we talked about it," he hums as he grips your wrist, tugging you to your room.

as soon you both step foot into the bedroom, toji hungrily presses your lips against his, letting out a deep groan. "had me thinkin' about knockin' you up again all fuckin' week, mama," toji sighs against your lips, tongue running over your lower lip.

"wanted to stuff you full so fucking bad."

feeling you sigh so prettily into the kiss, his doesn't hesitate to shove his tongue in your mouth, hands busying themselves as they push your (his) sweats down off your hips before guiding you back to the bed.

you knew he would get excited over your comment, but you didn't think it would be to the point where he was rutting into you as he practically devoured you, feeling your back hit the bed.

“you want to give our 'gumi a sister? wanna be a mommy again," he questions, breaking the kiss to press his forehead against yours. one of his hands slithers up under the oversized t-shirt to cup one of your tits and roughly knead it, his thumb just barely grazing over your nipple.

"wanna have another kid with big, bad toji? tsk, poor cunt missed gettin' stuffed full of cum?" 

you just hum a little breathless. your hand comes up to cup his cheek, looking from his lips back up to his eyes. he's so handsome when he's over you like this, his chain dangling right in your face.

“maaaaybe. megumi just made me think about it, 's all. you've been a good dad t' him, how could i not want to give you another one,” you coo, guiding him closer so you can press a kiss against the scar on his lip. 

“besides…”

toji grunts when he feels your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him flush against you so you can feel the thick, heaviness of his arousal through his sweatpants.

“don’t you want me to make you a daddy again, toji? c'mon, knock me up, big guy.”

after those words leave your pretty little mouth, toji is on you as he realizes that you're 100% going to give him the worse breeding kink ever.

"'m gonna fuckin' ruin you," he growls into your ear. you aren't given a second to protest before he's ripped your panties off, complaints falling on deaf ears. the tips of his fingers gently run over your puffy pussy lips, your slick wetness coating his fingers.

"fuck, mama, you're soaked already." his eyes are focused on your face as you squirm and whimper when he swirls little circles into your clit, an evil smirk on his face. "can't wait to fill you up 'til you're dripping with my cum, doll."

you can't stop your hips from trying to grind into his hand, eyes rolling back when he teased your entrance. "toji, c'mon, baby, i need you s'bad."

"baby, you know you can't take me without prep," he coos at you. he can feel how hot and slick you are, finally, finally slipping two of his fingers inside your cunt. and oh, the way you arch your back a little bit with a pleading whine of his name is so, so pretty, you're so fucking cute.

"mmn, maybe y'don't need prep, you just sucked my fingers right in," he says huskily before pressing a little kiss to the corner of your mouth. "you wanna try, mama? wanna see if you can fit my cock in you? really gonna feel that stretch, though, babe," toji warns, knowing you can't give a sensible answer when he starts pumping his fingers in and out.

when it seems like your about to answer him, the only thing that escapes your mouth is a shaky moan, his thick fingers curling to hit just the right spot inside of you that has you gushing. unable to form words, you tug on his shirt and nod frantically, just wanting to feel toji stuffing you full.

"yeah? you wanna try?" toiji pulls his fingers out of you, chuckling when you whine at the sudden feeling of emptiness. he pops his fingers in his mouth, cock throbbing at the addictive taste of your cunt on his tongue. "c'mon, we're both wearing too much, let's get you outta that shirt, ma."

you waste no time throwing the shirt off, not even giving him the chance to undress you. but once your shirt is off, you're practically ripping off his stupid black t-shirt that made his pecs look fucking delicious and those damn sweatpants and boxers that hid your prize.

as you fuss over his boxers, toji takes a moment to look at you spread out on the bed before him. you still had a bit of chub on you, tummy nice and soft and cute, just how he likes it. if he knew where his phone was, he'd take a picture of you right now; frustrated, horny, naked, and pretty. all for him.

"tojiiii, stop staring and kick off your stupid boxers, you're getting on my nerves!"

you can't even look him in the eye as you say that because you're too busy staring right at his cock, a thick bead of precum formed at the tip. the lick of your lips told him everything he needed to know, but he wasn't fucking your mouth, not tonight at least.

"what? i can't look at my own wife," he asks with a raised eyebrow, biting back a laugh when you swat at his hand that pinches one your puffy nipple. "tch, so rude, doll."

before you can snap back at him, he brushes the swollen head of his cock against your slick folds, smearing your wet over the tip. that shuts you up quickly and toji has to hold back another laugh. always so fussy until he finally gives you what you want. he's spoiled you rotten.

"toji," comes a soft whine, so soft he nearly misses it. your eyes are focused between your legs, lower lips between your teeth as he teases you with his cockhead. you huff, pushing your hand against his chest to give you enough space to shift positions, knowing exactly what would get him to stop teasing you.

once you roll over, you shift so that you're face down, ass up, you hand slipping between your thighs to spread your sticky pussy open, slick dripping down your fingers. "tojiiii, please? please, baby, stop teasing an' put a baby in me...please, hubby, give your wife what she wants."

any other whines or begs are interrupted when his hand comes down hard on your ass. he was going to give you what you wanted, what you both wanted. he was going to fuck you, fill you up with all his cum and whatever leaked out? he’d make sure to push it back in, whether with his fingers, mouth, or tip of his dick. 

when he finally pushes into you, he just lets out the most wrecked groan you’ve heard from him yet, each inch sinking into you stretching those tight walls just a bit more.

"holy shit...fuuck me, baby, too fucking tight, you're strangling my cock," he hisses, fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he gave you inch after inch.

god, just the thought of fucking you not just to feel good, but to fill you up, get you to take his seed deep inside to give him another kid? it's fucking with his head, his wife was gonna be the death of him.

both of you moan once he's all the way inside. you feel so full, his cock is too fucking big it doesn't make any sense and you genuinely think you should've let him fully prep you...but shifting your hips just a little bit has his tip pressing against something sinful. you whine and reach back to grab at one of his hands on your waist, turning to shoot him a mean glare as you demand, “stop stalling n’ knock me up, toji." 

who is he to deny what his wife asks?

using a hand to steady himself on the headboard, his hips begin to move slowly, pulling out just an inch and pushing forward again. "so tight 'n' warm..." each thrust hits deeper and more powerful than the last as toji begins to pick up speed, the thickness of his cock hitting every deep part of you.

it's almost too much, but you don't want him to stop, especially not when toji started running his mouth.

“shit, look at you, baby…takin’ it like a champ.”

now you really wish you stayed on your back, then at least you could've slapped a hand over his mouth to shut him up. you drop your head down against the mattress with a moan, starting to move your hips to match his thrusts, the room filling with the sound of skin slapping on skin.

“fuuck, c'mon, throw that ass back on me, thaaaat’s it, good girl.” 

he starts pounding into you harder when he feels you tightening up on him. the sweet moans and adorable words of “gimme more,” “baby, please,” or “s’ too good, toj,’” only pushing him to get even deeper, to get you to cum so he could stuff you full.

he coos when he sees you starting to scramble up further on the bed, away from his relentless fucking. he knows that he found that sweet spot that would have you creaming in minutes.

"tsk, you just never fuckin' learn, huh? 's always gonna be too much for you, isn't it," he huffs as his hand finds its way into your hair, tugging your head back to keep you from moving more. “hey. hey, nonono, don’t run away from it, lemme have it," he coos at you, following you up the mattress.

you never change, always swearing up and down that you wouldn't run from his cock, that you'd be able to take him. you wanted this, you wanted your precious husband to fuck another baby into you, t'give 'gumi a little sister, s’ i’m gonna give it to you.”

toji may sound like he’s still put together, but he’s just thankful you can’t see his face since yours is pressed into the pillows at the top of the bed.

you can’t see how he’s barely holding himself together, trying his hardest not to let himself go too much. the last thing he needs is to cum before you, knowing that while you wouldn’t mind, he’d be annoyed for breaking his streak.

he’s brought back into the present when you manage to turn your head a little, able to look him in the eye, and god, does he love what he sees.

your mouth is open as you moan for him, eyes lidded and focused on only him. he sees the little tears gathered in them, not quite spilling over but the fact that they’re there tells him he’s the one making you feel that good. 

“tuh-toji, ’m gonna cum, gonna cum—!”

"yeah?" hearing you moan so sweetly for him only makes toji smirk, fingers digging into your hips as he helps you meet each thrust. “gonna make a mess f'me already? poor little cunt can't handle gettin' fucked so good? mmn, shit, 's okay, baby. let go for me, mama, cum on daddy’s cock.” 

"t-tojiiiii," you shakily moan, nearly ripping the sheets as you cum suddenly. it was his voice, the way he tried to sound put together but you could hear how desperate he was to feel your pussy clamp down on him and get his cock nice and messy.

toji's deep, guttural moans mix with your cries when he unexpected is pushed over the edge, the way you desperately grinded back against him causing him to swear under his breath as he lost his pace, groaning your name as he emptied into you. it felt so hot, the pulsating warmth of his tip nudging against your cervix paired with his thick cum filling you up dizzying the both of you. 

you expect some kind of snarky comment from toji, trying to catch your breath so you could reply when he said it. but nothing comes (you have to stop yourself from laughing at the pun). you turn to look back, sighing when toji pulls out of you. usually he stayed inside, leaning down to tease you for cumming so fast...but he didn't.

something was wrong and for some reason, you felt like your pussy was in danger.

“toj…?”

he didn’t answer. he probably didn’t even hear you, not with the way he was looking so intensely at the mess between your thighs. the mess he made. toji doesn’t know what comes over him, his hands practically moving on their own as he moves you over onto your back, then moving his hands down to your sensitive hole and spreading. 

the scene in front of him just breaks him. you let out a soft whine, hips gently rolling into his hands. his eyes stay stuck between your legs—sharp and focused—as they watch the thick globs of his hot cum drip out of your hole and down onto the bed sheets.

the groan that leaves him is sinful, and once you make eye contact with him, you realize how fucked you are. he’s hard again, almost making you believe he didn’t cum if it weren’t for the creamy sheen of his cum on his throbbing dick and the hotness of his dripping out of you. before you know it, toji’s climbing over you, making sure your legs get pushed over to his shoulders as he pushes you into a mating press.

yeah.

you're fucked.

you keep making eye contact, and now that he’s so close to you, you see how crazed he looks. his eyes, completely black due to his blown pupils, have an unhinged look in them, and the half smirk on his face only makes you worry about your ability to walk the next day.

“t-toji, if you need a break to calm down, then-oh!” 

he shuts you up by pushing himself inside you, loving how your eyes cross so prettily. he has you now, you can't run away from the overstimulating feeling of him fucking you in this position. and when you feel his hands come up and lock together on your head to really keep you in place, you feel yourself gush all over his cock at the simple display of how strong he was compared to you.

you're so fucked.

all you can do is moan and cry out his name, hands grabbing whatever part of him they could reach. but he doesn't let you break eye contact, keeping you close to his face so he could see every little expression. and fuck, does he like what he sees.

“t-tojiii, t’ deep, t’ deep!”

“wan’ me t’ stop? t’ stop fuckin’ this messy hole?”

“fuck, y-you stop, and I’ll c-choke the shit out of yo-ouh!”

“that’s it, take it, take daddy’s cock, mama, lemme breed you.”

everything about this position is driving both of you crazy.

the closeness has you reeling, the way toji just cannot bring himself to break eye contact, needing to see what he was doing to you.

his thick cock is hitting deep, almost too deep, with the way each thrust of his hips causes the tip to press into the sweet spot inside you every. single. time. 

he has you for the whole day and the whole night, he's going to make sure you're stuffed entirely and doesn't plan on stopping until either you tell him you need a break or until he can't cum anymore. and even then, he doesn't think anything will be able to get him out of your cunt.

but with the way he just moaned into your mouth, thick spurts of more cum coating your insides…and the way he didn’t get soft, instead pressing you even deeper into the mattress as he began to pound into you with a groan of how much he loved your pussy…

you were sure it would be a while until he was done with you.

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[ellecdc]

Hi, I've never done an ask before, so I'm sorry if it's not good. You don't have to do this if you don't want to, I won't care.

I just want something to do with Remus when it's near the full moon, like a day before, and he's just all protective of potter!reader and won't even James near her. Sorry if it's bad.

hi there! it's not a bad request at all! I'm actually such a sucker for this trope (as you probably all know from this, this and this), that I took this in a different direction to try and avoid rewriting the same plot again [though I happily would!] ALSO I made this background prongsfoot I'm sorry [no I'm not]

Remus Lupin x Potter!reader who cannot be contained [795 words]

CW: siblings, everyone loves Remus, possessive Remus, I'm still struggling a bit with writers block so hopefully this isn't too terrible!

“Jamie please, for the love of all that is good in this world, hide me.” You squealed as you held onto your brother's ankles in a death grip and peered up at him from beneath the table you were currently crouched under with what you hoped to be your best puppy dog expression. 

“Why’re you hiding from your boyfriend this time, Trouble?” Sirius drawled as he bent down to peer at you from your brother's other side. 

You made a desperate sound in the back of your throat that sounded suspiciously close to a whine.

“You know how he gets this close to the moon.” You hissed urgently; every second your brother was not handing you the invisibility cloak and map, a second closer you were to being locked up in the boys dormitory for the next foreseeable future.

Were there worse things to be than held captive by your sweet, doting, lovely boyfriend? Absolutely, there were.

But- “and what? You Potter’s can’t be contained?” Sirius teased, interrupting your internal dialogue. “Is that it?”

“You know that’s it, you sod!” You spat as you swatted at his calf, earning you a retaliatory kick from your brother. 

“Oi! Just because you’re mad at your boyfriend doesn’t mean you have to be mean to mine.” 

“I’m not mad at my boyfriend, Jamie, I-”

“Better not be,” your brother muttered peevishly. “Moony is a delight.”

You let out an indignant scoff and levelled him with as severe a glare as you could muster from your place under the table. “If you like him so much, why don’t you volunteer to be held captive for the next few nights?” You sneered.

James slammed his hands on the table top and bent himself nearly in half to glare right back at you. “Don’t tempt me, bug; Moony is a fine specimen of a man and one would be lucky to be shacked up with him.” 

“I’m right here, Prongs.” Sirius sighed as he flipped to a new page of the Daily Prophet with a flourish.

“Was I wrong?” James asked in bemusement. 

“Well…no, but I’m still sitting right here.” 

“James, please.” You begged again.

“Is Remus even really that bad?” Lily asked from behind you, causing Sirius to scoff. 

“You don’t know the half of it, Red.” 

“He won’t even let James near me.” You explained tiredly, realising your mistake only when your response was met with silence.

“James… Fleamont… Potter, don’t you dare.”

“OI! REM!” He shouted over the Great Hall, and you launched yourself up at your brother from under the table - banged heads be damned - as you tackled him to the ground.

“You squealer, you are so dead!” 

“Moony- ow, Merlin’s tits - deserves better than you!”

“James!” Remus scolded then as he simply lifted you from your place atop your brother. “That’s an awful thing to say.”

“He’s horrid, Rem.” You pouted then, relishing in the disbelieving expression adorning James’ face. 

“You witch; she-”

“James, grow up.” Remus muttered then, pulling you tight against his body.

“She was just hiding from you, Moony! She was trying to evade your- your… nesting tendencies!” He accused defensively, causing Remus to snort.

“As she does every month. Is that all?” 

James made a desperate sound from the back of his throat as he looked at the two of you in disbelief.  “You knew she was hiding from you?” 

“Potter’s are notoriously difficult to keep contained and Remus is a smart bloke; it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together, babe.” Sirius drawled from his place on the bench, still casually reading his newspaper as if his boyfriend hadn’t nearly been victimised by his own sister. 

“Dove, you whacked your head hard… are you okay?” Remus murmured at you then, and you grimaced as you brought a hand to a point on your head that was starting to pulse a little bit. 

“It really hurt, Moons; I think it’s gonna leave a bump.”

“Well yeah.” He cooed at you at the same time James muttered a petulant ‘good’. 

“Jamie, I love you, but if you start a fight with Moony, you are on your own.” 

“I’ll ice it for you in our dorm, yeah?” Remus whispered as he pressed a kiss to your hair beside the forming lump as everyone ignored their squawking friend, boyfriend, and brother. 

And James had to watch from the stone floor of the Great Hall as you simply allowed Remus to guide you towards the exit by a gentle hand on the small of your back as you offered him a two-fingered salute behind you. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me?!” He screeched.

Sirius sighed as he finally turned his unimpressed gaze to James. “You should’ve given her the map and cloak, Jamie.”

[moonstruckme]

poly!marauders x drunk!reader at a party and reader needy but they don’t want to help reader because they don’t want to do anything when reader basically unconscious of what’s happening because reader is drunk. So they try to explain to reader that they will gladly take care of them after they get better and go to bed. Thank you!

Thanks for requesting!

cw: alcohol, explicit themes/language (? like no smut just want of smut haha)

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

At some point, your boyfriends had evidently decided that you’re not to be let out of sight. You’ve tried to go get another drink on several occasions, but no matter who you talk to, you always seem to end up right back on the Longbottom’s settee with one of the three of them. Now they’ve fixed you in Sirius’ lap, his hands spread firm and possessive over the curves of your hips to keep you from running off. Every time he shifts his leg even a little, the heat in your core intensifies. 

Now, he laughs at something someone says, body rumbling like a motor underneath yours, and you nearly whimper. You lean back until your head is on his shoulder. 

“Siri,” you murmur into his ear, “let’s go upstairs.” 

He turns his head into yours, smirking. “We are upstairs, sweet thing.” 

Oh. “Well, can we go somewhere else?” 

“Why, honey?” Sirius’ voice is smooth as always, and now it runs over your skin like velvet. You could almost shiver. “You bored?” 

You lean away just slightly so you can look him in the eyes, keeping your voice low. “I wanna fuck.” 

You watch surprise, then delight, and finally chagrin play one after the other over your boyfriend’s features. He presses a chaste kiss to the skin under your ear, repentant. “I wish I could,” he tells you, breath fanning over your neck and giving you goosebumps, “but it’ll have to wait.” 

“Why?” you whine. 

From the other side of the couch, James sends you an inquisitive look at the sound. Sirius pats your thigh consolingly. “It just will, baby. I’ll take care of you tomorrow, yeah? Let it go for now.” 

You don’t think you will. 

You start squirming in Sirius’ lap, trying to turn around so you can kiss him but not quite coordinated enough to manage it. As it turns out, your fidgeting is enough. His hold tightens on your hips, and he leans forward, murmuring a quiet “behave” into your ear. 

Your cunt pulses. Galvanized by this discovery, you repeat your new tactic, shuffling around on your boyfriend’s lap until his grip is punishing. You can feel the shape of his rings through the material of your bottoms. Sirius growls, and James’ head pops into view once again. 

“What’s going on over there?” he asks. 

“Sirius is being mean to me,” you whine before your boyfriend can get a word in. “He won’t let me move.” 

“I’ll bet.” James eyes Sirius’ flustered countenance, beckoning for you. “Come here, babydoll.” 

Sirius releases you into James hold. You notice him crossing his legs as soon as you’re away. James takes his boyfriend's trials as a cautionary tale, tucking you into his side rather than sitting you on his lap. 

“You’re in a troublesome mood, aren't you?” he asks fondly, rubbing up and down your arm. 

“M’not,” you object. “Sirius was just being mean. I didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Mhm.” His disbelieving hum purrs through your bones. 

You cozy up to James, looking at him through your lashes. The material of his jumper feels nice against your cheek. “You’ll help me, won’t you?” 

He laughs raucously. You’re about to scowl, but he pecks you on the crown of your head, saving himself. “Just to be clear, are you asking me to fuck you in Alice and Frank’s new house while you’re sloppy drunk?” 

You nod impatiently. 

“Yeah, that’s not happening, darling.” He delivers another kiss to the top of your head to soften the blow. “But I do think I can persuade Remus to take us all home, how about that?” 

Just as quickly as disappointment takes root inside you, hope blooms in its stead. You smile so hugely your ear pops. “Yes, please,” you tell James. 

He squeezes your upper arm affectionately before leaning over, conveying something to Remus with a look that you might normally be able to interpret but currently can’t be bothered to. They’re going to take you home. You know what that means. There, you can fuck louder and nastier and longer than you ever would’ve been able to if you were trying to be discrete in the Longbottom’s spare bedroom. You can’t get there fast enough. 

James stands you up, and there’s a flurry of goodbyes and niceties as your boyfriends shepherd you out the door. Or, you know they must all be with you, but it’s sort of hard to keep track of three people at once. You’re not completely sure whose hand is on your forearm as you descend the steps outside, or who wrestles you into their jacket when you shiver at the brisk night air. You lean contentedly into the loving touches regardless. 

Eventually, it’s Sirius who gets you settled in the backseat, worriedly making Remus take your hands in his so you don’t stick them in the door when he closes it. 

“You don’t think you’re going to be sick?” he asks, and you have the vague impression he’d been upset with you not long ago, but you can’t recall what for and there’s none of that in his demeanor now. He tucks a stray hair behind your ear, lips pursed. “I can run back in and get a bag for the car ride.” 

“No, m’fine.” You sit up extra straight to prove it, cheesing at him. “I’m excited to go home.” 

Sirius snickers and closes your door, but Remus cocks an eyebrow at you. 

“What exactly do you think is going to happen when we get home?” he asks. 

“We’re gonna fuck,” you say brightly. 

In the driver’s seat, James barks out a laugh at your crass language. Remus darts a look his way, looking like he might be biting back a smile of his own. 

“Dove,” he says, “we’re not doing that tonight. We’re going to have some water and go to sleep.” You must look crushed, because his smile turns near pitying. “You’re too drunk, sweetheart.” 

“But I want to,” you say brokenly. 

“If you wake up tomorrow feeling better, you can have whatever you want.” 

From the front seat, Sirius says, “I’ve tried to tell her this.” 

You make a plaintive whining sound, and Remus reaches around your face, pulling your head down to rest on his shoulder consolingly. “You’re being so mean to me,” you lament. 

“Oh, I know,” he coos, patting your hair. “M’the worst.”

[selfishdoll]

NOW PLAYING…. SWIM

So hard to ignore ya, keep your body open, swim

ARTIST! CHOSO x FEM!READER

sum. your poor roommate was stumped drawing the naked female body. pictures weren’t working and porn definitely didn’t help. so you did the next best thing, you modeled for him.

cw: reader is black (obviously), body image issues, modern au, choso & reader are 19-21, reader’s a little dumb, porn mention, ooc choso (this is my first time writing for him bare with me 🙏🏾), oral sex (f! receiving), overstimulation, soft dom choso, size difference, pet names, praise, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, roommates to lovers, slight possessiveness, pussy drunk choso(?), etc. unedited, please excuse grammar & spelling mistakes.

this was so rushed i’m sorry, but hope you enjoy it <3

The sweet sound of Erykah Badu surrounded the kitchen, soft murmurs of her lyrics traveling from your lips. Your eyes focused on the pan, sliding your spatula under the bacon strips with a soft hum— flipping them soon after. You were dressed in a simple random tshirt — probably your roommate’s — and shorts. So focused on your food, you became a little startled when heavy footsteps headed towards the kitchen, turning to spot Choso entering.

“Morning, Choso.” You spoke in a soft tone, glancing to see the man approaching the fridge, opening it and kneeling to inspect the shelves. He gave a soft morning back, clearly still tired. It was nine in the morning after all, and he typically spent his nights drawing or working. You knew nothing about being a artist, but it seemed stressful. You always felt bad watching his tall form drag into your shared home and to his room— or even the couch if he was tired enough.

“You want some breakfast.”

“No thanks.”

You pulled a sour face, placing the finished pieces of bacons onto a plate, reaching over for the carton of eggs. “You just woke up.. you should at least eat before drawing.” You were always so worried about him, from his sleeping habits to his eating ones; you were surprised the man was still walking on two legs. You stiffened as his large form brushed across you, reaching for a piece of bacon before turning to leave. You shook your head with a small smile, staring after him. “You know that’s not what I meant!”

After breakfast you had settled down on the couch, staring boredly at the random show you had selected. You turned into the soft halloween themed blanket, sighing softly to yourself as you stretched out upon the cushions. Your attention soon drifted away from the show, rather to the man you called your roommate. Breathing softly, you quickly realized something. You hadn’t seen the poor thing in hours.

Rising up from the couch, you slid your feet into your slides, walking towards the back of the house towards the bedrooms. You approached his door, knocking against it for a moment and softly calling his name. When you got no response, you grasped the door handle, turning it open and entering. Your eyes peered over the room; his bed unmade, black blankets and sheets disbelieved, random posters hanging on the walls, while his lanky form was hunched over his desk. You stepped fully inside, eyes widening a little. “Oh!”

His chair switched around, you now able to fully see the porn playing on his computer. To your relief, you hadn’t caught him doing anything scandalous. Instead, he looked quiet bored. You pursed your lips a bit, “Are you… watching porn?”

“Not pleasurably, no.” Choso muttered, clicking his computer to pause the video. He sighed a little, leaning back in his chair. You approached his side, glancing down at his desk to spot the many balled up papers and his opened sketchbook. The man watched as you lifted the book of his desk, you delicately flipping through the pages. Each one was littered with sketches of the female body, little notes accompanying a few. Others completely ruined by dark, harsh scribbles. You hummed a bit, leaning against his desk. “You’re trying to draw a naked woman?”

Choso nodded at your words, rubbing his hands up and down his pants. “I tried photos.. other sketches, and now— this.” He motioned towards the raunchy video on his screen, hands falling back to his lap in another soft sigh. “Nothing is working out.” He seemed a bit annoyed or rather depressed, a thought that saddened you just a tad. From the dates residing on the pages, it was clear he was working on this for a while. And while a few of the sketches looked good, you were sure they weren’t up to his professor’s standards. You placed the sketchbook back down with a little hum, thinking to yourself.

Until, possibly the greatest idea popped into your mind.

You placed your hands on your chest, turning to him with a sweet smile. “I could model for you! I’m sure that’s what you’re missing; something alive and in your face.” You watched as his eyes slowly widened, dipping across your form for a split second before rising back to your face. Choso sat unmoving, quiet as he took in your words. It begun to worry you when a minute had passed and he was still completely silent. You bit the inside of your cheek, hands falling to your sides. “Or… not?”

Choso seemed to finally breathe, blinking as his gaze turned away from you. “It’s uh.. You do realize you’ll be completely naked. In front of me. And I’ll be drawing you..” He spoke softly, slowly; assuring you heard every single word he uttered. He licked his lips hesitantly as you nodded with that same sweet smile. “It could take a while, [Name]. Plus I would be showing my professor this. Are you sure you’re comfortable with that?”

You nodded for about the umpteenth time, as if completely unfazed by this. “I don’t mind! You’ve seen me half-naked when I got drunk that one time and threw up all over myself.” You shrugged; smiling a little as you heard him snort softly muttering something like I remember that. Choso looked over his desk once more, looking over his options. Finally after a few moments he nodded, turning back to you. “Okay, sure. You need like.. ten minutes to get ready?”

Your eyes widened at his words, smile faltering for a moment as you brought your hands close. “Oh, oh! You want to draw me now?” The words came out in a soft waver, the situation finally settling into your mind. It seemed easy enough when you spoke about it, but now that it was about to happen? You weren’t so sure it was a smart idea.

Choso nodded at you, “Yeah. I’ve been working on this a while, I want to get it over with..” He spoke, staring down at the manilla colored pages for a moment before his dark eyes fluttered back to your face. “If that’s okay.”

“Of course! Yeah that’s fine. I’ll.. Ill just go get ready!” You forced a smile, turning on your heel and basically racing out of his bedroom into your own. Shutting the door behind you, you felt your heart drop to your ass. You really fucked up this time, you really just had to open your big mouth. Getting naked infront of your roommate? One that you’ve had a very, very small amount of feelings for? You wanted to shoot yourself just to get out of the situation. That would be much easier then saying you changed your mind and watching the poor artist delve back down his hole of stress and anxiety over his art.

You bit your lip, walking infront of your mirror; glancing yourself over. Your fingers curled under his your tshirt, yanking it off your body before moving onto your shorts and panties. Now completely naked you turned, grimacing a bit at prominent stretch marks etched upon your dark mocha skin. You wrapped your arms around your stomach, anxiety trickling down your spine.

What if he didn’t like what he sees? Probably would tell you nevermind, after seeing your body. Oh, you wanted to cry from that thought. Instead, however— you slapped your cheeks, the sting knocking you away from your insecurities. Everything was going to be fine. As nonchalant as Choso was, he wouldn’t comment on your body in a negative light. He simply wasn’t that type of person. So, with a different pep in your step; you approached your closet to grab your black silk robe, pulling it onto your body and securing it at your waist. You waltzed out of your bedroom with a false sense of confidence, approaching his open door and walking in.

Choso’s chair was now turned towards his bed which was now made, a silk blanket tossed across it. He was sitting waiting, sketchbook rested upon his lap as his leg bounced; eyes shifting to you the moment you entered. You gave a nervous smile, walking inside and taking a seat on the bed. “I’ve never modeled for anyone before, I hope I do alright.”

He smiled a bit at you, the tension of the room dissipating the moment he did. “You’re a smart girl, you’ll be fine.” Choso spoke, not noticing the way your eyebrows shot up at his words. Instead of speaking you simply nodded, hands coming to the knot infront of you. You delicately undid the robe, pulling it off your body and placing it off to the side. Once finished you brought your hands to your chest, legs pushed together as you glanced over at the man. Gauging his reaction— slightly disappointed it was unreadable.

“H-How should I pose?”

Choso breathed softly, straightening in his chair as his gaze switched over you. “Is it alright if I touch you?.. It’s easier then explaining.” He didn’t move until you nodded, standing up from his seat and walking towards you. He gently pushed on your shoulder, murmuring for you to lay across his bed. You obeyed, back hitting the soft silky blankets, dark colored braids fanning around your features. Your skin went warm as he gently grabbed your calf, bending your legs to lay your feet against the bed. The artist took a step back for a moment, looking you over once again before nodding to himself. “We can take a few breaks when you get cold or achy.”

“Okay..” You spoke in a sing-song tone, watching as he sat back down. His hands delicately grabbed his sketchbook and pencil, assuring he was at the middle of the manilla page before gliding the lead across it. You breathed softly, laying completely still as not to ruin the image— while also, trying to ignore his gaze. Which wasn’t an easy task. It was calculating, focused completely on your body and nothing more. Sketching you with his eyes and then his fingers, pressing the pencil into the paper. It was intense, and you felt as if you couldn’t breathe under it.

Moments of silence passed, his scribbling, soft swears, and brief erasing the only sound. You soon began to relax under his gaze, feeling your anxiety seep away from your body. With how comfortable the blankets were, you could almost fall asleep. Almost.

His soft swears and scribbles kept interrupting you, and eyes blinking open to spot the small frustrated look over taking his features. You frowned a little, tapping your finger against your collarbone and adjusting your hips. “Is something wrong?” You called softly, watching his eyes snap from the page and over to you.

“No its.. it’s fine.”

You pursed your lips, sitting up for a moment and reaching for your robe. “We can take a small break if you’re not.” You grabbed it, pulling it over your body lazily. You stood up from his bed, walking over to stand beside him. On the page were a few sketches of you, some started while others were scribbled out. You hummed a bit, “These look nice.. why didn’t you finish them?”

“It’s..” Choso sighed softly, rising the sketchbook up higher. He seemed to search for the words for a moment, finally looking at you. “I can’t focus.”

“Focus?” You questioned, squinting at the pages with a confused expression. You glanced back at him, giving a nervous smile. “You seem to be focusing just fine, you just have t..” Your words drifted off as the male set his sketchbook off to the side, standing up from his chair. You glanced up at him, sucking in a breath when you noticed how intense his gaze was. Before you couldn’t distinguish it at all, but now? Oh, you knew that emotion all to well— that desire swirling in his eyes. Your breath hitched as he came close, hand reaching towards your own and gently grabbing it. Your grip loosened, the silky black robe falling to the ground before you, revealing your body to him once again. He breathed the moment he laid eyes on your form, hands hovering as if scared to touch you.

“Can’t believe you allowed me to see you like this..” Choso murmured more to himself then you, lips dropping as if in awe— as if he was truly seeing you for the first time. His eyes couldn’t remain on one point, dancing across your form and soaking you in. You felt so hot under your skin, despite the fact he hadn’t laid a finger on you.

“Choso.. Please touch me.” You finally spoke, voice coming out in a small whine. His eyes snapped back to your face, gauging the way your pretty lips formed a pout. That was enough for him, enclosing his arm around you and tugging you into his body, planting his lips against you. The kiss was slowly and calculated, a hand of his rising to gently grab the back of your head; tilting it so he could kiss you how he wished. His tongue prodded your plump lips, slithering into your mouth as he pushed forward. The moment the back of your knees hit the bed he was laying you on it, large form hovering above you; a hand pressed beside your head.

Your hands slid up his covered arms, gripping his shirt as he somehow deepened the kiss, taking your mouth as his own; tongue curling around and sucking your own appendage. Moments continued of the sweet lip locking, pulling away when air was needed. Soft pants entered the room, Choso leaning on his hunches, hands carrying down your body to your thighs, bending your legs and spreading them. You breathed as his eyes traced your form, heat emitting from them.

“I wasted your time, [Name]..”

“Hm?” You blinked in confusion, hands falling from his arms and to the bed, tilting your head up at him. Choso glanced at your face for a moment before he came to lean over you again, sucking kisses into your neck.

“I’m never letting anyone else see you like this. Never. Doesn’t matter if I drew it or not.” The words flew from his mouth in a deep tone, tracing his canines across your skin. His kisses lowered down your body to the valley between your breasts, lowering to your stomach, and finally.. where you needed him most. His strong hands grabbed the underside of your thighs, spreading your legs open for him. Choso breathed heavily at the sight of you, leaning down to kiss your mound. The action caused you to twitch, glancing down at his fluffy buns between your legs.

A soft oh, escaped you the moment his tongue separated your folds, lazily carrying across. The action alone causes your hands to travel to his hair, fingers curling and gripping the moment his lips wrapped around your clit. He was so gentle; carefully sucking, tongue gliding across the sensitive bud as his hands gripped your legs. Choso pressed his face against your wetting sex even more, lapping you up— slowly getting drunk from your taste. The man couldn’t believe you offered to model naked for him, completely bare; across his blankets. And he definitely couldn’t believe his head was between your legs, eating you up as if you were his last meal.

The pleasure trickled across your body, eyes pinched closed as you struggled against closing your legs around his head. The feeling was far too foreign, far too much— you couldn’t think about anything but his tongue and his lips, pulling soft moans out of your body. Your hips rose into his face, smothering him with your pussy; a groan of his vibrating your body. The man pulled back for a moment, gaining his breath back before he was diving back in; tongue circling your clit, making you a mess. Your fingers began to ache from hard you were clenching him, gasping as you felt him rest your legs on his shoulders, hands now falling to your ass to grip you. Pulling you even closer.

His name fell from your lips in a sweet tone, back arched as your eyes were pinched closed from the pleasure. It didn’t take long for your end to build closer and closer, moving your hips along to expert movements of his tongue. The moment the appendage pushed inside you, however, you were lost; crying out as your came all over his face.

Choso gripped you tighter, lapping up your mess, ignoring the soft whines you exhibited from the sensitivity. He finally released you once he was done, pulling back and breathing as he leaned his against your thigh, eyes looking up at you. From the way you were panting; pretty lips parted with a glossy film in your eyes, he had half a mind to go right back between your legs.

Instead he rose over your form, hand grasping your hip as your legs hung loosely on his waist. He smiled at you, leaning down to kiss your chin. “So beautiful…I’ve always thought so. The moment we became roommates.” His words were kind, soft, a distraction to the hand carrying down your body until his two fingers curled inside you, pushing all the way down to his knuckles. He followed as you jumped from the pleasure, watching your hand wrap around his wrist. “Now I get to make you feel good.. get to see you all beautiful under me.” Choso murmured, leaning to kiss you once again. His fingers started a slow pace inside you, pushing against your velvety walls, stretching you open from the thickness of them.

Your legs shook, moaning into his mouth before breaking the kiss to gasp the moment you felt his thumb circle your swollen bud. “Choso..” You spoke sweetly, eyebrows pinched close nails digging into his skin as his thrust grew faster. As amazing as it felt to you; his strong, long appendages pushing you open— you needed more. Your eyes opened, leaning up to brush your lips across his own. “Need you..” You spoke against them, other hand coming to wrap around his neck. To your dismay, the man shook his head at you, continued to scissor his fingers inside you.

“Choso—“

“I’m not going to rush.. I don’t want to hurt you.” Choso spoke against your lips, curling his fingers up to brush across that spongy spot inside you. He smiled at the muffled whine that escaped you, sliding a third finger inside. “Be good.. just wait.” He promised, pressing his finger harsher against your clit, soft rubs turning into fast tight circles. The artist continued this treatment for a while, you feeling another orgasm approaching. Despite how close you were, the careful thrusts of his fingers stopped, pulling them out of you.

Despite missing the warmth, you watched in excitement as the man began to push down his sweats and boxers, breathing softly as his cock came into view. A lighter color than the rest of his body, heavy and long, reaching just below his navel. The tip was flushed a soft red, thick— sure to stretch got completely. The thought alone caused our legs to shake, warm flushed hot in anticipation.

Choso came close, crown of his length gliding across your wet heat; coating himself in your essence. The movement alone had the two of you hissing, his hands tight on your hips as he slowly rocked his own. Once he felt he was lubricated enough, he was using a hand to line up with your entrance, slowly pushing in. The man swallowed as he felt your walls clamp around him, hunching over your body as he breathed. His eyes looked you over, leaning down to gently kiss the pained expression away.

“Takin’ me so well, princess.. I’m almost there.” Choso whispered into your skin, slowly pushing the rest of himself into you— bottoming out. He shuddered as he felt you pulse and throb around him, attempting to keep his hips still, struggling entirely. He closed his eyes, placing his face into your neck, smiling when he felt your hands grip his shirt. Gentle kisses traced your skin, a hand massaging your hip to coax you into relaxing. Moments passed before he was sure you were fine, pulling his hips backs slowly and experimentally. When he pushed in, and you only moaned in pleasure rather than pain; he knew he was fine.

Rising away from your neck, the man pulled his hips back again only pushing back in with more much force then before. He watched in awe at the way your lips fell open, honeyed moans escaping you as he rocked into you. The man wasn’t lying when he said he found you beautiful the moment you became his roommate. He hated himself, actually. Knowing any glance at you and his cock was twitching, imagining what it would be like to be with you.. to touch you, to feel every single part of you. Choso truly hated himself for thinking of his roommate in such a way.

But, he was grateful you returned the sentiment.

The moment he was placing his weight behind his thrusts your soft mind turned into sharp cries, eyes rolling to the back of your skull as you held onto him for stability. You were losing yourself, succumbing to the pleasure he was giving you, opening your body to him and only him. “Ch..choso, fuck!” You keened out, legs shaking around his form. You gasped as he came closer, pushing deeper inside to fuck right against your g-spot. Your hand lowered to his stomach, the man catching your wrist to turn it— locking your fingers.

“I know, I know.” The man cooed, soft swears escaping him each time he plunged in and out of your wet entrance. He pressed your hand against the bed, watching the way you attempted to hide your face— causing a disgruntled sound to escape him. Choso released your hand, grabbing your throat gently to turn you to face him. He grinned down at your wide eyes, “Keep your eyes right here, focus on me [Name].” The artist’s words came out soft, a complete contrast to the way he was bullying your insides. Even so, you obeyed; staring up at him even as your eyes grew blurry from the pleasure filled tears that collected in your vision.

You felt a familiar pressure in your stomach, legs wrapping around his waist tightly as your moans became shaky. In the midst of your babbles of his name and swears, you informed him you were close, causing the man to chuckle softly. “Hold it.”

“Choso..” His name came out in a whiney drag, tears trailing down your cheeks to which he kissed away. Again, a completely sweet contrast to the way he was fucking you.

“I—I can’t.”

“You can.” Choso confirmed softly, angling his hips so he brushed against your swollen nub with each thrust. “I know you can.. be good and wait for me, beautiful.” He breathed, slamming into your before his words could even escape. Though you whined again, you quickly listened, holding back your orgasm— which much trouble given the way he didn’t let up with his thrusts.

Moments of torture passed, your mind lost to the pleasure but still holding on just a bit. Choso was close now, thrusts desperate and uncoordinated as his groans turned guttural, face falling into your neck. Just when you thought you would burst he rasped into your ear, “Make me a mess, princess.”

You listened instantly, creaming all over his length, walls clenching tightly around him. Choso stuttered, plunging himself deeply before releasing inside you, filling you to the brim; shaking as you milked him. Your mixed pants entered the room, his hips stilling as he simply laid on top of you. Your arms wrapped around him, breathing him in with an exhausted smile.

“Are you really not gonna use my model?”

You whined a bit as he rolled his hips, grasping your leg and hitching it close to him. Choso pulled back to glance at you, thumb caressing the stretch marks on your skin.

“You’re all mine. No one else is allowed to see.”

[moonchildstyles]

élan

élan part one: harry is a bodyguard by trade and y/n would do anything just to be left alone

wordcount: 18.5k+

cw: her dad is really mean tbh!! pls skip parts w him if you are senstive to that kind of thing!

—————

(Y/N) fought to keep her eyes focused in the dark of her father's office. The longer she sat there, listening to the shout of his voice, the easier it was to block it out as she waited for it to be over. She stopped listening when he went off on his tangent about how terrible she was (he loved to use the word selfish and anything he could think of to diminish her intelligence). He wasn't very creative anymore, these berating sessions feeling like a necessary task as opposed to a hurtful punishment these days. 

At least the interior designer he brought in last month had moved everything around, leaving his bookshelf behind his desk. This way, she could look over his shoulder and read the titles of his books. She was almost certain he hadn't read a single volume though he most likely told everyone that followed him in, that he had paged through each book more than once. 

"Are you even listening, (Y/N)?"

Perking up at the sound of her name, she nodded on instinct. "Mhm," she hummed absently. 

"What did I just say?" He was unimpressed—disbelieving. 

(Y/N) stayed silent. 

A heavy sigh fell from her father's lips. His eyes dimmed fro the angry fire she'd spotted before, leveling to disappointed embers the longer he looked at her. 

"This is what I mean, (Y/N)," he continued, harshly spitting out her name, "You don't care. Never have you thought about the consequences to your actions. You're too selfish to think of anyone but yourself!" The blaze sparked up once more as he flicked his gaze to the glossy tabloid splayed across his desk. "Can you even comprehend what this"—he gritted out the word, tapping his finger against the photo—"means for me? My investors are going to have my ass only Monday because you don't know how to control yourself for five minutes." 

She squirmed in her spot. Her gaze stayed locked on the tabloid cover. She was pictured with bitter features, her brows twisted in anger and eyes were ablaze. Her hand was outstretched as she dumped a full glass of rosé on Damien Moore's perfect, blonde head. Several angles were posted, documenting her gaped lips as she spat out venomous words while Damien looked on with seemingly innocent, wide blue eyes. The last in the series showed her walking out with the wine dripping down his features as he looked on in shock. A bold headline said: "Whore-mones or Another Drunken Rage?" 

(Y/N) swallowed as she took the scene in. 

Perfectly manicured nails clashed in her lap, the edges of her acrylics being worn dull from the restless ministrations. 

"Do you want me to fail?" her father prodded, unsatisfied with her silence. 

"It's not what it looks like—," she floundered, unable to keep her feelings out of it after looking at those photos, "He—Damien—" 

"It does not matter what happened, (Y/N)! This is what it looks like and that is what people are going to believe and what they are going to care about!" He seethed as he looked at her, (Y/N) unsurprised. "You're going to make us lose everything if you keep this up, do you understand that? Your apartment, everything you have in Paris, your stupid shopping sprees—you'll actually have to work if you want any of that. Did you think of any of that?" 

His harsh words slipped around her, filling every breath of air she pulled into her lungs. Any fight she had, any want to defend herself or give any kind of explanation, left her in an instant. "No," she answered, resigned. 

"I didn't fucking think so. You never think, anyway." 

(Y/N) just looked over his shoulder. Her gaze didn't shift even as his voice continued on, droning with insults and degrading remarks. 

She hadn't even known she was being photographed that day. There wasn't a single flash or shutter of a camera. The restaurant had even gone out of their way to assure them that no one would be able to slip inside without a reservation or loiter along the sidewalk in wait. 

But, inside sources and photographers always found a way, she supposed. Especially since it wasn't just her, it was her and Damien Moore on something that looked like it could have been a date. Of course paparazzi were going to find a way to get a photo of them together—anything to help fuel the rumors filling gossip pages and social media. 

This particularly source even went so far as to claim they were close enough to overhear the argument that sparked the thrown wine. Supposedly, (Y/N) had been seeing someone behind Damien's back (something that was impossible given the fact she had Damien weren't even talking like that, let alone in an exclusive relationship), and when he confronted her she blew up. She was so hopped up on her "whore-mones" as the headline so eloquently put it, and the obviously unfinished glass of wine, that she just had to throw the drink in his face. 

Because of course it was (Y/N)'s fault. Never could it have anything to do with Damien. He was the sterling Yale grad that came from the perfect family, while she was the "party girl" with divorced parents and a wild past. It was always going to be her fault, because that was more interesting than checking your sources. 

At least, that's what the "journalists" and "sources" said. 

It came with the territory, her dad had told her when she was freshly sixteen and photographers started waiting outside her private school. If you wanted to make the kind of money he made and be important in this world, there was going to be consequences, that's what he'd said when he saw the first photos of her and her friends having lunch on the quad. She was a pretty girl, anyway, of course there were going to be photos taken of her. She might as well take advantage of it instead of whining. 

She became a tabloid bunny before she had even turned eighteen, with every misstep documented on the internet and whatever publication bought the photos as exclusives. Because of that, this lashing was nothing to her. She'd "poorly reflected the family image" enough time to let her dad's words roll off of her. 

Her father was going to probably send her to the home in Malibu or whatever vacation rental was farthest from New York until he could stomach seeing her again. She'd happily take whatever location; it wasn't like she wanted to see him either. 

"(Y/N), we can't keep doing this." Finally focusing her gaze, she saw her father sitting with his eyes sealed closed, his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can't keep doing this." 

As much as she was numb to moments like these, it was when his anger melted away and she was left with a disappointed father that she felt cracks appear in her walls. The little girl inside still ached to see her daddy so upset with her; so disappointed he couldn't even look at her. 

"I'm sorry," she offered, something genuine lying beneath the deadpan tone. 

"I'm sure you are," he sighed, "But, that's not enough anymore." 

Rolling her lips between her teeth, lipgloss smearing across her pout, she stayed quiet.

"At this point, it's like you need a babysitter again. You can't be left by yourself and expected to behave." 

Not this again, she wanted to grumble. Her last "babysitter" was nothing more than an uppity handler that cared more about PR rather than her actual well being. 

Beginning to shake her head, (Y/N) tried to politely decline before he steamrolled over her. 

"I'm going to have to hire someone, whether you want it or not. A bodyguard, a handler, or something, just to follow you around and keep you out of trouble." 

Her lashes fluttered as her eyes widened at his plan. Her last handler didn't do more than text her throughout the day and meet with her once a week. He wanted someone on her back all the time?

"Don't you think that's a little extreme?" 

He still wouldn't look at her as he spoke, "Since you keep acting like a child, that's how I'm going to have to treat you." 

A slight panic sparked in the pit of her stomach. If she couldn't have her freedom, then what was any of this for? None of this—putting up with her father, allowing him to jerk her around, take his berating—was fucking worth it, then. 

"Dad, seriously," she tried again, her hands beginning to shake, "Those pictures aren't what it looks like, I promise." 

"And the others?" he asked sharply, whipping his gaze to match hers intently, "The one with you and Francesca sneaking out of a club at three in the morning when you were nineteen? The one of you screaming at Terra at her birthday party? Or, of course, the clips of you showing off your underwear while getting out of some random man's car?" 

(Y/N) shut down at the mention of her most famous and well photographed mistakes. He never bothered to get her side of the story to those photos either, he just liked to bring them up to taunt her. He'd rather believe an "insider" over his daughter. It didn't matter that she was his family. It only mattered what his investors thought, or the men at the country club, or whoever he was trying to cozy up to for his benefit. Every attempt to clear her name was thrown out; not even when she showed him that one of these insiders had found her home address and started sending her letters. Not even when she told him she was beginning to get scared did he even pretend to care. 

"That's what I thought," her father continued after she left them in silence, "Now, I'm going to have to hire someone to ensure you don't keep causing trouble, and you are going to respect them. If you want any chance of me letting this go, you're going to respect them more than you apparently respect me." 

She stayed quiet. There wasn't anything she could add to this. 

"Is there anything you want to say?" he pressed. A faux offer of debate. 

(Y/N) only shook her head. 

"Fine," he spat out, "Then go to bed. I don't want to see you for the rest of the night."

She was up and out of her seat immediately, not wasting a single second before her Dior heels were rapidly clacking over the cherrywood floors of her father's office. Her eyes were on the ground, watching the transition between the wood to the sparkling marble throughout the rest of the flawless Upstate mansion. Everything was high-end and fine, perfect and unburdened. It was full of everything her dad wanted her to be but she could never manage to be as well behaved as a lamp or as quiet as a Persian rug. 

Trailing through the labyrinth of staircases and sealed doors, (Y/N) beelined to her childhood room. It was left exactly how it had been when she moved out at nineteen. It had way too much gold and hidden compartments her friends made to hide liquor for their slumber parties. Her bed was too big with a mattress that was too stiff and sheets too starchy from disuse. 

Her dad never bothered to clear it out or even change a single piece of furniture—not because he cared or wanted her to have a space in his life, but because he didn't think of her enough to even remember this was here. 

Shedding her Chanel sweater and dropping her skirt to puddle at her feet, (Y/N) dressed down to her undergarments before stealing an oversized shirt from a film festival she and Francesca had been invited to at seventeen. The fabric was soft and worn as it fell to the middle of her thighs, the fit slouching and stretched just like it was all those years ago. 

That was all the comfort she could find as she slipped into bed, the sheets dragging across her bare legs. With her head cushioned by an overstuffed pillow, (Y/N) shuttered her eyes as she laid of on her back. Taking in deep breaths, she did her best to keep herself from shedding any tears. 

There wasn't a single reason she should cry over her father. There was nothing there for her to be upset over; none of his words sliced the way he thought they did, that father-daughter bond having been severed when she was way too young. Her efforts were better utilized trying to figure out how to get out of this whole thing. 

Aside from the fact she didn't want a handler—or whatever this babysitter's official title would be—following her around, she needed her freedom. Having the space away from her father's world was the only thing keeping her sane, even if she was barely hanging on. 

She'd been suffocated enough of her life, she needed to find a way to get this pair of strangling hands off of her neck sooner rather than later.

—————

"He literally arranged a flight for me to meet him in Greece, but he only ever messages me after ten like I'm a booty call or something."

Francesca's babbling complaints were some of her favorite things. It was fun hearing what the biggest problems in her life were, as if it was really such a bad thing to have a billionaire entertaining a romance with you. Even if it only occurred after ten p.m.

"Isn't there a time difference between here and Greece?" (Y/N) asked, the Prada and Dior bags in the crook of her elbow brushing against each other as she raised her hand to flick a strand of hair off of her shoulder. Summer was beginning to fall over the city, that much she could tell from the humid breeze twirling around them. 

"I mean sure, but that's not the point," Fran argued, breathing out a frustrated sigh, "It's like he doesn't think I'll ghost him if he starts annoying me. He's not the only one with a yacht, you know." 

"I know, bu—" 

(Y/N) was cut off by the sound of her phone vibrating in her bag, the device rattling against her lipgloss tube. Francesca paused her story, watching as (Y/N) pulled her phone out of her bag. Clocking the name on the screen, she had to keep from rolling her eyes. There had already been a photographer taking photos of them through the windows of Prada and she wasn't sure if they'd followed, but a picture of her rolling her eyes before answering the phone would surely be spun into something sensational.

"Hold on, it's my dad," she mumbled before pressing the phone to her ear. 

Without waiting for a greeting, her father brightened through the receiver with a call of her name. "(Y/N)! Are you still out with Francesca?" She could hear his smile through the phone. The investor meeting must have gone better than he thought. 

"Yeah," she answered absently, "We just finished lunch and shopping. I think we're going to go back to my apartment before we go out tonight. Why?" 

"Would you be able to come home this afternoon, instead? There's someone I want you to meet."

The lax in her muscles evaporated at his words. Though it was posed as a question, she knew there was only one answer he would accept. It was never a good thing when he wanted her to meet someone, but it was a required thing she'd learned. More often than not, he wanted her to meet an investor's son, or some man he drank too much with at the country club. 

Cautiously, she asked, "Who is it?" 

"It's a surprise," he beamed over the phone, "Drop off your things and I'll have one of the drivers come to pick you up." 

"I mean, I think Franny actually made reservations at—" 

This time around, her father's voice had a curt edge underneath the faux sweetness he started the call with. "I think you're going to have to tell Francesca that you need to reschedule, sweetie," he said, voice too pleasant, "I need you to come home tonight." 

Swallowing around her dry throat, (Y/N) resigned herself to the change in the day's plans. "Okay, dad," she muttered. 

"See you soon, honey! Love you!" 

(Y/N) didn't bother to reciprocate his performance, instead just hanging up. He wouldn't shout at her over the dropped call if someone else was present anyway, might as well take advantage she decided.

Beside him, Francesca looked at her with a matching pout. "You have to go home, huh?" 

"Yeah," (Y/N) breathed, dropping her phone back into her purse as they crossed the busy intersection, "My dad wants me to meet one of his friends or something." 

Francesca affectionately bumped against Y/N's shoulder as the car taking them back to her apartment came into view. "Well, if you don't like this one, send me his number and I'll take him off your hands. Just make sure he also has a yacht in Greece." 

Though her features stretched into a smile with a bubbling laugh, (Y/N) wasn't too impressed with Francesca's comment. While she was the best friend (Y/N) had ever had, the only person that knew much about what happened at home and why she would do next to anything to avoid her father, Francesca didn't get it. She supported (Y/N) and didn't mind being the listening ear and the shoulder to lean on, but she never really understood why certain things bothered (Y/N). Everything was very light-hearted in Franny's eyes—there was never a reason not to be receptive if a rich man wanted to buy her a drink or a company wanted to use her likeness without permission. Everything was an opportunity, not a crossed boundary. 

"I doubt he will," (Y/N) played along, setting her shopping bags at her feet after climbing into the black car, "But I'll make sure to put in a good word for you in case he has one in Florence." 

Francesca's laugh filled the cab of the car though (Y/N) was already back home with her father, trying to navigate her way out of whatever he planned. 

—————

"Thank you, Sully," (Y/N) chirped as her driver helped her step out of the car. 

"My pleasure, Ms. (Y/N)," he offered, waiting for her to steady herself over the gravel of her father's long driveway, "Also, I wanted to say thank you again for the clothing you passed on to my daughter. She loved her prom dress and is already asking her mom if she can get it preserved so she can keep it forever. Thank you for taking the time and picking some things out for her—it made her night." 

"Of course," she bubbled, allowing Sully to escort her to the front door of the mansion, "I'm so happy she liked any of it! Let me know if she needs anything else for graduation or anything at all."

The smile on his face made it especially worth it to let go of her favorite vintage Dior gown. 

Waving goodbye to Sully, (Y/N) stepped over the threshold of the front door, already regretting not fighting harder to get out of this. Goosebumps touched her skin as the temperature dropped. She shut the warmth outside behind her, the lock ensuring nothing comforting could follow her into the lion's den.

Despite the place being her childhood home, there was nothing left for her here, she knew that. It barely even resembled the same place she used to celebrate holidays and share tense family dinners in. Her dad's favorite interior designer had the pleasure of redecorating the place every few years, erasing anything that made it not look like a catalogue. 

Her heels clicked over the floors as she made her way up to his office. She wanted to take her time, but she was sure her father already knew she was there. It was better to refrain from keeping him waiting. 

Scaling the stairs, she heard a pair of voices and distant laughter. She didn't need to see the space to know her dad had probably cracked open the decanter of whiskey he had on display on one of his shelves, crystal glasses filled for the both of them. It wasn't hard to imagine the kinds of lines her dad would offer in an attempt to schmooze with whoever was waiting for her. She'd heard it all dozens of times at this point. 

The other voice, though, took her by surprise. This one was too deep and mature to be any kind of investor's son, and too sober and untainted by years of smoking cigars to be one of the men at the country club. Her steps slowed some. Her expectations shifted as she trailed down the hallway in the direction of the office, heels muffled by the long rug under her feet. 

With the heavy door to his office in front of her, (Y/N) carefully knocked on the panel, listening as the voices inside stilled at her disruption. Typically, her father would just grunt a permission of entrance or already be raging when she stepped over the threshold, but she knew he was committed to whatever show he was putting on when he opened the door for her himself.

"(Y/N), sweetie," he greeted her, toothy smile on his lips. "Thank you for coming so quickly; I know you were busy with Francesca, but I'm happy you're here." 

If that wasn't enough, the hug he pulled her into was more than alarming. The last time he hugged her when cameras weren't present was the day her parents told her they were divorcing.  She didn't even know how to reciprocate. 

Before she had a chance to screw her head on right, he pulled away and began leading her inside his office. 

"Of course," she chirped, falling into her designated role for this scene. She kept her gaze high as she followed him in, feigning confidence in the midst of whoever it was that was awaiting her. 

"I have someone special for you to meet," he continued, pitching his voice louder as to catch the attention of the one other in the room. 

Around his shoulder, (Y/N) spotted a head of brown hair, black clothing stretched around broad shoulders and tan skin on the back of their neck. They faced forward despite the obvious way her father was trying to catch their attention. Pacing her breathing, (Y/N) fell into the loving daughter character, willing to do anything for her doting father. 

Welcome to the show. She just hoped it would be a short viewing. 

Approaching the pair of chairs positioned before the cherry-stained desk, her father held out a sweeping hand. "Harry," he said, looking to his guest, "This is my daughter, (Y/N)." 

At the sound of his name, the guest—Harry—stood from where he was sitting, moving with calculated grace as he turned to face the both of them. He stepped away from the cushioned seats, a stoic expression on his features as he looked towards her. 

He wore all black down to his shoes, standing taller than her father's height. His arms and chest were thick with muscle, tan skin and tattoos littering the space. He had beetles and mermaids, hearts and roses inked across, some sketches more faded than others. A cross had even been needed into his hand. The chain of a necklace glimmered in the lowlight though any pendant that may be attached were hidden under the neckline of his top. Moving up the column of his throat, his face was made of hard planes and sharp angles. His nose was strong and straight. Stubble shown blonde in the light across the bottom half of his face, a mole off to the side of his mouth. Everything softened as she matched his eye contact, mossy jade with sparkles of sunlight flecked through. Long curling lashes framed his gaze. 

He was gorgeous, that's for sure. Not the usual kind of person her father associated with. He must be some kind of new money millionaire, easily fooled by her father's charms. 

The man took her in as well, his gaze observant as if there was a notepad he had in his head to take down every detail of her. It didn't feel like the affectionate gaze she'd felt before tracing down her body. Especially with the way his practiced expression stayed level, a wall hidden behind his eyes. 

Nonetheless, she kept her facade up and ready, a beaming smile on her face. She reached out her delicately manicured hand, palm smelling of the Miss Dior cream she'd rubbed over her hands on the car ride over. 

"Nice to meet you, Harry," she greeted, a mild smile on her face. 

His grip was strong as he grabbed her hand, palm to palm with callouses matching the soft parts of her own. "Likewise." 

(Y/N) couldn't help but to recoil some as she retracted her hand. It wasn't a new reaction, especially some people who met her after reading too much into the tabloid stories and anonymous blogs. Half the time strangers waited for her to drunkenly blow up on them. Though it wasn't a typical reaction from those who requested to meet her. 

Her father didn't seem to pay any mind to the chilled interaction, rounding the width of his desk to take his throne on the other side, leaving (Y/N) and Harry to settle beside each other across from him. 

"Remember when we decided you wanted extra guidance, (Y/N)?" her dad asked, bleached white smile on his face, "After everything with Damien recently?" 

Ice touched her spine as she took in his sticky sweet words. She knew where this meeting was going now. 

As much as he tried to hide behind the "we" words and his fake smile, (Y/N) knew this wasn't some investor sitting beside her now. 

Harry was her new cage. 

"I remember," she offered, her own voice sounding far away. 

"Well," he continued with a flourish leaning over his desk with his elbow propped on the wood, "Harry, here, is that guidance we were looking for.  He used to work for Camila and Monroe as their head of security, but he's agreed to be your personal bodyguard until you're back on track." He looked too proud of himself as he spoke. "He's going to take good care of you, sweetie."  

Bodyguard. 

Her personal bodyguard. 

When her father pitched this whole idea and sent her to her room like a child, she honestly figured it would be another handler he would find for her. While it wasn't ideal, she knew she could deal with a handler. She could deal with an uppity woman bossing her around from a distance; she could deal with painting a facade and adhering to her father's guidelines through a handler. 

But, a bodyguard—or personal security, as he so delicately put it—was a different story. 

Harry would be tasked with following her everywhere. He'd have access to her home, access to the person she was around her friends, who she was around her father. Downtime would no longer be a thing with Harry around—recovery and privacy being thrown out. 

Francesca had a bodyguard when they were teenagers. Though it was only over the summers when they weren't away at school, those months he was present were... odd to (Y/N). He wasn't a mean man, but he was always there. Franny wasn't as bothered as she was, but (Y/N) felt like there was no privacy—no space to talk to her best friend about anything. He was always there listening, watching, and anticipating any need for protection. She felt exposed in his presence, no secrets truly secret or downtime when someone constantly had eyes on them. 

If this arrangement was anything like that, (Y/N) didn't know if her sanity was going to survive these months. 

Despite her insides beginning to churn, her glossy-lipped smile stayed intact with stiff cheeks. "Wow! That's amazing!" 

Her performance must have been subpar if the way her father flashed his gaze at her, a glance that hardened a little too much. She needed to be trying harder, was what he was telling her. She wasn't being perfect like he wanted. 

"I've already warned him about your history of outbursts," her father said, a stealthy jab at her, "and we discussed everything with Damien. I think he's up for the challenge." 

It was an interesting feeling being called a "challenge" by her own father, knowing he must have shared much more degrading comments behind her back disguised as warranted advice. It was all preparation, he probably thought. A proper warning. 

She shoved that feeling down—whatever that feeling was called—and instead focused on her role. As long as she bubbled, chirped, and smiled, she could get out of this room sooner rather than later. 

"Good," she said, a breathy laugh floating out with her voice, "I'll try not to give you any surprises, then." Looking to Harry, she leaned into her persona and played along. He didn't glance at her once, keeping his gaze forward on her father as if he were watching a movie. 

"There won't be any surprises, actually, right (Y/N)?" her father said, a tad too sharp under his act. 

"Right," she settled, calming under the weight of the room. 

Silence settled over, neither she nor her father plucking up the words while Harry stayed an observing pillar. 

This was her opening. If she acted fast, she could get out of here before either of them could stop her. 

"It was really nice to meet you, Harry," she said politely, her fingers curling around the arms of her chair, "Thank you for coming to work with us. I actually have early breakfast plans with Fran tomorrow morning back in the city, so I should probably start hea—" 

"Actually," her father cut her off sharply, his eyes hardening as they landed on her, "I was hoping you would stay for dinner tonight, sweetie. After Harry and I finish ironing out his contract, I wanted to talk to you some more before he officially started with you." 

Instinctively, she wanted to fight him on this. Spending another night here less than a month after the last time she had a breakdown here wasn't on the top of her list of wants, currently. But, knowing there was someone here already expecting the worst from her, forced her to settle. If she talked back it would only reinforce everything her father probably spouted off about her earlier. 

"Okay," she smiled, standing to her feet before inching towards he door, "I'll wait in my room then and give you guys some privacy." 

While her father offered a small dismissal to her in the form of a stuff smile and a promise to call her for dinner, Harry didn't bother to look twice at her. She didn't waste a moment before she was rushing back to her room. She didn't care if they could hear the pacing of her heels over the floors, knowing she was all but running away from that room. 

After twisting the lock on her bedroom door, (Y/N) collapsed onto her bed. Her breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling a little too fast for her head to stay clear. Pinpricks of static began to dance on her palms, fingertips beginning to go numb. A hole began to develop in the pit of her stomach. 

This might be one of the last real moments of alone time for the next couple of months, and she was spending it on the verge of a panic attack. 

(Y/N) knew her dad didn't trust her, but to have someone on his payroll whose only purpose was to follow her around stung more than she was willing to admit. She wasn't a stupid child despite how much he wanted to believe that. 

Harry wasn't there to protect her, she knew that. He was a hired hand to put her back in her place every time her father wasn't there to do it himself. He was another body to crowd her into a corner and suffocate her as long as she kept smiling. Harry was another reminder that nothing was allowed to be hers; her thoughts, her time, her space was to be shared just like the rest of herself.

Besides, Harry might be the kind of person willing to sell stories to tabloids. Who better than someone tasked with observing her every mood to be an "insider"? It wouldn't be the first time a Secrets Edition came out about her. 

With her eyes fixed to a knot swirling in the marble flooring, (Y/N) tried to unlatch the phantom hands wrapped around her neck. 

What was going to be left of her if she was constantly going to be performing? 

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) fisted her hands in her lap, the hem of her Dior minidress caught in the fray. She needed to calm down. 

No matter what, she was still luckier than most people in this world. She needed to keep that in mind if she was going to keep her head on straight. She was going to figure this out, and she was going to be okay even if a tiny bit cracked at the edges. 

Curling up on her dusty bed, she leveled her breathing as much as she could despite the shuddering of her lungs. Every spiraling thought had to be neatly rolled up and put away.

A breakdown was probably on the list of banned surprises her father had in mind, anyway.

—————

Poking at her dry salad, (Y/N) watched the drops of condensation river down her glass of lemon water. Across from her, her father tore at his too-scorched steak, a side of hearty potatoes and glass of whiskey to compliment the meat. 

He hadn't said a word to her since she sat down, instead opting to focus on his tailored dinner while she was left with her pre-arranged salad. It was more lady-like, he'd told her once before, to eat like a rabbit. Leave the big things to men—they needed it after running the world, she'd heard him joke though she's sure it wasn't a joke to him.

As heavy as the silence was weighing on her, she wasn't going to be the first one to speak either. He was the one that requested she spend dinner with him, he was going to have to lead the conversation. That left only the clicking of utensils against the fine china plates. 

Suddenly piping up, (Y/N) lifted her gaze to her father's as he spoke, "You're going to have to start being nice to Harry, you know. He's not going away until I say, and I could tell you were being fake today. If you're going to lie, at least try harder."

As if her father wasn't the king of phony facades and fake personality traits. He was the one that shattered that illusion the second he couldn't hide his temper with her earlier. It didn't take much to notice he didn't actually care about her. 

Those hours in her room left her exhausted, though. She'd cried off and on until she finally convinced herself everything was fine and none of it truly mattered in the grand scheme of things; that her discomfort and fear was something minuscule enough to be pushed to the side and forgotten. She didn't have it in her to debate with him. 

"Yeah," she dejectedly agreed, running her fork through the leafy greens on her plate, "Sorry about that." 

Apparently, that was the worst thing she could have uttered with the way her father dropped his fork to clatter against his plate with his grip tightening on the handle of his steak knife. His jaw tensed, lips pinched. 

"I don't care how you feel about this, (Y/N)," he gritted out, "Don't think I don't mean that. You are going to show him some respect, listen to everything he says, and behave accordingly. Otherwise, he has full permission to correct you as he sees fit. And, he will tell me every time he has to correct you, so keep in mind that any kind of punishment he gives—mine will be ten times worse." 

She didn't doubt a word he said. If this was the kind of conversation he and Harry had after she left the room, there was no telling what kind of person her new security had to be to agree to a job with terms like these. She lacked faith in just how fairly he would "correct" her if his thoughts aligned with her father's. 

"Okay," (Y/N) mumbled, all the fight in her gone for the day. 

Her father sighed, disappointed as per usual. "This is going to be good for you," he told her, condescension tainting his tone, "I know you don't understand that now, but it will be. I just want you to settle down and stop giving people something to talk about. There's no reason to act like that if you want attention. You're pretty enough, people are already looking—there's no reason to be a bitch, too." Picking up his fork, he steadied his steak as he sliced off another too-tough bite. "Your life could be so much different—Damien might even take you back if you just apologized." 

The ice cubes in her drink slid against one another, melting in her water. "Okay." 

Chewing down his bite, her father took a long pull from his whiskey. 

"He starts with you on Friday. I told him to take a look at your apartment and make sure there isn't anything or anyone that isn't supposed to be there." His pointed gaze landed on her over the rim of his glass. "I will hear about everything, please remember that." 

His thinly veiled threat swept over her with nothing more than a meaningless brush. She kept her eyes on the drip of water traveling down the side of her glass. A melting ice cube clinked against the side. 

"Okay." 

—————

Phone pressed to her ear, (Y/N) flipped through her mail while Francesca bubbled in her ear. No matter how hard she tried to condition herself to be the same, Fran was always a much better morning person than she. 

"When do you see him again? Do you know yet, or is that a mystery, too?" Francesca was a little too excited to hear how inexpressive Harry had been in her father's office. His stoic coldness translated to mysterious heat to her. 

"My dad said he was supposed to start today, but I'm not sure. I woke up early and made an extra smoothie just in case, but he still hasn't shown." 

The envelopes in front of her were nothing but junk so far, her attention waning. 

"Ooh!" Francesca sang over the phone, "I'm so excited to meet him! We're still on for brunch this Sunday, right?" 

(Y/N) faltered where she stood, hands pausing on the collection of mail. "I don't know, Fran," she muttered, shifting her weight over the tiles of her kitchen, "I just—... He'd have to come with me." 

"I know, that's the point!" she bubbled, "You said he was cute and young, I want to meet him." 

"I know, but I wanted to talk about stuff, you know," (Y/N) pointed out. 

"And we will! You remember Barry from when we were in school, right? I promise you, your guy isn't going to care about anything going on as long as you aren't in danger," Francesca continued, referencing her security form when they were young. 

Sighing, (Y/N) wanted to correct Franny. Harry wasn't going to be eyeing out any suspects or worst case scenario moments, not if he was following her father's directions. He would be listening in and watching her for any and all infractions she could commit, including any topic of discussion that might be considered unbecoming. 

Francesca must have picked up on her lingering reluctance through the phone. "(Y/N), please," she pouted, "I know you're stressed and all about everything, but I don't want this to take you away from me. You can still live your life, you'll just have an extra shadow. That's all." 

A beat passed before she felt herself resign. "Okay, but if today is weird with him, I might be calling and cancelling." 

"Okay!" she squealed out, feeling as if this was her win no matter what, "Just keep an open mind today, and have fun!" 

"I'm sure I will," (Y/N) laughed, "Love you." 

"Love you, too! Bye!" 

With that, the call went dead leaving (Y/N)'s previous scroll through instagram lighting up her screen. Locking her phone, she took a breath to take a sip of her purple smoothie, hoping the addition of matcha and cherry juice this time would tap into some of her stress points and calm her. 

She kept up with her chosen routine for the morning, rifling through the remains of her pile of mail. Under a few more loose pieces of mail and catalogues was a navy blue envelope, stamped with silver starts and sparkling script spelling out her name. A faux wax seal laid the flap shut but gave away easily under a slight pick against the edge. Inside was an invitation to the annual 132 Gala—a benefit for the art gallery of the same name—she'd attended for the last couple of years, the dress code detailed out along with an RSVP request. Honestly, as much as she and her stylist had been anticipating the event, she almost forgot about it in the midst of all the variables entering her life. She was going to have to touch base with Dom to ensure he still had an idea in mind for her gown before she made any commitment. 

With the invitation being stowed away for later, a few more pieces of mail were thrown in the trash until she reached the final slip in the stack. She sighed when she spotted the familiar computerized script on the front. It was crumpled and creamy as opposed to a clean white. She was sure that if she had picked it up earlier in the week it would have still had that distinct woodsy scent as opposed to smelling like the inside of her mailbox. 

(Y/N) didn't need to peel open the flap to know that inside there would be a stack of glossy photos of her along with a typed letter. She knew there would be photos of her this week entering her apartment, going out with Francesca, driving to her father's, and the infamous event with Damien. Some of those photos would no doubt end up in a publication or posted along with a too-long article analyzing her outfit or body language. They always did. 

Without opening the envelope to verify her suspicions, (Y/N) bent to lay this letter with the rest in a drawer filled with junk and things she wanted to ignore. After pushing the drawer closed, she wiped every thought about her "admirer" from her thoughts. They weren't allowed to occupy her brain when there were much more pressing things to worry about. 

Flicking her gaze to the time blinking on her stove, she had to keep from rolling her eyes. While she wasn't much of a morning person, she couldn't believe her dad would allow someone to start a work day—no matter how informal—after nine a.m. With the time blinking well past ten in the morning and the sleep officially having been wiped from her eyes, she was growing unimpressed with the fact she was still waiting. 

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) centered herself, leaning back against the lip of the counter. She knew there was no reason to be upset with Harry, it wasn't like she had any say in his schedule nor was this lag truly disrupting anything for her. Her anxiety was beginning to manifest in ways she wasn't proud of and weren't helpful in any way. 

She thought some early morning yoga and a string of meditative poses would help settle her, work out that energy, but obviously none of that had the desired effect. Every time she tried to picture even what this Sunday's outing was going to be like, she wanted nothing more than to hide away and keep from encountering anyone or anything. It would be easier that way, she figured. That way she wouldn't have to explain who Harry was or why she needed any kind of security. 

Francesca was right, though. She knew that. Staying holed up and avoiding the world wouldn't do anything to get her father off her back. If it went on too long, eventually her father would begin picking out events for her to attend, and that was always a much worse outcome than just leaving her house on her own. 

Breathing the way her therapist from her teenage years taught her, (Y/N) centered herself as best she could with her bare feet on the cool tile of her kitchen. The chilled glass with her smoothie was slick against her palm, condensation dripping down the crystal. 

Everything was going to be fine. 

A buzz coming over the intercom knocked (Y/N) out of her head, her eyes flying open with her hand almost letting go of her smoothie. A stunted breath exhaled from her lungs as the moment she'd been waiting for laced together. 

She knew that was Harry waiting to be buzzed up to meet her for the second time. 

Forcing her head to clear, (Y/N) fell easily into her role of bubbly socialite. She had nothing to be afraid of, she told herself, it wasn't as if he was going to find anything her father would be ashamed of. She wasn't even his top priority, she reminded herself, her father and his company were Harry's clients, not (Y/N).

Pressing the small button on the stainless steel panel beside her front door, she dipped close to the microphone. "Good morning, how can I help you?" she asked as if she didn't already know what the answer would be. 

"Good morning, Ms. (Y/N)," answered the doorman from the lobby, the usual quiet settling in the background as he spoke, "I have a Mr. Harry Styles waiting down here for you. He said he's a part of your security team." 

"You can send him up, please," she replied, forcing a chirp to her voice. "Thank you, Claudio!" 

"Of course, Ms. (Y/N)," was all she heard back before the static went dead. Claudio was always a bit cold to her, but he never let any of the lurkers into the lobby so she'd take what she could get. 

The waiting game started again after the brief intermission, leaving (Y/N) in the silence of her apartment. She was suddenly too aware of the silk of her pajamas brushing her skin, the intricate threading on the hem of her shorts too heavy now. 

Lucky enough for her, it wasn't too long before she heard a knock reverberating through the door. It was firm and short, matching the man on the other side. 

A shot went through her system, a moment of static hitting her brain. She'd gone through worse bouts of anxiety and stressful situations, there was no reason to get worked up over something—someone—like this. 

With her mask on, complete with a reserved smile and detached gaze, (Y/N) opened her front door. The hinges glided like butter, welcoming Harry in where he stood in the hallway. 

Dressed in all black as she was starting to figure was his signature, he was waiting with an observant gaze being cast through the corridor. This was one of the few penthouse floors in the building leaving a bare space between where the elevator was stationed before leading to her front door. 

"Good morning," she told him pleasantly, "Come in." 

With a flourish, she stepped to the side with a space cleared for him to step into her apartment. 

"Good morning," he said, a slight smile on his features that appeared for a flash before he was back to his stoic state, "Thank you." 

Harry stepped in, acting as a dark spot with his fitted black t-shirt and trousers of the same shade against the understated hues of her home. (Y/N) locked the door behind him before turning to face him once more, a pleasant smile on her face. 

"How are you?" she asked, her voice even and warm despite how detached she felt. 

"Good, thank you," was his abrupt response, no followup about her own well being for the morning. He cast his gaze around her apartment, taking every corner and curve. She wasn't even sure he had properly looked at her at all since coming here. 

"Good," she said, trailing off awkwardly into the space around them. What kind of small talk do you make with a member of your security team? Especially one that didn't seem too keen on knowing their client. 

Leaning against her front door, she waited as he observed everything. He looked at her couch the same way he had looked at her days prior, as if he was compiling a list of all its attributes and deciding whether it not it had anything of value within. 

It was an odd feeling; she typically wasn't so blatantly compared to furniture to her face, that was usually left to the tabloids and internet trolls. 

Seeming to remember that she was still there, Harry stopped his game of finding everything in the room. He settled his eyes on her, a pointed look with a small pinch to his brows. 

Taking him in for that moment, she was reminded of just how pretty he was. He didn't look like the kind of man that would be guarding the models and gorgeous people, he should be one of the YSL or Gucci models that needed protecting from the crowds of people trying to get a closer look at him. Off-duty model, she figured would be the name of the article that Vogue would write about him, full of street style photos of him. 

With the green of his eyes meeting her own, he didn't waver where he stood. "Jus' go about your day like normal," he instructed her, arms crossed over his chest, "I want to learn your habits and your space first, but if you need to do anything out of the norm, let me know." 

"Okay," she sounded, voice quiet to her own ears. 

As much as she was sure she was meant to completely ignore him, she still felt odd crossing through her place towards her kitchen. She finished her smoothie and had left her blender and other supplies in the sink, so she could at least do the dishes maybe? At least that way her hands would be busy without plucking at her manicure.

Filling the sink with water, she did her best to treat Harry as nothing more than a shadow. To be fair, it wasn't that hard given the fact he barely made any noise as he traipsed around. It brought back memories of the way Barry used to hover around she and Franny when they were teenagers; it was easy to not pay too much attention to the extra body in the room, but her muscles never fully relaxed. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw him poking his head up the stairs to where her bedroom was, casting his gaze towards her ceiling, catching a view out her various windows as he went around. He was a perfect shadow dressed in black, but he seemed a bit too unimpressed for a neutral being. 

Harry stepped into her kitchen, the rubber soles of his shoes silent over the sparkling white granite flooring. "Do you have any kind of security system set up here? Cameras or anything like that?" he probed. 

Humming, (Y/N) picked up the rag she placed out for drying. "The building has some of those alarms installed with the codes and everything and there's the guys downstairs, but I don't have cameras set up in here or anything." 

Perpetually unimpressed, Harry only let out a, "Hm." 

She fixed her eyes onto her pink onyx countertops, tracing the swirling white lines in the faint pink of the stone. Why did he even care, she wanted to ask. What good would cameras in her home do when she was a nuisance outside of these walls? 

Watching as he headed down towards her guest rooms, she felt her tongue moving before her brain allowed it. "What are you looking for?" she poked, her question simple as he kept drying her dishes before placing them in cabinets. 

It wasn't like she was hiding any of the drugs or alcohol her dad surely warned him about, telling him to seek out and destroy before truly starting his job. If that was what he was toeing around her home for, he was going to be disappointed.

He didn't even turn to face her as he called back down the hallway to her, "Nothing in particular. Jus' noting things as I go; vantage points and the complete lack of any useful security around here."

Propping her hip against the lip of the counter, she let out a small sigh. Her hands twirled the rag she had used to dry her dishes, gaze following after her new security detail. 

"You don't have to pretend, you know," she started, saving them both some trouble by starting the conversation, "I know my dad didn't hire you to protect me or anything. He wants you protect the public, and his business from me." 

His ghosting footsteps came to a stop where stood down the hallway. He was in complete control as he turned to face her, that usual placid look molding his features. "Last I checked, you were my client. Not the public or your father's company." 

"But he's the one that's paying you," she countered, unwavering from the point she was trying to make, "I just don't want you to waste your time pretending to find something to protect me from." 

That deadpan look never changed from Harry's face. "'M not pretending, 'm doing my job." He paused only for a moment, his gaze bored and heavy on her skin. "Let me know if y'decide to go anywhere." 

That was the end of the conversation as far as (Y/N) was aware, Harry turning and leaving her as he went about doing whatever it was he considered to be his job. She didn't try to stop him again. If he wanted to waste his time, he could do just that. Not her problem, anymore.

Draining her sink, (Y/N) crept through her apartment to settle upon her plush couch. Clicking her television awake, she fumbled through streaming services until finally tuning into a rerun of a cooking show she was fond of. Though she couldn't quite sink into the cushions or yell to the T.V. as the contestants didn't see the obvious win she did, at least he wasn't right behind her. 

—————

"No, dad, I didn't give him any trouble yesterday." 

(Y/N) could practically hear the eyeball through the phone. "You know he's going to tell me, right? Lying won't change anything." 

It was her turn to give a petulant reaction, lashes fluttering as she almost got her eyes stuck in the back of her head. "I'm being serious. I'm not hiding anything, and I haven't even gone out or anything. There's been nothing to get upset over, dad." 

The trademark sigh of disappointment fluttered through the speaker. "What's the point of having a bodyguard if all you're going to do is stay home, (Y/N)?" 

"I'm going to brunch tomorrow with Fran and the girls," she countered, feeling her blood pressure rise over his argument. She was damned if she went out and was seen, damned if she stayed home and out of the public eye. She couldn't win. 

"Good," her father said, sounding all too pleased as if these plans were his doing, "I want him to see how you act in public, then we'll be able to start working on your problems." 

There was no argument she was going to give after that. She wasn't going to reward him or validate his claim that she is the problem. Because of course she was; it was never the photographers hounding her the second she turned sixteen, never the men around her that treated her like a tabloid bunny there for poking and prodding, and never him who didn't think to be a father for longer than it took for a flash of a camera to capture the moment. 

Dead air settled between them, (Y/N) pressing her phone to her ear with the help of her shoulder as she began to collect ingredients for her dinner. Her way of ignoring him came in redirection, instead focusing back on Harry, his new favorite person. 

"Harry thinks I should get a security system at my apartment," she offered, hoping the mention of his name was enough to get her father's head turning elsewhere. 

The beat that passed after her words showed she garnered the opposite reaction. "Did you tell him about those letters, (Y/N)?" he asked, voice hard as stone. 

Her lips thinned. "No." 

"Good. Don't." It didn't take much for (Y/N) to picture the way he was surely hanging his head over his dinner, perpetually disappointed in his only child. "Do not waste his time over those. Plenty of people take pictures with you, and if I find out you're having him worry about the one person that's actually a fan of you..." he trailed off as if she didn't know exactly what threat was about to leave his mouth, "I'm going to send you to stay with your mother." 

"Right. I won't." 

His worst punishment was always to push her off on others. The nannies she bonded with growing up, different boarding schools and summer programs, anyone that was willing to glance at her for longer than five seconds was in the running to take her off his hands. Her mother was always his favorite to threaten her with as if he knew where she was. 

(Y/N) didn't bother to listen to him anymore when it came to these moments. While she knew he'd never—could never—follow through with this particular threat, it was more than a little disheartening that he'd consider her calling for help as something that deserved a punishment. 

"Well," he started, speaking around his mouthful of whatever his chef had prepared for the night, "if I don't hear from Harry, I'll be calling you to see how tomorrow goes. Don't embarrass yourself, (Y/N). It's not worth it." 

"I know," she answered absently, her voice bored, "Goodnight, dad." 

"Night." 

Pulling her phone from her ear, (Y/N) focused on preparing the zucchini for the pasta primavera she'd been craving. Her thoughts turned methodical now that she had something structured to give her attention to. It was much easier to think when she wasn't firmly planted in her stubbornness and trying to ward off the kind of anxiety she hadn't felt since she was a teenager. 

Harry had gone home late into the afternoon yesterday, and didn't return today. He didn't tell her anything other than he'd see her on Sunday morning for brunch, but she had figured he'd have paid her another visit in the meantime anyway. It was an odd arrangement anyway, as far as she could tell. 

Stretching her memory back, Francesca's security was always there. Even when (Y/N) would spend the night or go away on trips with family, Barry was a constant shadow. The pool house in their backyard was his, an extra room for every rental or new vacation house taken into account so Francesca was never without her bodyguard. While she hadn't really wanted this, she figured Harry would be the same way—his services a button away in case of any kind of moment in need from her. 

He hadn't even taken her number down when he was over. 

It had only been a suspicion before, but perhaps her dad really had been honest with Harry: there was no real danger surrounding (Y/N), just her as the problem that needed fixing before interacting any with the public. There would be no reason for him to watch over her as she slept or be available to any emergency that might appear in his absence. 

Whatever, she figured, sliding the half-moons of her zucchini into a bowl. At least she cleaned out her guest room, something she'd been meaning to do.

(Y/N) was going to take her time alone as if it were gold. She had a feeling tomorrow was going to be rough enough without a bad night's sleep. 

—————

Swimming to the surface of sleep, (Y/N) was half aware of the sound of the static buzzing coming through her apartment. It was far enough away, the buzz panel situated by the door, that she could ignore it easily as she shifted between her sheets with her eyes cinched closed. Brunch wasn't for a few hours anyway, she knew that, and if any of the girls needed her they would have called prior. 

Soon enough the buzzing ceased, allowing her brain to fuzzy further and to retrace her steps back to her dreamland. Whatever that was, wasn't an emergency, then. 

Until the banging knocks started. 

These, she wasn't able to ignore. Forcing her eyes open, she reached for her phone on her night stand. No missed calls or texts filled her notifications, but the time of seven a.m. reflected at her. There was only one person who could be giving her this wakeup call, but there was no reason for him to be here already. 

With no contact to reach out to see if it was Harry waiting for her, she just had to trust that the doormen downstairs wouldn't send anyone up that they didn't recognize or who wasn't on the list to be cleared for her penthouse elevator. 

Her hair was a mess on the top of her head, tangled and falling out of the braid she had twisted for the night, eyes crusted with sleep in the corners, and limbs shaking from the abrupt pull from her sleep. The only clear thought she had was that she was goin to have to give him the access code to her apartment or a key after this; early morning wakeups like this were something she was ever going to be happy about. 

Swinging the door open for him during a pause in his banging, (Y/N) barely looked at Harry before she was trying to usher him in with a sweep of her hand. 

"Morning," she grumbled, voice sticky in her throat. 

"Morning," Harry reciprocated, "Are you ready?" 

"What?" she asked over the click of her lock going back into place. 

"I thought you had plans to go out with your friends this morning." His voice was bored as if he couldn't believe he was having to remind her of her own agenda.

"Yeah, for brunch," she added, "We don't have to leave for a while." 

"Hm," was all he had to offer in response. Unimpressed. 

(Y/N) didn't have it in her to care whether or not he liked brunch or thought she was silly for whatever reason. She was too tired, and her bed was too soft. 

"I'm going back to bed," she told him, edging towards the staircase to her bedroom, "You can do whatever you want." 

A beat passed before Harry offered an acknowledgement in the form of a hum. He was much more interested in investigating more of her home, she figured with the way his eyes traipsed through the space. 

The second her head hit the pillow in her bedroom, (Y/N) happily relaxed into the mattress. 

While there was a part of her that felt odd knowing that there was someone else in her home, settling in while she was elsewhere, there were other parts of her that didn't mind it all that much. She'd never felt lonely before, but she also never had known what it was like to have someone else around like this. 

Even if he was being paid to, it was nice to her soft, sleep-molded brain that he'd care if something happened while she slept.

That thought made it a little bit easier to fall asleep again. 

—————

Standing before her bathroom mirror, (Y/N) sharpened her features and pouted her lips at her reflection. With her hair pinned back and a silky robe draped over her body, she looked every bit the dreamy socialite she pictured herself as in her teens. Except for the wreck that was her makeup so far. 

Breaking her pose, she let out an annoyed grumble as she took a closer look at the section of eyeshadow that just wouldn't blend out. She felt like a toddler having a tantrum the way she wanted to stomp her foot on the ground and throw her makeup brush and eyeshadow palette away. 

Everything had been going perfect until she decided to daringly dip into a slightly deeper shade than she was used to on her eyes, and now she was stuck with a semi-sweet chocolate blob on the outer corner of her eye when she was hoping for a milk chocolate fade. And, she didn't have time to redo anything. 

Life could be so unfair sometimes. 

From down the hallway, she heard footsteps glancing over the flooring towards the bathroom. Moments later, Harry appeared in the mirror behind her, something a little more urgent than she was used to in his gaze but just as serious and uninviting as she remembered from this morning. 

When he didn't say anything, only tracing his eyes over her bathroom, (Y/N) piped up, "Is everything okay?" He hadn't come to see her once since she woke up. 

Catching her gaze in the glass, he said, "I heard you." 

"Sorry," she started, dropping her eyes to her palette of neutral powders, "I'm just annoyed right now. My makeup looks dumb, and I don't have time to redo it." 

Harry relaxed some where he stood, his arms dropping from across his chest as he leant against the doorjamb. The observations never stopped, even as she resumed trying to blend out her makeup. 

"I thought you had people to do that for you," he said, brows furrowing just a pinch. 

(Y/N) shrugged, fluffing a creamy shade over the deep mass in hopes of lightening the whole thing up enough to go out for a morning. "Sometimes; usually for really important things. Otherwise, I just like to do it myself." 

When the makeup cooperated, anyway. What she wouldn't give to have the hand of a makeup artist here to fix her mistake.

"Oh," Harry sounded behind her, silence settling between them. 

Expecting him to leave then, (Y/N) refocused on her eye makeup only for Harry to linger in the doorway. He stood there in his too-pretty glory, watching her as she worked. She felt as if each of her moves were being dissected, analyzed and broken down as if there was a chance he would have to step in. She guessed that technically was his job, though she could argue there might be much better things for him to do rather than watch her blend eyeshadow and bobby pin her hair to perfection. 

Once she had her face applied, extra blush and fluffy lashes added in hopes of distracting from her most disastrous shadow look to date (at least that's how she felt in the moment, but she was sure there were photos off er teen years that would love to beg to differ) and hair styled down to the single strand, she was left with her short robe on and her outfit picked out in her closet. Harry's eyes had documented each of her moves, grazing along her skin and observing every stretch. 

Finding that gaze in the mirror, she looked at him with a mild expression. "I just need to get dressed then we can go." 

Harry blinked at her. "Okay." 

That was all he had to say before she was left to head to her room. 

—————

Stepping through the lobby of her complex, (Y/N) couldn't help but to scope out the street as much as she could through the tinted glass doors of the entrance. Waiting on the curb was the all black SUV she called with pedestrians scattered along the sidewalks and recklessly stepping onto the street. All she was looking for was anyone lingering a little too close to the building with too nice of cameras to be normal. 

She'd always been a little cautious leaving her building once the address to her complex had been leaked, paparazzi having camped out for a week afterwards in hopes of catching her off guard, though now that Harry was going to be stepping out with her another layer was added. She could already imagine the headlines and blog posts that would be made when others caught wind of the fact she was seen with a member of the opposite sex. 

Some of her favorites loved to recount her "relationship timeline" as well as call into question her "body count" and how long this new "beau" will last. She was dreading reading those words again; it was bad enough when she actually liked one of those people in those photos with her, but Harry's new job required his presence around her. He couldn't even leave this narrative if he wanted to. 

Staying focused, (Y/N) gave a wave to the doormen standing behind the front desk though their stony faces didn't sway. Harry was quiet at her side, allowing her to take the lead as she took them out onto the street, a blast of air hitting them once the seal of the doors was pushed open. Outside, no one paid her any mind, her driver being the only person that acknowledged her with a grin on his face. 

"Morning!" she chirped, feeling more relaxed now that he was nearby. 

"Morning, (Y/N)," he greeted, opening the backseat door with a flourish for her. His gaze only shifted for a moment to her companion, but she knew he was much too polite to ask for details about any of her guests. 

Setting one foot inside, (Y/N) hesitated as she looked around the SUV door to Sully. "Sully, this is Harry," she started, tossing her hand in Harry's direction, "He's my new bodyguard"—her tongue felt odd around the word—"Harry, this is Sully. He's my primary driver." 

Sully gave her a momentary look the second he heard the word bodyguard. Out of most people in her life, he knew her almost better than Francesca, so he knew just as well as she did that a security detail wasn't something (Y/N) was in need of. Nonetheless, he kept his polite smile on his face when addressing Harry. 

"Nice to meet you, Harry," he said, offering a gentle hand out to shake. 

"Nice to meet you," Harry said with a gruff anchor to his voice. 

That was all that was shared before (Y/N) stepped into the car, Harry following behind her. Though she was sure Sully felt the same way she did about the situation, he didn't let any of it show when he took his spot in the driver's seat, his eyes meeting hers through the rearview mirror. 

"The new place still, (Y/N)?"

"Yes, please," she answered, a soft smile on her face. 

As they started the drive through the city, skyscrapers towering on either side of the street and too many people on the sidewalks, (Y/N) pulled out her phone. Though she was aware of Harry's presence on the bench seat beside her only inches away, she ignored him in favor of pulling up Francesca's text thread in her messages. 

Fran🫧

      are u bringing your bodyguard????? 

      jk ofc you are he has to come w u everywhere lol is he still cute today tho or was the other day just bc you saw him for the first time???? 

As much as she loved Franny like a sister, she didn't really want to talk about Harry at the moment. She knew much of brunch was going to be spent talking about her new security or talking around him as all of the girls were going to be varying levels of nosy about it all. (Y/N) didn't have a lot of interest in starting that trend any earlier than needed. 

Instead, she began scrolling through her Instagram explore page full of photos of nail art and cooking videos she planned on looking up the recipes for later. Ever-polite, Sully was the one to break the silence that filled the cab of his vehicle. 

"How long will you be joining us, Harry?" he asked, kind blue eyes shining in the rearview mirror. 

Uninterested as ever, Harry didn't break his gaze from where he was observing through the window. "As long as it takes for her father to be convinced that she's finally grown up." 

It was a callous remark, but one (Y/N) had heard before just in a different voice. It was an interesting thing to hear those biting words lack the familiarity of her father's tone. She'd never heard them like that before. 

Flicking her gaze up from her phone, she spotted Sully in the mirror through the fan of her lashes. He gave her one of those soft smiles he'd also seen him give his daughter before. It made it a bit easier to let that remark slide off her back when she knew he was on her side. 

"Won't be very long then," Sully continued, tipping his chin up in confidence, "It doesn't take very long to see how kind and responsible Ms. (Y/N) is, despite what all those silly magazines like to say." 

(Y/N) directed a quiet smile down at her phone. She hoped Sully knew just how much she appreciated him. 

—————

"I'll be back around noon, okay?" Sully said, offering a helping hand to (Y/N) as she stepped out of the SUV and onto the grey concrete sidewalk, "Let me know if you need me sooner or want to stay longer." 

Nodding her head, she gave him a bubbly smile with soft lips and warm cheeks. "Thank you." 

"It's my pleasure," he answered, squeezing her hand in his as she steadied herself on the concrete.

With Harry at her side, Sully was sent off with a wave from her manicured fingers. 

Though it wasn't new to feel eyes on her at time when she was out, it was different to have someone following along with her. His job was to watch her, and he made it known with the way she could feel his gaze stitched to her. He only drifted when he made a point to take in their surroundings. 

Was he even supposed to sit with them? Was he going to eat beside her? What was his job when it came to events like this? 

(Y/N) tried to think back to what Francesca's bodyguard would do, but she couldn't remember him ever joining them for a meal in public. Barry was typically meant to watch over Fran when no one else was around, leaving those group settings without him. Was Harry to do the same? Was he going to sit elsewhere or guard their table like a circling vulture? 

Her head hurt just thinking about it. Harry would do whatever he decided to do, she settled on. This wasn't his first security job, so hopefully he would do whatever he was used to with Camila and Monroe. 

Harry pushed the entrance door open for her, taking her by surprise as she stepped into the trendiest brunch spot in the city at the moment. Everything was sleek and warm, glass with golden hinges, wood pieces with uniform swirls and knots. Inauthentic authenticity. Falling into character, a bright smile landed on (Y/N)'s lips, her phone clutched in one hand with her purse hanging from the crook of her elbow. The clack of her heels was drowned out by the sound of chattering patrons and a busy kitchen. 

"Hello, how are you?" The young man stationed at the host stand greeted her, a dark denim uniform adorning his form. (Y/N) almost cringed for him; she couldn't imagine how hot it must be to work all day in a heavy outfit like that. 

"Hi, I'm good thank you," she greeted, feeling Harry just behind her as if he were breathing down her neck. How would he analyze this conversation? "I'm here to meet a few friends—there should be a reservation under—" 

Cutting her off, the boy piped up with, "Francesca, right? She and a few others just got here." 

Now that she wasn't so distracted by his outfit, she could see recognition in his gaze. He knew who she was and was definitely peeking over her shoulder to see who her companion was. 

"That's them," (Y/N) chirped, canting her head as the boy tapped away at the computer in front of him. 

"Perfect," he beamed, glancing up nonchalantly at them, "And will he be taking the sixth seat at the table?" 

A clear attempt to fish, but not one (Y/N) was going to be able to ignore. "Yes, please." 

The way the boy's eyes brightened had (Y/N) already dreading the articles that she would be tagged in across every social media platform, the headlines teasing about her new "mystery man" with all of the sources being an anonymous instagram account known for spreading gossip. Because that's journalism. 

"Follow me," he said, waving his hand as he stepped out from behind the podium.

Harry was a ghost behind her as (Y/N) made small talk with the host, answering with polite chatter about the weather while being led through the restaurant. Through the crowded tables, Francesca and the three other girls they frequently went out with came into view. Glasses of bubbling mimosas and an appetizer of cheese and crackers adorned the table, matching that of the rest of the patrons indulging in the brunch rush. 

Francesca was the first to spot them once the host dropped them off with a quiet wish for she and Harry to enjoy their food before he was off again. Fran's eyes lit up when she saw her, only for them to widen that much more when Harry came into view behind her. 

"(Y/N)," she cheered, gaining the attention of the other girls who broke their absent chatter to turn to face them. Fran no doubt had told them that (Y/N) would be bringing a guest. 

"Hi," she smiled, maneuvering around the table to the two empty seats between Emma and Rita, "Sorry I'm late. My makeup was not doing its job this morning." 

Emma piped up then, "No worries, honey! We're just happy you could make it. We already ordered a mimosa for you and some appetizers and all." 

Despite the girls seemingly talking to her, their eyes continuously drifted to her companion that ghosted behind her. Pulling out her chair, (Y/N) dropped her purse on the table before looking across from her to where Francesca was sat. Even she was pretending as if she wasn't bubbling in anticipation over Harry. 

"Thanks, guys," she said, taking her seat with Harry doing the same beside her, "Everyone, this is Harry. I bet Fran already told you a little bit, but he's going to be my personal security for the next few months or so. We're still trying to figure out how this all works for it, so thanks for letting him tag along today." 

"Of course," Kita giggled, leaning with her elbow on the table, "Fran did tell us that you were bringing someone special today." 

"Right," (Y/N) laughed, feeling slightly exposed despite the fact none of the girls were even looking at her. "I promised him we'd be on our best behavior today, so don't ruin this for me." 

The laughter that bubbled around the table was just a touch too melodious, too airy and light. Francesca even made eyes at (Y/N); she approved of him, that much was obvious. 

"I'm sure we'll still have fun with him," Toriana said, her spot right across from Harry making it easy for her to reach across and offer her hand up in greeting, "I'm Toriana, but the girls just call me Ana." 

"Nice to meet you," Harry answered, taking her hand into his in that same firm grip (Y/N) remembered. 

A domino effect started then, each of the girls taking the time to personally introduce themselves. Toriana and Kita were more than a little interested in him, asking questions right off the bat that (Y/N) wished they would keep to themselves. Franny and Emma seemed to prefer to watch, piping in at moments with their own bubbly comments or peals of laughter. Harry, reserved as ever, barely interacted. 

(Y/N) didn't know why she liked that as much as she did. Maybe it was just nice knowing she wasn't the only person he was cold with. Even if he did still end up talking to the girls more than he had all weekend with her. 

Soon enough—long enough still that (Y/N) sipped through a glass and a half of water, the cheese plate had dissipated to crumbs, and breakfast orders had been placed—the shine of Harry had finally been lost on the girls. The shorter his answers became the clearer the message that he wasn't interested in sharing became. Though Kita didn't pull too far away from him and Fran had eyes on him every few moments, there wasn't much fun in talking to a wall. 

The gossip shifted around the table, new topics being introduced as wait staff appeared to refill drained mimosa glasses. (Y/N) was seventy percent sure she saw one of the denim-clad employees pull her phone out and snap a shot of the table while clearing their small appetizer plates. No one seemed to notice the girl other than she and Harry, his eyes narrowing when he caught sight of the camera tilted in their direction. She wouldn't be surprised if the photo captured Harry's harsh gaze. 

Ignoring the snooping employee, (Y/N) tried to tune into the story Emma was sharing that had the rest of the table enraptured. As funny and kind as Emma was, she loved to gossip; she loved knowing things, even if the information had nothing to do with her. More often than not (Y/N) preferred to check out of her particularly scandalous stories, just because she knew what it was like to be the name coming off of other's lips in a spit. Francesca was the same, preferring to stay out of it all.

But, this story caught both of their attention for all the wrong reasons. 

"Then, I heard that Christal's parents are separating, because her dad also cheated with one of Christal's friends that got an internship at his company," Emma chattered, dipping her chin as if she was actually trying to keep this information a secret for only the table to hear. 

Toriana gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth with wide eyes. Leaning over the table, she conspired with Emma in a hushed tone that was far from being any level of quiet, "I heard they were separating because her mom was paying off her doctor to write prescriptions for, like, everything. Her dad is so over it, so he's supposed to be filing officially next week." 

The mention of prescriptions and doctors who didn't care to help anymore stung at (Y/N) behind her walls. It was bad enough speaking about Christal and her family dynamics when they barely knew her outside of nights partying in the Upper West Side, but those kinds of rumors weren't something (Y/N) could ever imagine repeating. Drug use and the breaking up of a marriage—no matter the reason—were things none of them should be discussing when they had no idea what was truly going on. 

It made (Y/N) think of her own parents and the years of swirling tabloids trying to figure out just how long her parents were on the rocks and what exactly had gone wrong. It was more than invasive. 

(Y/N)'s nails quietly tapped on the table as the attention was placed on her, her voice piping up once Emma finally paused for a breath, "We probably shouldn't be talking about this stuff, guys." 

Emma was the first to turn to her with a slighted look on her face, surprised to have anyone stopping her in the middle of her speculations. The remaining pairs of eyes turned to her, Francesca the only one that seemed to match her protesting while Kita and Toriana were just as taken aback as Emma. 

Saved by the bell, their waitress chose then to appear with trays of their food in her arms. Bowls of salads and plates of eggs were distributed amongst the girls, Harry's order being of avocado toast though she couldn't imagine him picking off more than a couple of bites with the way he was so focused on the scene around him. The women had settled while they were being waited on, beaming smiles and assurances that everything was perfect, they would love a refill, and whatever chattering small talk was started by the waitress in the meantime. 

It wasn't until everything had been cleared away, a plate of eggs Benedict with a kale apple salad off to the side in front of (Y/N), that Emma turned to face her once more. 

Now she was less shocked and more bewildered that (Y/N) had tried to end her conversation. "Don't you want to know what happened though, (Y/N)?" she asked, incredulous, "Her parents always seemed so obsessed with each other, doesn't that make you want to know even more?" 

"Sure," (Y/N) started, "But, it's a little too personal, don't you think? Especially if any of this is true, it's all probably really hard on Christal. I don't think it's fair to talk about it when we don't know anything about it, and she's not even here." 

That expression of furrowed brows and parted lips didn't leave Emma's face as (Y/N) spoke. "I mean I guess, but—" 

Before she could get much further, (Y/N) couldn't help but to step in. "Honestly, I'd rather hear about you and your fashion designer," (Y/N) started, leaning towards Emma with a conspiratorial smile on her face, "You haven't brought him up at all, even though you've posted him on your story at least five times now." 

Watching her friends' features light up told her just how effective her new topic was. There was nothing—not even hot gossip—Emma loved talking about more than herself. 

"You mean Stavros? What could you ever want to know about him?" Emma bubbled, acting coy with a lift of her shoulder and flutter of her lashes. 

"Stavros?! You never told me that was his name!" Kita chimed in, filling in where (Y/N) had left off. 

All it took was Emma starting with a Well... to get the table submitting again to conversation full of bubbling giggles and blushing cheeks, teases of Stavros's name and Emma's story telling about their time together so far. Even Francesca, after shooting (Y/N) a small smile, became invested in the chronicle of Emma's love life. 

Falling into silence, satisfied at the reroute of the conversation, (Y/N) finally tried the food in front of her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry observing her with calculating eyes, a pinch in his brow.

Suddenly, she felt more exposed than when dozens of cameras were posed in her direction. Was she not supposed to interfere like that? Was this new topic somehow equal to the one Emma had initially embarked on? 

Honestly, (Y/N) had almost forgotten about Harry's presence when she stepped in and redirected Emma into safer territory, but now she was wondering if she would have benefited more from keeping her mouth shut. Who knew what he would report back to her father with; how he would spin these events.

"(Y/N), don't you know his cousin? That Ferrill girl we met in Milan?" Francesca's voice chirping out her name had (Y/N) dropping back into the conversation, grateful for a distraction from what she was overthinking in her mind. 

"Oh, yeah, Ferrill! She's Stavros's cousin?..." 

—————

"You really have to go home?" 

Kita's over-pouted lips and pleading pulled a laugh out of (Y/N) as she pulled her into a hug. 

"I know, I'm sorry," she started, reciprocating her friend's hold, "You know I'd love to go with you guys if I could, but I already promised I'd call my stylist later today."

"I know," Kita whined, pulling away with her hug still around (Y/N)'s middle, "I just feel like you barely talked this morning, and I miss you."

 Despite being around them and having spent the better part of two hours with these girls, (Y/N) missed them too. Kita wasn't wrong in that she barely talked for the morning, Harry being a constant, extra fine sifter that filtered her thoughts before she even had them ready to go. It was hard to talk as freely when she knew he was analyzing every single syllable on her lips. 

"I'm sorry," (Y/N) pouted, playing along, "But, I'm sure I'll see you again soon. And, if you want, you can FaceTime me later so I can see what you got." 

Kita seemed satisfied with that answer, pulling (Y/N) in for another hug before joining the rest of the women who were beckoning to join them as they started down the sidewalk. Hugs and goodbyes had already been shared amongst the rest of them, Francesca promising to text her before she even had a chance to make it home. 

With a final wave from the three of them and calls of "Bye, Harry!", (Y/N) was left by Sully's car with an extra shadow. 

The truth was, she couldn't imagine trekking down Fifth Ave with Harry following behind her. It was uncomfortable enough to have him sit and eat with her, even more so thinking about him watching as she chattered with her friends and tried on different pieces of clothing. 

"Ready to head home?" Sully asked, hand poised on the handle of the back passenger seat for her. 

"Yes, please," she sighed, eagerly stepping in when he pulled open the door for her.

Following behind her, Harry settled in beside her in the back seat, the faux-leather soft under their weight. Sully smoothly integrated himself within the New York traffic, maneuvering around in ways that made (Y/N) that much more grateful that she wasn't the one in charge. 

Decompressing, her eyes fluttered closed with her shoulders untensing. It wasn't until now that she realized just how tightly she had been wound during the meal. No wonder she could feel the beginning band of an ache forming in her head. 

Breaking the static silence in the cab, Harry asked, "Is it always like that?" 

"Like what?" (Y/N) pressed, brows knitting together in the middle though her eyelids didn't flutter. 

She could hear the sound of him shifting against the leather. "Like, everything going on at once?" 

"A little," (Y/N) admitted, the words leaving on a breathing laugh, "This was on the tamer side. Usually, Toriana will try to debate everyone into agreeing to get a mimosa tower for the table—that's when things start happening all at once." 

A beat passed, (Y/N) assuming he was fine with the stopping point of the conversation until he spoke again. 

"Y'didn't drink today." 

Though it was less of a question and more of a statement, she still answered with, "No." 

"Why not?" 

Shrugging, her clothing shuffled against the faux-leather. "I don't really like drinking this early—it makes me too tired, so I don't usually do it." 

Despite the fact she didn't hear his voice again, (Y/N) could feel Harry's eyes on her through the remaining drive to her apartment.

—————

Laid flat on her back on her bed, (Y/N) raised her hand to look at the time on her phone once more. The closer the clock numbers to ten a.m., the more she wanted to curl up in her sheets. 

Dressed in her pastel pink workout set with her hair braided back and tennis shoes on her feet, (Y/N) was more than ready to head to her pilates class. She wanted to luxuriate in her poses and breathing, get a smoothie afterwards as her cooldown, and live her normal routine. The only problem was Harry. 

Though she loathed to admit it, she knew he was supposed to accompany her. Even if he wasn't policing her at home, she knew there were no exceptions to the rule of him going with her throughout her day should she chose to go out and about. That was the whole point of his job. 

She wanted to do as Francesca had told her—that she still needed to live her life even if it was with an extra shadow—, but, even with the fact that the Sunday brunch had gone well enough, taking Harry to her pilates class was completely different. She lacked friends in her class anyway, and this wouldn't make it any better. Most of the women already judged her enough, adding Harry into the mix wasn't going to help her case in not looking as pretentious and spoiled like they thought. 

Maybe, she could get away with only sending him a text? It wasn't as if she were going to an event or a high-profile dinner. Maybe her dad wouldn't care, leaving Harry to not care either. There wasn't much trouble she could get into while controlling her breathing and wiping sweat off the back of her neck, anyway. 

Looking at the time once more, she saw the minutes click that much closer to the start time for her usual session. Her chest rose as she pulled in a deep breath. 

If she wanted to get there on time and get a good spot, she was going to have to text Harry and move on. Sully was on the way anyway, she had to make her choice now before she had to cancel the car and instead curl up in bed just like she had been for three days since brunch. 

The sound of (Y/N)'s nails tapping at her phone screen filled her room as she made to sit up amongst the folds in her duvet.

     morning, harry! just wanted to let you know that im headed to my pilates class right now. it should end around 11 and i'll probably grab a smoothie after, so i'll be on my way back to my apartment after that. lmk if you need anything like to get into my apartment or anything like that before im home ! 

As soon as she pressed send with the blue bubble inflating against the dark background, she locked her phone. She couldn't overthink this whole thing anymore. She had plans she needed to stick to if she wanted to stay normal. 

The notification that Sully was downstairs waiting for her couldn't have come soon enough, not when she finished packing her things much too quickly. 

"No Harry?" Sully asked once she was secure in the back seat, the morning sun shining on the grimy streets of the city. 

Avoiding his gaze in the rearview mirror, (Y/N) shook her head. "Not today." 

—————

Buzz-buzz.

(Y/N) cinched her eyes closed tighter at the sound of a phone vibrating deep in someone's bag. her breathing came in even waves, chest rising and falling in even measures. 

Buzz-buzz.

One of the other students faltered on their breathing, the teacher pausing just a second too long in-between instructions as everyone heard the incessant noise.

"Now, take a breath and stretch into your high plank," the morning's instructor directed, voice calm in the middle of the studio, "Keep the height to your comfort, no reason to strain past a slight burn." 

Taking in a deep breath, (Y/N) listened with her hands planted solidly on the mat under her. Her back stretched slowly, legs keeping her steady as she fell back into the rhythm of the session.

Until another round of buzzing started, this string clearly from a phone call that was going to be ignored. 

The strength in her core faltered with her eyes cinched to a tight close at the sound.

(Y/N) knew good and well that it was her phone that was going crazy at the bottom of her bag, but there was no way she was going to make that obvious to anyone else in the class. She was sure a good chunk of them already assumed it was her anyway, but that didn't mean she had to admit to it. 

Instead, she kept up with the poses and the directions given, ignoring the device as best as she could. She was going to enjoy this class as much as she could before she would be forced to renter her reality.

She already knew what kind of notifications were waiting for her, anyway. Either Francesca and the girls randomly decided to start up another group chat, or Harry wasn't pleased with her decision to head out for the day with nothing more than a text sent his way. Either way, (Y/N) didn't want to deal with either of those things at the moment. 

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but would the owner of the phone that keeps going off, please, either silence or turn off your phone for the remainder of the class? I'm sure the class would appreciate the chance to keep their focus without any more interruptions." 

Despite her tone of voice being respectful and calm as ever, (Y/N) knew the instructor was pissed. No matter how well-paying her clients were, there was no way she could keep standing for disruptions like this. Blinking her eyes open, she saw the rest of the class on the same level as their instructor: just as annoyed but feigning calmness as if the last half hour hadn't been spent ignoring phone call after phone call with text messages in between. 

She couldn't get up now, (Y/N) thought. Not when everyone was waiting to see who the culprit was so they could shoot daggers with their gaze. She could only imagine what the post-class powwow of complaints would sound like. 

(Y/N) cringed when her phone went off once more, the device rattling against a tube of lipgloss to make it that much lounger. 

Fuck. This was worse than waking up and seeing drunken photos of her posted. At least then she didn't have a dozen other people staring at her in the process. 

When her phone went off once more in what she hoped was a reminder notification and not another set of messages coming through, (Y/N) couldn't take it anymore. She had to fix this if she wanted to at least be welcomed back. 

Just as she went to break her pose, a clatter could be heard on the other side of the door. Muffled voices broke through the curated tranquility of the studio, sounding more and more aggravated as they drew closer to the room she was in. The doorknob twisted, resistance found on the other side when a clear "Sir!" was called through. 

A beat later, that resistance was broken, Harry barreling through the door. With a furrow pinching his brow and a blaze in his eyes, he looked just as bitter and grumpy as a stereotypical bouncer and not the seasoned security detail he was. His usual uniform of all black was crumpled and creased with his hair a mess on the top of his head. 

"Sir, there is a class in session!" A voice (Y/N) recognized from the front desk of the studio burst in behind him. Harry didn't flinch back for even a second. 

The second his gaze landed on her, his jaw hardened. "(Y/N)," he gritted out her name, "Come here, now." 

Having crumbled from her pose to sit with her legs folded underneath her, (Y/N) felt stuck where she sat. She could practically spot steam coming from the top of Harry's head. Her skin heated when she felt others' eyes land on her. 

This was definitely much, much worse than if she had just answered her phone. 

"Harry," she started, unsure of what exactly she was going to say but feeling as if she needed to say something anyway. 

His nose flared. "Sully is waiting outside. Let's go." 

There was a finality in her tone that had her scrambling to collect her things as soon as possible. The room was silent as she messily rolled her mat and clumsily stepped into her shoes. 

A mumbled thank you was offered to the silent instructor as she passed, a matching apology being told to the class though she was sure both sentiments fell on deaf ears. (Y/N) was definitely going to have to switch studios again. 

She wasn't surprised to see the rest of the studio having fallen in line, patrons and classes quiet and paused after the ruckus caused on her behalf. (Y/N) could only imagine the photos others snapped of her following after Harry like a puppy with her tail between her legs. She already knew what this was going to look like—the loud scene as well as following after Harry the way she was. 

Sully didn't say anything when (Y/N) quickly slipped into the backseat, Harry coming after with a loud slam of the door behind. 

The interior was almost humid with the way Harry fumed beside her, his arms a tight cross over his chest and his jaw anchored closed. From the corner of her eye, she could see the way his fingers were curled into fists under the shelter of his arms. 

(Y/N) felt silly to be sitting there with her cardigan and leggings, hands in her lap like a reprimanded child. 

The silence stretched on as Sully pulled away from the curb, routing directly back to her apartment without question. 

It wasn't until there was a stop in the traffic that any of them dared to speak a single word. Of course, it was Harry.

"I don't know what you were thinking this morning," he started, voice deceptively calm, "But, you almost cost me my job with that stunt." 

Staying quiet, she didn't know what to say. Honestly, she hadn't really thought about it like that when she left without him this morning. She had only been considering the pit in her stomach and how much she hadn't wanted to disrupt her own life. She acted just as selfish as she was sure Harry thought her to be at her core. 

From the corner of her eye, she could see the way Harry's gaze on her profile sharpened. She kept her eyes on her hands. 

"I thought we had a good understanding after this weekend, but I think I need to make a few things especially clear for you," he started, (Y/N) finally chancing a look at him. Harry's gaze steeled when she matched him. "When I was given this job, I was told to go with you everywhere, and 'm sure you were told the same thing. I don't care if you think your fathers's company, or the 'public' or whoever you think is my client, because that is not the truth. You are my client, and if you make trouble like this again, I will lose my job. Because of you." 

(Y/N) had never been reprimanded like this before, not as fat as she could remember. Her father's scoldings had never been this effective, even when she was young enough to still care what he had to say. 

Her throat was dry as she piped up, hoping to explain herself, "It was just my pilates class. I didn't think it would be a big deal." 

That seemed to be the very worst thing she could have said with the way Harry's shoulders tensed with hot air with his jaw quirked. His eye contact was unwavering as he glared at her. 

"I knew I was going to have to babysit you, but I didn't think it would be this much of a problem. Going forward, I do not care where you are going, I am going with you. I know you don't want me here, so the quicker you follow this and get over whatever princess complex you have after getting everything handed to you, the quicker we'll both be free of this contract. Please keep that in mind the next time you decide to go off with just a text." 

Harry's tone was harsh and grating, flaming hot underneath the calm facade he was just well-versed with as her own bubbly princess role. He could rival her father in just how much disdain he held for her. 

She couldn't blame his perception of her, really. With the way both her father and the media spoke of her, she could only imagine the kind of person she looked to be in his eyes. 

Nonetheless, (Y/N) could still feel that sting of hurt. 

But, he was right. Now, she knew where they stood. Now, she could try harder to get over her princess complex and show her father she didn't need a ghost and everything could go back to normal. 

If she tried hard enough, she could hopefully still make it to spend the winter in Francesca's family's Swiss cabin free of an extra shadow. That was a goal she could work towards this summer. 

"I understand," she told him, checking out of the conversation now that she had her own plan working in the background, her own terms to follow, "I'm sorry I put you in that position. I didn't mean anything by it, I just didn't think it was the kind of thing to bother you over." 

Deflating some, Harry blinked, his gaze falling down her features. "Okay," he settled, golden flecks swimming in his irises, "Now, we're both on the same page." 

(Y/N) quietly agreed with a small nod. 

The rest of the car ride was silent.

—————

Without a second thought, (Y/N) stowed the newest heavy, photo-laden envelope into her drawer of the others. She already knew what kind of pictures would be inside and the kind of story her admirer had spun in her honor. It would be the same photos that had been distributed by the same anonymous Instagram blog that always posted them along with the same story that all the tabloids picked up the next day. 

According to the internet as well as a few gullible publications, (Y/N) had shown up drunk to her class and Harry had come to collect her. Harry was also no longer her mystery man, and now her affair partner that she had cheated on Damien Moore with. Damien was also reportedly very hurt to be seeing her with Harry after everything that had gone down. Broken-hearted by the ice queen, one publication had been so bold to claim. Blurry photos accompanied the articles and tweets, with her looking to Harry with watery eyes ("alcohol-glazed") like a reprimanded child as she followed him out. 

Her admirer had no doubt clung to the claims that she was in a romantic relationship, their own version of events meandering around it all to erase the legitimacy of the claims along with photos of her back at her apartment without him to solidify their theory. While they would be right this time, that she and Harry were not linked in any way but professional, it still didn't make her feel very safe knowing they had gone to the length they did to verify as much as well as send a letter to prove it all. 

It'd been days since the incident and one day since the news hit the circuits, and (Y/N) was more than comfortable hiding out at her apartment to ensure she wouldn't have to deal with anyone, including Harry, until her nail appointment on Thursday. The whole thing was more than stupid, full of baseless claims and low-quality photos. It didn't deserve her attention. 

The only thing that had truly caught her off guard, was the lack of phone calls from her father. A full day had passed with the story being tweeted and mocked, and yet there was no scathing text message or berating call sent to her phone. This was just the type of story that would have him up in arms and fuming all throughout the mansion. The longer it didn't come, the more she felt on edge. 

Her father was built on being predictable, so when he deviated from the norm she couldn't help but to fear the worst. 

Ignoring it all for the time being, (Y/N) returned to her kitchen eager to take her mind off things in the form of trying out one of her stored up recipes. 

While she didn't usually have the chance to share it with others, cooking was one of (Y/N)'s favorite pastimes—a therapeutic hobby. She liked putting flavors together and the technique that went into making everything just the way she liked it. There was structure to it all—even the bendable rules gave her guidelines. 

Especially when she was attending her private school and spending her time in dorms and weekends alone at her parents' home, food was the one thing she could control that gave her a routine. She liked making cute meals and lunches for her friends at school and taking advantage of the illustrious pantry and fridge she had at home. It was easy to nurture her love for it when there was no other outlet open for her feelings. 

While there was nothing special she could imagine herself doing with her passion like she was sure that her father would have wanted, it didn't cheapen the love for her at all. It was the easiest way to fill herself with love even when she felt as if everything around her was hateful. 

Turning her phone to silent, (Y/N) happily turned on a rerun of her favorite cooking competition show, and started on her own meal. 

—————

élan is a French word that describes the sense of a movement coming; the grace with which time moves towards the next chapter

eeeek! thank u sm for reading! sorry for any mistakes and please lmk if theres any fun ideas or thoughts you have!

[rubra-wav]

May I Request a part 2 to Dealbreaker!Reader (same characters) but it’s the characters reactions to the reader surprisingly breaking their deal? I loved what you wrote!

Angel, Husk and Alastor with a dealbreaker S/O pt. 2

[ Part 1 ] < > [ More lore on DBs ]

A/N Thank you so much, I'm glad you liked it, I loved writing this and the last one. Dealbreaker lore brainrot fr.

With how dealbreaking usually goes, it's not instantly a happy ending, unfortunately. These are all pretty happy endings, though.

Fairly long reads for all of these, but it's worth it, I promise 🙏

!(MY REQUESTS ARE NOT OPEN RN. THIS IS JUST LEFT OVER FROM WHEN THEY LAST WERE.)!

Cw: SFW, depictions of violence, mentions of murder, Husk and Angel's is romantic, Alastor's is platonic, gn reader, male reader in mind for Angel's (forgot to add this aaaages back omg)

**Alastor's is written under the assumption that the Lilith owning his soul theory is real + is making a great big assumptions about Lilith + the nature of her deal that will likely be disproven.

She's a great big mystery, I'm just heavily leaning into pure theory in that one.

Angel

- When you break his contract, Angel is overwhelmed with a potent mixture of relief and gratitude.

- The path this far had been fairly easy as far as the process of actually breaking the contract goes.

- The chains on him were poorly crafted and the format was extremely simple with a lot of loopholes to bust the contract wide open.

- It was honestly much harder to fully knock Angel out of the all-encompassing fear-rooted belief that he was doing something incredibly wrong after years of Val's manipulation and control over every part of him.

- It didn't take long to make the counter-contract, just a few minutes referencing the draft as you quickly wrote everything down upon the page pressed against the filthy bench you were sitting at. Angel hovered over you anxiously wringing his hands as he watched you work.

- The lock on his prison cell was quickly broken, along with the actual collar around his neck.

- You cheered as you threw your arms around the disbelieving man next to you. Angel cracked a smile, giddy as he realised that you had done it.

- This peace was short-lived, however.

- You now had to deal with the consequences of actually breaking Angel's deal. Valentino does not take kindly to people taking his toys away from him, especially not one of his top money-makers and favourite souls.

- You had, of course, crafted the counter-contract that was now clutched in your palm in some random location far away from the hotel so Val wouldn't be knocking at the front door knowing it was done then and there.

- However, you two still needed to run.

- Hand in hand, you run away from the approaching sound of distant but loudly approaching cars with the sound of gunshots echoing, legs and lungs burning with exertion.

- As a contrast to your very evident worry, Angel is laughing joyously and more boisterously then he thinks he ever has as the feeling of the heavy sensation of the collar that has been weighing on him is lifts alongside the inability to speak his real name without choking on it.

- The feeling of his newfound freedom and adrenaline mixes in his body, making his blood sing out in his veins like a symphony. An indescribably rich sensation of being alive that he thought he'd never be able to feel again while sober.

- "So long, you overly tall rat bastard! I've found something that's better then anything you could ever fucking give me!" Angel yells out into the warm air of the night as he flips off the general direction of the sound of the gunshots, laughing all the way as you get to the getaway car.

- You're panting as you crank the car into gear, speeding away and putting the glowing counter-contract on the back seat.

- As the distant sounds of gunshots fades into the distance behind you, you turn to the passenger side of the car to make absolutely sure Angel is really okay as he calms down from the high of the chase.

- Your boyfriend is absolutely beaming next to you, glowing with a sense of natural light you'd never before seen in your time being together. It's a beautiful contrast to the artificial sense of life you are so used to seeing broadcast within the studio and his films.

- He looks so different, and not only due to the disguise he had decided upon to lay low until shit calmed down a bit.

- As you make it to your destination - a small house youd been allowed to stay at courtesy of Charlie - you put the car into park and sit there for a for a few seconds.

- "Holy shit. I did it. I actually freed you. And we're not dead." You said, stunned.

- Angel snickered, unbuckling his seat belt and leaning over to you to kiss you on the cheek. "Never doubted you for a second, baby."

- You laugh, relieved, turning to him and gently pull his face close to yours, kissing him deeply. You chuckle at the feeling of the giant smile on Angel's face.

- As you move to settle in to live in the small house for a couple of weeks, you regret turning on the television.

- Angel's face flashes across the screen with text quickly scrolling past a smiling but seemingly close to tweaking Vox on the screen, the man looking like he's about to absolutely lose his shit if one more mild inconvenience happens. The Video Star's eye twitches sightly as if hearing something irritating as he speaks.

- "There is a hefty reward for anyone who can find Angel Dust and the dealbreaker who has interfered with his contract. Any useful information will be welcome. To give us tips, go to the website listed below or call-" You switch the TV off, unplugging it as well just in case.

- If Vox got well and truly involved in this situation to attempt to placate Valentino as soon as possible, this would be even more difficult of a situation. You hadn't much considered the rest of the vees getting involved, assuming they would stsy in their own lanes while Valentino stopped being pissy.

- You shake your head, and move to go to the room where Angel is unpacking. The outside world could wait until later. All that shit could wait until later.

- Angel smiles at you as you walk into the room, such a lightness in it that makes your heart burn.

- You hug him tightly and then fall down on your side into the bed, both of you laughing joyously and filling the empty house with life.

- The road ahead would not be easy, but you were finally on the road to starting your life with him.

- Your life with him as Anothony, not Angel Dust.

Husk

- The road to forming a counter-contract was hard as all hell.

- Alastor's deals are absolutely air tight, crafted with the uptmost skill and attention to detail, so you finding a vague clause to dig your claws into to get it rolling after weeks of arduously reviewing it again and again was a goddamn miracle.

- When he saw that you had made progress, he's shocked as can be. Has a 'well I'll be' moment as you point it out to him after another sleepless night as he wanders up to you.

- Feels bad for fully doubting you after that. He's still pessimistic about your chances of actually succeeding in the counter-contract, but the flame of hope inside of him sparks to embers as you manage to do what nobody has managed to even remotely succeed to do in centuries.

- When you make further progress, he becomes deeply afraid for your safety. If Alastor ever found out you'd been able to get this far, you'd be toast.

- Never in a million years would Alastor allow someone who's managed to undermine his skills to this degree to live. When you say that you've got it covered when he brings it up, he's incredibly skeptical and is even more concerned when you say you can't tell him 'just in case'.

- Is in utter disbelief when you insist you just stay in the hotel as you actually write the counter-contract to break the deal while Alastor is out doing some shenanigans.

- When you say that you don't, in fact, have a death wish, he's extremely stressed and sweating bullets as you begin to write what you'd been drafting for weeks.

- The lights flash and then go out as you're about halfway through writing the contract. Unnatural green light fills the room and Alastor casts a great big shadow on the wall as he materialises out of nowhere.

- Husk feels dread sink into every part of himself.

- The ground shakes as Alastor physically shows up, much larger then usual and snarling. "What do you think you're doing."

- His voice is dripping with malice and static which hurts your ears greatly, but the movement of your pen on the page doesn't stop even though you can feel your heart thudding in terror and your vision is becoming blurry.

- Husk feels nauseous as Alastor looks down at you, growing all the more aggressive the more he feels his hold on Husk slipping.

- Husk fights a panicked yell as Alastor's neck snaps to the side loudly, now looking directly at him with an absolutely vile grin on his face. He cannot make it in time as Alastor's hand moves to crush you, and he fears the absolute worst as you are no longer in his sights.

- His deep despair is interrupted however, as from underneath Alastor's palm great big rose briers grow from underneath and pry it backwards, revealing you still writing - albeit looking extremely stressed - and the figure of Rosie who looks rather angry at Al.

- Alastor's eyes widen in shock and disbelief that one of his oldest friends are currently blocking him from destroying the one trying to take his property.

- Husk hardly hears the back and forth and stalling that goes on between the two overlords as he's running to you to try and pull you the hell out of here.

- He stops in place as he feels it, and hears Alastor let out a terrifying frustrated growling noise. The green collar and chain around his throat appears, and then it breaks with a loud snapping sound. You've succeeded.

- You actually fucking did it.

- The next few moment are a blur as Husk is rendered motionless and speechless, eyes wide and tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as if he's about to wake up from this moment.

- He slowly walks towards you, looking to the side blankly as Alastor shrinks back to his normal size and is escorted out of the hotel with a look of pure bewilderment on his face by a now smiling and laughing Rosie. The leader of the cannibals winks at you and gives you a thumbs up as she leaves.

- You turn to Husk and grin at him wearily, still sweating nervously with clear relief on your face. You literally could have just died.

- Husk sinks to his knees beside you from where you sit on the ground, having fallen from your chair as Alastor tried to crush you.

- Husk grips your face in his shaking hands as he looks up at you. He can now see that one of your eyes is black with a deal you've made yourself but for now he doesn't address it.

- "Thank you." His voice is hoarse, low. Tears stream down his face for the first time in a long long time.

- Your face crumples as you allow your brave face to fall to bits. Your heart is still racing and you are still getting over the fear you felt.

- Husk pulls your crying face to his, leaning his forehead against yours as he wraps his arms tightly around you. "Thank you so much." Husk says, closing his eyes and causing more tears to roll down his cheeks.

- "If you ever do something that fucking stupid again, I'll not be humouring you." He added after the wonderful moment stretched out for a couple of seconds.

- You laugh softly, and nuzzle into his cheek as you kiss it. "You're welcome, Husker my love."

- Husk hums in fake annoyance, but he cannot even hide how much lighter he feels.

- The bonds which had kept him trapped for decades had been broken down all at once, leaving him free.

- He had no idea what kind of deal you made with Rosie, but he sure hoped it kept Alastor the fuck away from you and him for the rest of your lives.

- And, for your sake, he desperately hopes it is not the type of deal you will regret making later.

Alastor

- The path to dealbreaking Alastor's is bar fucking none with difficulty, mostly because he doesn't want your help.

- Hurts his his ego so much to see that even though his consistent efforts to tell you to get lost have failed. He's opted to scaring you off multiple times and yet you're still relentless.

- After yet another time of him growing into that massive form and snarling down at you, you snap.

- "Maybe I'm 'overestimating my abilities', but what if I'm not? What if a fresh pair of eyes are what you need rather than you just pissing off to your radio tower and staring at everything until you have a mental breakdown over it!" You yell at him weakly as he turns his back to leave. Blood is dripping from the corner of your mouth, and you're only just regaining your vision from the former static, which blacked it out.

- Alastor stops in his tracks, startled that you know about that too.

- "Maybe I don't have as much experience as you, but I have a different mind and way of looking at things! What if that's exactly why you can't break it? What if whoever it is knows how you think so they've designed this thing so you can't do this alone?"

- You can't see Alastor's face, but he's standing there still not saying anything. One of his ears is pointed backwards in your direction. He's actually listening.

- You gulp, and stand up shakily. "What if they knew that you would never seek assistance, so they've done things which won't be visible to you and only you. If you just give me a chance." You're no longer shouting, rather speaking in a tone you're trying to keep even despite how afraid you are.

- Alastor grits his teeth, ears twitching as he considers it. He's pissed off because you're actually making a good point.

- It goes against every instinct in his body, but suddenly, he's right in front of you, holding out his hand to you as he glares menacingly at you. "A week, and if you find nothing, you will never fucking approach this with me again, or share what you have seen and heard about my deal with anybody."

- You gulp audibly. It's a ridiculously slim deadline for this kind of business, but it's more than nothing. As you accept the deal, he utters a single word you're shocked to hear.

- "Lilith."

- Without any further words, he disappears, leaving a glowing copy of the contract at your feet.

- The week of reviewing the contract was utter fucking hell.

- it's not just that the contract was super air tight, it's just that it was so ridiculously complicated and hard to understand that you could hardly fucking comprehend what you were reading most of the time. It was utterly maddening.

- Your breakthrough, however, came not through solely just reading the words, but from actually talking to Lucifer himself about Lilith when he came to visit the hotel while Alastor left.

- As per the deal, you didn't share anything about the contract, but you did ask about her in private with him and he was actually surprisingly happy to discuss her.

- So that's, how on the last day of the deadline, you cracked the contract wide open with a counter-contract draft you had written in a few hours.

- Alastor almost screams out in pure unadulterated fury when he sees what you've written and hears the explanation behind it.

- Lilith wasn't some skilled dealmaker hellbent on controlling demons. She was a broken down dreamer who had no idea what she was actually doing in the contract, but being Lilith, her words held so much weight that they'd chained him despite that.

- It actually takes every bone in your body to not burst out laughing with how utterly humiliated he looks.

- His ears are pressed forward on his head, and he's making an odd high-pitched audio feedback kind of sound as his face is hidden in his hands.

- He'd been stressing over this thing for years as a skilled dealmaker looking at it, and yet that was exactly why he couldn't do it.

- Couldn't do what you did in a fucking week.

- "So, do you want me to undo this thing now or-?"

- You startle as suddenly he's in front of you, both hands on either one of your shoulders.

- you try so hard to not snicker as you see his expression finally, but fail. He's pressing his still ever-smiling mouth into a crooked line, eyes squeezed shut and brow furrowed. Dark flush covers his cheeks and neck.

- "Yes. Please." He says those words as if they are poison in his mouth. "I'm.. Sorry. That I underestimated you." Alastor opens his eyes to look at you as he begins to regain his composure a bit more, the hard part of this interaction being over with.

- Fortunately, and also infuriatingly, Alastor had not had his soul contract used once. Lilith simply had him in her back pocket and didn't lift a finger whenever she felt him try to break it again and again. It's like she didn't even give a fuck that she literally owned him.

- This fact burnt hot embarrassment and frustration into him as it destroyed his ego, but now it was a relief as she would most likely not try and come after him. Or you for that matter.

- His claws grip painfully into your shoulders as you fail to stop snickering loudly in disbelief that he actually apologised. Admitted losing essentially.

- "S-sorry! I just can't believe I'm seeing you like this." You apologised.

- Alastor gritted his teeth. "Don't get used to it." He growls before his mask slips right back on like it never happened. "I'm simply admitting my mistake in assuming you could not do this, darling! It turns out you truly can't teach an old dog new tricks. Or deer, in this case." He clears his throat, straightening up.

- You smile up at him, heavy bags under your eyes from where you've barely slept for the past week pouring over this.

- "If it makes you feel any better, it makes sense why you couldn't solve this thing. It's utter bullshit nonsense." You shake your head at the contract.

- The deal was undone embarrassingly quickly after that using the draft you had written. No pushback at all on it.

- Alastor feels his collar slacken and break to bits as you write the counter-contract and sighs with extreme relief as he watches the other contract disintegrate, feeling the power which had been stolen coming back as it turns to dust. It doesn't cure the utter humiliation that still sits heavy upon his shoulders however.

- After everything, he would threaten to kill you if you tell anyone about what went on or how he had fallen apart. Though, it would be a lie to say you two don't grow significantly closer.

- Alastor is still hesitant to fully let his guard down around you, however the massive wake that existed between you two even as fairly good friends has now significantly closed.

- He's still a lying, scheming asshole, but he'll be much more inclined to not be so much with you considering you've kept multiple giant blows to his ego fully secret.

This was a lot longer than what I usually write for requests holy moly, but I absolutely loved writing these. I hope I fulfilled your vision anon 🙏

You get through Angel's and Husk's, which are really emotional and sweet, then you get to Alastor's 💀

Masterlist

[sakkiichi]

NOT IF IT’S YOU.

“I’ll take care of you.”

“It’s rotten work.”

“Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

Jing Yuan, Blade, Dan Heng, Luka, Seele x gn! reader.

genre/cw: angst to fluff, feelings of not being good enough, mentions of blood & injury, but soft comforting vibes.

✧ JING YUAN

Muffled cries and a darkened room are all the company you wish for tonight.

You messed up.

You utterly and completely fucked up.

Not only were you not able to catch the stellaron hunter, but you also got severely injured.

In your defense, the guy was skilled with that wicked sword of his.

And yet, that doesn’t make you feel any better.

Pressing your hand down your bloody side, you reach home.

And for the first time since you started dating him, you really hope the general is already asleep tonight.

The creaking of the wooden door makes you cringe when you enter the main hall, memorized steps guiding you to the bathroom.

Hopefully you’ll be able to patch yourself up without making too much noise.

A low purr greets you when you reach your destination’s door.

“Shhh, Mimi, please…” you utter, weakly, patting her fur with the hand that’s not soaked in blood. “Be a good girl and keep quiet for me?” The lion purrs again, as if unsatisfied, sensing something’s clearly amiss.

Wincing, you close the bathroom’s door behind yourself, pent up tears blurring your vision as you rummage the cabinets for disinfectant and some bandages.

“And just about what do you think you’re doing?” A familiar baritone sternly asks.

You stop in your tracks, a roll of bandage in your bloodstained hand.

“Jing Yuan…” you meekly manage. “Sorry I woke you up.” You lower the dressings in your grasp, defeated.

“You’re bleeding yourself out and me having woken up is your first concern?” He asks, disbelieving, leaning off the doorframe, walking towards you.

“I’m not bleeding myself out, general.” You respond through gritted teeth, your tone harsher than intended. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

And yet, the pained hiss you let out begs to differ.

“Let me see.” Your lover prompts, placing a calloused hand on your shoulder.

“No!” You pull away from his touch, something you had never done before. “I already told you, it’s just a scratch, it’s not worth worrying over, I’m not worth worrying over...”

“Don’t say that again.”

Jing Yuan’s tone leaves no room for argument, steely as the spear he wields. His usually soft amber eyes are akin to raging embers now, glueing you in place, a gelid chill running down your spine.

“But it’s tr-“

“Don’t. Don’t let me hear it.” The arbiter general cuts off, his voice a contrast to the tenderness with which he takes the stained gauze from you.

And under the warmth of his touch, you let yourself be shielded by the rainfalls of lightning with which he’d struck down any who dared hurt you.

Careful hands remove your sticky shirt, a deep gash criss-crossing your abdomen in ominous shades of crimson. With as much softness as he can muster, your lover applies antiseptic, stinging pinpricks in his wake.

“You shouldn’t be doing this.” You mumble, voice milliseconds away from breaking. “It’s trouble, I’m trouble, I failed the mission and now you have to patch me up and take care of m-“

Slightly parched lips land on yours, ardently, as if wanting to cauterize the raw soreness from your open wound. Jing Yuan’s hands settle on your waist, like stitches putting shards of you back together, your brokenness, a myriad of pieces glued back into a colorful mosaic.

And in his healing hold, you let yourself fall, because you know no matter how small the pieces, by his side, you’ll find a way to solve the puzzle.

“You are never trouble to me.” Is your general’s affirmation when he pulls away, leaving a lingering kiss on your brow as he begins wrapping your gaping wound.

Perhaps this once, you’ll believe it, you think, as the ache dulls and exhaustion starts to take over.

✧ BLADE

The moment you see his weapon fly out of his grasp, all caution is thrown to the wind.

You weren’t used to the sight of him anything but defeating with ease any who dared to cross him.

Yet now, he bleeds.

Staggering to the side, Blade tries to reach for his discarded sword.

To no avail, for he drops to his knees, sickly crimson pooling at his feet.

Whatever cursed fragmentum creature he’s parrying against will land its last strike.

You can’t imagine a world without Blade. Without Ren.

Not like this, not ever.

The next sound in the desolate battlefield is the clang of metal against metal and your strained grunts.

“[Y/n]…” your lover musters, barely any strength left in his usually steely tone. “Go…”

“Like hell I’m leaving you here!” You yell back, your muscles sore from blocking the enemy’s fatal blow. “I’m not abandoning you, Ren!” A lone tear slides from the corner of your eyes, because of the effort or the thought of a world where you don’t get to wake up by Blade’s side, you are not sure.

“[Y/n]… I’m done for.” He coughs.

“Shut up, shut up, shut the hell up!” You scream, now locked in combat with the creature launching their piercing weapons at you.

You manage to dodge a few of its pounces, ducking and parrying as best you can.

But eventually, their chainsaw-like armament grazes your collarbone, your sky shattering cry hurting Blade more than the deadly wounds he bears.

You can’t let this end here.

Mustering strength from aeons know where, you impale your own weapon into the monster’s middle.

Flecks of fiery dust fly around you, before the construct goes up in flames, the image burning in your teary gaze.

“Ren!” You call, running to kneel by his broken form.

“Why?” The stellaron hunter wonders, ebony hair plastered to his face, deep night skies shadowing the underside of his ruby eyes. His bleeding hand reaches to cup the side of your face. “Why did you save me? I’m rotten.”

If it wasn’t because the guy is quite literally holding himself together in tatters, you’d be slapping some sense into him.

Instead, tears stained in yours and his shades of red careen down your cheeks.

“You are not! You never are! And you never will be to me!” You fling your arms around him, holding his weakened body as close to your heartbeat as possible.

Blade never believed in angels, but tonight, you might as well have been one. His savior in a battlefield where he otherwise would have breathed for the last time.

✧ DAN HENG

Night stars and daylight seem to mingle together lately.

Aboard the astral express, you find yourself buried in work. Records from expeditions, blueprints from parts of the train you need to memorize should they need repairing, leads and clues on the whereabouts of the stellaron hunters… the lines of text begin to blur before your tired eyes, eliciting a sigh from your lips.

It might be good to go grab a coffee, you muse.

But looking at the time, you should work for a while longer without distractions, you really could use a breakthrough in the stellaron investigation… Everyone’s working so hard, and the last thing you want is to be dead weight.

As you stretch your arms and attempt to re-focus on your task, three knocks resound through your room’s quiet.

Resignation makes itself apparent on your tone when you ask:

“What is it?”

“It’s just me.” A familiar voice, smooth as a breeze combing through greenery states.

“Dan Heng!” A relaxed smile tugs at your lips, as you get up from your desk to let him in. No matter how many galaxies you transversed, Dan Heng’s presence was always the brightest constellation to you.

Now, it’s not like you can admit your feelings to him, but you’ll enjoy this fond closeness you have now while you can.

“You’re still up?” You prompt, more of a statement than an actual question. “What brings you here?”

“I could ask you the same question.” He deadpans, arms crossed over his chest.

“Work.” You sheepishly say, with a mirthless smile.

“Have you eaten?” The dark haired man questions, the lilt of his tone indicating he is very much aware of how you have indeed not dined.

“Uh… I drank fruit juice and coffee? A while ago?”

Now it’s his turn to sigh in exasperation.

“How many times will it take of me repeating it to you for you to take care?”

“Sorry.” You lower your head. You know your friend is right and you’ve been neglecting yourself, but can you be blamed? The amount of work you took on is hefty, to say the least.

“Since you aren’t doing it yourself, let me take care of you.” His aquamarine eyes pierce through you, but they hold a warm gentleness to them. Every time you get lost in his gaze, you feel like you’re swimming in luminescent lakes under a thousand starry nights.

However, the reverie is short lived.

When you feel his hand around your wrist, pulling you out of your airless room, a shadow of guilt lodges at the back of your mind.

“Dan Heng, I can’t let you do that.” You stop in your tracks, averting your gaze, not allowing yourself the pleasure to dip in the profound waters of his eyes.

“Why not?” The boy’s hold on you slackens a little.

“You have enough work yourself, I can’t burden you anymore…” You mumble the last part, but it doesn’t escape him.

“You’re not a burden.” The wielder of cloud piercer assures you, incisively.

His hold on you tightens a little, his hand descending to find yours.

“But surely you’d prefer spending your time doing something more fun or, I don’t know, useful, at least…”

“No, I wouldn’t.” He responds. His hand squeezes yours in silent reassurance.

You could get used to his touch.

You’d like it very much, actually.

Instead, self-doubt robs you of your voice again tonight.

“Why?” Is the question echoing in between the corridor’s walls.

“Because I like- no, because I love you.” Is Dan Heng’s confession, cheeks matching the maroon of the maple leaves you’ve sometimes studied together.

Loud heartbeats and frenzied euphoria mingle in your chest, your hand squeezing his this time.

“What? Really? No, don’t get me wrong, it’s good- I mean, thank you- I mean, are you sure? Because I’m flattered but- Well, I love you t-“

Your speech is cut short by familiar hands steadying your shoulders. Dan Heng heaves a shaky breath, then:

“I’m going to show you how sure I am.”

A second later, his lips carefully, tentatively, envelop yours. It’s hesitating, and your noses bump a few times, but, to you, it couldn’t be any more perfect.

Your hands find themselves clinging to the front of his shirt, his still poised on your shoulders.

And as you leave fields of stars behind and enter new woods of shining asteroids, you finally let yourself submerge in the pools of jade contained in the mysterious man’s gaze.

Taking a break was certainly worth it, is the thought crossing your mind, as you lean in for another less innocent kiss.

✧ LUKA

“Ouch!”

“Stay still, Luka.”

“But it stings!”

“Oh and the blows you took out there didn’t?”

“But I won, right?”

“You always say that, yet at what cost?”

That is the currently ongoing conversation (or scolding, depending on how you look at it); the same one that repeats every week, after every victory he achieves in the fighting ring.

Because no matter how many times he emerges as victor, Luka always comes back to you beaten up and bruised. Bloody sometimes too, and you can only be grateful for no fractured bones.

You were no healer, but you still remember the first time you saw him fight.

—

It was his first ever combat, against a much bigger opponent.

Luka was smiling when his arm was lifted announcing his victory, and yet, you will never be able to shake off the sight of his concealed flinches every time his chest rose and fell.

His bruised ribs didn’t escape you.

In the same way that you didn’t miss the redhead lingering for a while after the crowd had dissipated.

Those coughs of his naturally wouldn’t let him go too far.

“Hey, are you alright?” You approached him.

“Sure, I’m fine!” The fighter tried to smile, only for it to turn into a fit of coughing that didn’t sound good at all, especially not with how he keeps holding his sides every time his ribcage so much as slightly stirs.

“No, you’re not fine.” You scoffed, arms crossed over your chest. “You have a black eye, your ribs look bruised and you’re limping. How is that being fine, again?”

“I’ll get through it.” He smiled. His blue eyes glinted in the dim light of the venue, akin to patches of clear sky in the soot-filled air of the underworld.

“How exactly? Passing out from pain? Come on, sit down, I’ll patch you up.” You offered, hurrying around the rundown gym, in search for something resembling a first aid kit.

“You don’t need to-“

“No buts.” You stated, leveling him with a gaze, pointing at him with a newly acquired roll of bandages.

—

“You know, you don’t have to waste your time on m-“ he tries to retort now, summer ocean eyes averted, his usual smile replaced by a frown you’re not fond of.

“Luka.” You stop him before he can continue his self deprecation.

“But you could be doing so much bette-“

“I won’t hear it.” You cut off, applying more pressure than needed while disinfecting a cut on his cheekbone. “We’ve already talked about this. You keep getting roughened up on the battlefield, I’ll be here to patch you up. No buts.”

A smile crosses the redhead’s face, the swirling typhoons in his gaze calming down to ripples over a lake. But still, some clouds linger over the surface, no sunlight quite filtering through in harp like beams underwater.

“Don’t you get tired, though?” Luka ventures, hesitation and bashfulness lacing his tone.

“Never when it comes to you.” You assure him, without having to think twice. “And no buts.”

“No buts, huh?” The corner of his lips curves upward, the cheeky smirk you always adored back. “But what if I asked you to kiss it better, would you?” The fiery haired warrior teases.

“Oh, you…” And yet, you can’t hide the wide smile helplessly illuminating your features.

Softly, your lips brush over each of the clean bandages you applied.

And Luka could swear your lips are better than any painkiller.

“There, all healed.” You whisper when you pull away, enchanted by the lights dancing in the sapphire expanse of his stare.

“Not yet.” He breathes, pulling you to him by the hand, your weight falling against his bare chest.

“Luka…” Is all you can muster before he’s kissing you full on the lips, his hands on the small of your back, the softness of his skin and the iron-hardness of metal making your every hair stand on end. You cup his face tenderly, brushing sweaty auburn strands away, as you drown in the colliding waves of his intense tide.

“Now I’m all healed.” Are Luka’s words when he pulls away, dopey smile adorning his bruised face.

You’re definitely never getting tired of this.

✧ SEELE

By moonlight, she waits.

From her vantage point on the rooftop of Goethe Grand Hotel, Seele counts down the seconds for your return.

She’s noticed.

Your leaves in the dead of every night, when you think everyone’s sleeping soundly.

Your returns before dawn, covered in dust and bruises.

The puffiness and redness of your eyes, the shadows under them.

In the starless silence, the butterfly stills her wings, listening to the steps crossing Boulder Town’s plaza.

With a swift motion, the wildfire fighter steps down from her perch, leaning against the hotel’s front wall.

“Good night to you too.” Seele calls.

Your eyes widen in shock. Why is she here now? She wasn’t supposed to see you in such a state.

“Seele! You startled me…” You try for a reassuring smile, as if to say ‘hey, everything’s fine’, but alas, when it came to you, nothing escaped Babochka.

“Cut the act, will you?” She scoffs, a hand resting on her hip. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on or not?”

“Nothing’s going on.” You meekly answer, tone cold and distant.

Your girlfriend’s violet gaze dilates, concern overtaking her frown.

This detached iciness… This isn’t like you at all.

But Seele’s forte were never hugs and promises for better days to come, no. A fighter honed in battles for a mere glass of water, she always knew how to hit you with honesty, a scythe shredding the rainclouds dampening your light.

“So, are you going to keep looking miserable and isolating yourself?” She scoffs. “Be for real, you are barely talking, you leave at ungodly hours every night and you look like you’ve been crying for ages every morning. So are you going to tell me what’s wrong already?”

You heave a breath, the simple action exhausting.

“I just… I don’t feel like I deserve anyone… I’m not a good enough fighter, I’m not smart enough, I don’t really… I’m not proud of my personality and just…” you inhale, the night breeze unbearably frigid, even though the weather’s not even cold. “These nights, I’ve been going into the mines, to try and help, I guess, or to avoid thinking…” your shoulders slump.

Seele sighs, the bite in her tone completely faded, concern and care lingering as the indigo pigments of a butterfly caught in your palm.

“You can talk to me, you know?” She says, softer this time, her hand finding your blistered one from these last days.

“I know, I just… I don’t want to be a bother…”

“You never are, silly.” Your lover flicks your forehead, wrapping strong arms around your trembling form. “You never are.”

Quiet sniffles escape you at her warm embrace.

You had missed this.

You had missed her.

“Let’s go inside, yeah?” Seele utters, barely above a whisper, like a monarch’s flutter.

You nod, wiping the tears that started falling, glinting in your lashes like doomed satellites.

“I love you, never forget that.” Is your partner’s promise, with the moon as witness.

For the first time in weeks, you would fly in the sweetness of dreams tonight. By her side.

[steddieas-shegoes]

i love you enough

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'roadtrip/vacation' rated m wc: 995 cw: nightmare, implied sexual content tags: friends to lovers, getting together, love confessions, first kiss, loosest way to reference vacation is staying in a hotel

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

"Steve...Steve!"

His eyes opened wide as Eddie's hands shook him awake.

"Jesus Christ, man. I thought I'd have to push you off the bed," Eddie sighed, his hold on Steve's shoulders loosening but not going away.

"Sorry," Steve gasped, his breath caught in his chest like he was about to have a panic attack.

This nightmare had been different.

Instead of Robin dying under the mall, it was Eddie. Instead of Steve being able to convince the Russians that he should be taken, Eddie convinced them he knew all they needed to know.

It was the exact type of falling on the sword Eddie would do.

Steve's eyes landed on Eddie, who was watching him silently, looking like he was doing his best not to cry.

"Eds? You okay?" Steve's voice cracked.

"Shit, are you?" Eddie asked back, letting out a disbelieving laugh.

"Yeah, sorry I woke you up."

"You're kidding, right?"

Eddie looked mad. He sounded mad.

"No, I'm really sorry. I know you don't sleep so great, either, so," Steve shrugged. "I wouldn't blame you if you wanna go down the hall to the girls' room."

Eddie blinked at him, silence making the air feel thick with an awkwardness they hadn't had between them in months.

And then Eddie's hands were cupping his face, almost lovingly.

"Do you ever think about how other people care about you?" Eddie asked, barely more than a whisper. "Or how seeing you suffer and then apologize for it breaks our hearts?"

Steve's mouth was opening and closing like a fish, searching Eddie's eyes for the answer he wanted.

"You have no idea how much people love you, do you?" Eddie's forehead rested against Steve's.

"I-"

"Stevie. I need you to listen to me." Eddie breathed out slowly. "I can't imagine how much you've seen. I know you've told me, and I've seen some of it myself, but half of the shit you've done? Just to keep everyone safe? And you keep seeing it in nightmares all the time. It never goes away. You're so strong. You get up every day and go to work, and cart the kids around, and bring me to appointments, and cook dinner for me and Wayne, and help Robin with her girl problems, and then you go to bed and have to worry about what monsters will be waiting for you. And then you wake up the next day and pretend it didn't happen, but we all know it did. I know it did."

Steve sniffled.

"And here I am, shaking in the corner of my bed because I think I hear a noise outside my window one time." They both let out a laugh, but Eddie continued before Steve could interrupt. "I was scared. I tried waking you up when you first started making noises. You sounded like you were hurt. And then you said Dustin's name and I could feel you shaking. And then-"

"And then I said your name."

Eddie nodded.

Steve placed his hands at Eddie's neck, almost mirroring Eddie.

"You died. But it was the Russians. You convinced them you knew something to distract them from me and the kids, but you didn't so they just kept...they-" He let out a sob as tears fell down his cheeks. "They did to you what they were gonna do to me."

"Oh, sweetheart."

Eddie's lips were on his.

It shouldn't be happening like this, a part of Steve thought.

It should be romantic and sweet, maybe after a date where Steve used all the charm he's been saving just for Eddie, maybe when the reason for the wetness against their cheeks was because of rain instead of tears.

But in a way, it was always going to be like this: admitting too much at the wrong time, saving each other from pain.

Regardless of all the ways it should be and all the ways he wished for it to be, it was perfect.

When Eddie pulled away, he let out a small laugh.

"Robin said this would happen as soon as I said I was staying in your room."

"She said I would have a nightmare that left us both crying and kissing in a bed that is definitely big enough for us to not be cuddling, but we definitely were?" Steve asked with a smirk. "She's good, but I don't think she's that good."

"Oh, shut up," Eddie lightly smacked his shoulder. "You know what I meant."

He did. She'd said the same to him.

"Well, maybe if you hold my hand, I'll be able to fall back asleep?" Steve suggested.

"Yeah, I could do that. Or..."

"Or?"

"Or I could..."

"You could?"

Eddie nipped his bottom lip.

"I could kiss you in...other places..."

"Eds, just say what you wanna do," Steve giggled.

"Fine! I could suck you off so you can sleep!" Eddie laughed.

"You could do that, yeah," Steve nodded, pretending that wasn't enough to rile him up.

"I could. If you want."

"Is it just to help me fall asleep?" Steve asked, suddenly nervous that this wasn't anything more than helping out a friend.

"If I wasn't completely clear before: I love you. I love you enough to sacrifice myself in your nightmares, I love you enough to do stupid physical therapy sessions that I hate because you get sad when I don't go, I love you enough to make Robin take a room with Nancy and Jonathan so I could stay right here with you, and I love you enough to suck your dick to help you sleep."

Steve snorted.

"Be my guest, then," he gestured down at his lap, watching Eddie literally lick his lips.

Just when Eddie was breathing against his stomach, ready to move further down, Steve stopped him.

"Wait!" Eddie looked up at him, eyes wide. "I love you, too. Need you to know that."

Fondness poured from Eddie as he pressed a kiss to Steve's stomach.

"I know, sweetheart."

[howisjoostfanfictionforfree]

Stop Sending Me Fruit Pics

Joost Klein x reader fanfic 18+ MDNI | RPF!!!

Joost hears something you don’t exactly want him to...

Reader: established relationship, f!reader, tried not to be too descriptive with physical characteristics but I’m sure I slipped up somewhere

CW: 18+ NSFW, RPF, smut, consensual but consent is not explicitly stated so be warned if you care about that, kind of rough, unprotected piv, cream pie, filthy onomatopoeia, cringe dialogue?

Words: ~1,900. Just a lil blurb. 

A/N: Ayy you know when sometimes you’re so wet you realize you can hear your pussy makin’ little *schlick-smack* noises when you walk? No? Just me? Dang. Anyway, here’s Wonderwall.

No I did NOT listen to WAP when I was writing this…

🍌🥝 🍌🥝 🍌🥝 🍌 🥝 🍌🥝 🍌🥝 🍌 🥝 🍌 🥝 🍌 🥝 🍌 🥝 🍌

You just got home. 

You had been at Tantu’s all day with Joost and you had been so worked up the whole time. You tried to play it cool, keeping to yourself on the beanbag in the corner while they worked, pretending you weren’t thinking about choking on that dick. 

Sometimes you think the fact that you don’t have a dick makes you a little too bold. Since you don’t have to worry about boners there is literally nothing to stop you from having wild fantasies in public and you rarely fail to take advantage of this. There have never been consequences so far, you’ve never been rendered unable to act normal when people engage with you. Still, you wonder if one day you’ll slip up and say something like ‘oh hey, how’s it boning?’. The possibility hasn’t stopped you yet. 

You sit there all afternoon thinking fairly depraved thoughts with no one the wiser and try to look busy on your laptop while discreetly watching Joost work.

When evening rolls around they decide they are done for the day and you are happy to see there is no wet spot on the upholstery when you get up. You gather your things and say your goodbyes. Then, as you’re heading out the door, you realize you can hear something strange. There is a little *schlick* with each step. Schlick...schlick… Oh. That is definitely your pussy. Guess you got a little carried away. It seems quiet enough that no one will put two and two together though. You just hope if Joost does notice something he will chalk it up to the bouncing click of a zipper or the back and forth of the synthetic material of your coat. You resolve to change your underwear as soon as you’re home. 

You’ve arrived and you’re taking off your shoes by the door when you look over and see Joost’s brow furrowed, looking at you curiously. Fuck. You’re not sure when it caught his attention but it has now and you try to walk into the living room slowly to dampen the sound. Maybe you can keep him from zeroing in on it. He puts down his bag and slowly pads after you. 

You’re halfway through the main space now. Act casual, act casual. The bedroom door is right there. Be cool, be cool. You look behind you to see if he’s still following and happen to catch the moment it clicks for him because his eyes go wide.

FUCK

His strides are swift as he bridges the gap between you and grabs your wrists when you turn and try to backpedal, palms raised in defense. He’s got a disbelieving look on his face and it’s turning into a shit-eating grin.

“Are you….wet?” 

“No, definitely not.”  You don’t even know why you’re lying. It’s not like you’re not super down to get it on. You’ve been lusting after him since this morning. Just, something about arousal to the point of being audible is embarrassing. What did that one guy in the vine say to his mom when she was making mac ’n cheese?

“I think you’re lying schatje.”

He spins you around and bends you over the arm of the couch before you can think of an excuse.

“Joost! Come on!”

You try to stand up but he has a hand on your back and his other one immediately works to shimmy your pants down. 

“Dude!”

He’s ignoring you. As soon as he’s got them down far enough he presses his fingers to your panties and swears violently at how obviously little they are doing to contain the situation. You suck in a breath. The gig is up. He rips them down to join your jeans and you can feel the string that connects them to your pussy break and stick to your thigh. God. He brings his hand back up quickly and dips his fingers in. He runs them through your folds and huffs out a laugh in awe.

“Joooost” you whine. You can’t believe he’s laughing at you.

“Schatje, what has you so fucking wrecked?”

“Shut upppppp” You groan.

“Is this all for me? You’re so wet I can’t believe it.” 

It is in fact all for him but your tongue is now stuck to the roof of your mouth with the way he starts tracing around your clit. He teases little circles around it. Not right where you need him but close enough to keep you arching into his hold. His huge hand on your back feels like a brand. 

“Aww that’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.”

You do your best to make an indignant noise into the cushions.

Continuing his investigation he drags the tips down to your entrance and teases around it lightly. You squirm a bit, it almost tickles, but his pin is firm. Suddenly he drives two fingers in to the knuckle and you choke. It makes the most filthy squelch. He pumps them in and out a few times slowly, repeating the noise. 

“My god schatje”

Your face is on fucking fire.

You want to make some quip, tell him if he doesn’t like it he can stick his damn fingers somewhere else, but you know that it isn’t an actual criticism. No, not with the way he is deliberately plunging his fingers to get the loudest possible *smack-slurp*. Not with the way he’s withdrawing every few pumps to run his drenched fingers through your folds, making equally obscene noises. It feels good but you can tell his entire focus is on reveling in the sheer quantity of your arousal rather than actually driving you higher. You start chasing his fingers, rocking back into his touch.

Then, just as suddenly, he whips his fingers back out, undoes his belt, rips down his pants, lines up, and sinks in in one go.

You scream.

Not in pain, but at the intensity of sensation. Things never usually move this fast. You were already so turned on that it felt perfect though. You have no idea if he’s saying anything to you because you white out for a moment. He holds there as deep as possible for a few beats, letting you adjust, but he can't help himself and soon he pulls back and starts building a rhythm. 

“Mmmmmmnn, baby, you feel so good. Were you waiting for me today?”

“Oh my god oh my godohmygodohmygod” You don’t know why he thinks you can talk right now.

Having done the bare minimum to not absolutely murder your cervix he begins picking up the pace. Soon he is jackhammering you into the couch as you scrabble for purchase on frustratingly smooth cushions. You can feel yourself dripping down his balls as they slap against you. The noises are worse than ever. The endless *slap-slap-schlap-shlup* is doing something to your brain.

Your hurtle towards orgasm alarmingly quickly. As soon as he reaches around to massage at your neglected clit you can’t even choke out a warning before your eyes roll back and you’re spasming around him in wild pulses. You whimper his name over and over in a way you will probably find embarrassing later.

At the feeling he grips your hips that much tighter, thrusting savagely as his gasps gain a breathy quality. Just as you start to go boneless he hooks an arm around you, pulling you back up into his chest before you can face plant, making your back arch sharply as he slams home and stays deep, spilling inside of you.

“Ohh fuuuckk....Schatje!”

You’re not sure you can actually feel his cum but there is some sort of twinge of warmth and it has you twitching around him once more. He groans at the feeling and bucks into you again lightly, teeth coming to gently press into your neck. You whimper and let yourself soak in the feeling of him in and around you. The weight of him still inside you and his bruising grip holding you so sweetly. 

After a minute he removes his teeth and brushes his lips over the spot. He kisses over your shoulders, gradually letting you both come down. Eventually he loosens his hold, releasing you from the somewhat contortionist pose. Once you’ve got your hands on solid couch again he pulls out slowly. Immediately his cum runs down your legs and you can’t help but let out another little noise. You try to close your legs to stop it but he grabs your thighs and holds them open, leaning back to watch. One of his thumbs moves to spread you open just a little, admiring his work. He gives a happy little sigh.

“Jooooost” You complain, but you really don’t have it in you to stop him.

He groans and pulls away finally, taking off his own shirt. He wipes up your thighs gently. When he’s done he wraps his arms around you and drags you up into a hug, your back pressed against his chest. He kisses at your temple a few times and then turns you around so he can finally kiss your mouth. You sigh heavily in his arms. As nice as it is to get dicked down you had missed his mouth. You always crave his kiss. You feel your strength returning and you bring your arms up around his neck so you can deepen it. You make out languidly for a few minutes but you are tired. All of that kind of made your back hurt. When you part from his mouth he is looking at you appreciatively.

“Was that okay?” he asks. “I know it was kinda fast. I could’t help it, I had to feel your pussy.”

“Yeah, that was really hot, even if it was kind of embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing that you were so wet I could hear it?” He leers at you.

You look away, shy all over again. He chuckles and kisses over your face.

“What made you so wet schatje, hmm? I still want to know. What is there to think about in the studio?”

You bury your face in his shoulder now, groaning.

“Come on babyyyy what has you so hot that I could hear it?”

“Hhhhhh…..the fruit.” You finally mumble into his skin. You still can’t look at him.

“Hah? The fruit? Oh!! Really?” 

You remember the moment you received the selfie with the kiwi. He had left for the studio earlier than you. Later, when you were on your way to join him, he sent you a picture of his snack with the words ‘babe my cum is gonna taste so good’. A few minutes after that you received another one with a banana. You sent a simple tongue emoji in return. Your relationship was no stranger to sexting but something about this made you blush. You spent the whole train ride to the studio flipping through your mental catalogue of the many times you had blown him. The weight of him on your tongue and the feeling of him in your throat. When was the last time he actually finished in your mouth? Oral always turned into fucking. God you want him to come down your throat. By the time you made it to the studio you were feeling more than a little warm.

“Yesss fuck you it was hot okay”

“Ohh? Do you wish we did something else? I can give you a taste next time kay?” 

You can feel his grin pressed to your ear. You sigh as dramatically as you can manage. 

“Okay, I guess I can wait.” 

You pull back to look at him.

“In the mean time, we do have blueberries in the fridge.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Cues door de Kirk* ~chap die poenie als bosbessen!!! 🫐✨

But like, the other way around,

eh you get it

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Unplanned Surprise (Doctor Who Drabble)

Eleventh Doctor x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: You have an unplanned surprise to tell the Doctor about.

CW: reader is GN but is pregnant, so the afab body is specified

DW: @nyxiethesimp @quickslvxrr @midnight--raine @blueberry-sunshines @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 @yeethaw13 @complimentary-breadbasket (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

“I’m pregnant,” you said, taking the bullet head-on and finally confessing to the Doctor the thing that had been plaguing you for quite some time. Well, only a few weeks- but it felt like a very long time. 

You weren’t really sure what to expect from him, given that he was reasonably prone to unpredictability. Would he scream for joy? Would he cry? Would he send you away and never want to see you again? For once, the endless possibilities did not fill you with intrigue or confidence. 

“Pregnant?” The Doctor repeated dumbly, wriggling his fingers thoughtfully. “How did that happen?” 

His tone wasn’t upset, angry or joyous. It was just casual. He was being casual about this. Maybe it hadn’t quite sunk in yet? You blinked at him as the question actually registered. 

“H-how did that happen? Doctor, you know exactly how that happened,” you blustered, mouth agape. 

“Well, yes, conceptually, I know how you humans pro-create and conceive,” he broke off for a second, trying to think of the word. “Babies. But you and me?” The Doctor gestured between the both of you a little too aggressively. “Not the same species, remember? My ejaculate should not be able to impregnate you.” 

You were lost for words, blinking confusedly. You supposed that made sense, but then again, the three tests you’d done had all said you were pregnant, so it looked like there was a first time for everything. 

“Should have tested that theory a little better before engaging in your breeding kink then, hey,” you replied, picking at your nails. The Doctor practically choked on his tongue, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offence. 

“Excuse you, Petal,” he argued, “but I am quite certain that you enjoy being bred full of my cum- do you not?” 

You split into a cocky grin, knowing he was absolutely right. 

“That may be so, but the point remains that I am pregnant, and it’s definitely yours, Doctor.” 

The Doctor opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. You could practically see the gears turning in his head as he processed that information. Then, he closed his mouth and split into the widest, most pleased grin you had ever seen from him. 

“You’re pregnant,” he all but shouted, hands outstretched in shock. He ran one hand through his hair. ‘You’re pregnant!” He shouted again, this time ending with a disbelieving giggle. 

“I am,” you confirmed, the Doctor’s grin infectious. 

You both let out a nervous laugh and then the Doctor had you scooped up into his arms and twirled you around. You laughed louder, holding onto him as he lifted you up and back down again.��

The Doctor slowed before wrapping you up in a tight hug as if to hold you close and never let you go. You breathed out, feeling content. 

Life was looking good. You were going to be parents. To a baby- a hybrid half-human-half-Time Lord baby but still!

“Parents,” the Doctor whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead and echoing your thoughts. “Almost unbelievable, isn’t it?”

You hummed, listening to both of his hearts beat in his chest. They were beating fast, telling you exactly how ecstatic the Doctor was about this news. 

“Completely insane,” you agreed with a soft nod. “I can’t wait.”

[adnauseum11]

Permanent Change of Station (John Price x Reader)

You goad John and make a revelation.

2.6k words

CW: swearing, explicit sex (MDNI)

Feedback Welcome!

This work is part of the S.N.A.F.U. series, master list is pinned to my blog.

‘John! Slow down, you absolute muppet.”

You are practically panting, tugging hard on his hand after having to trot alongside his long strides for most of the way home. He finally seems to hear you and his next step is shortened, scaling back to a speed that allows you to pull even with him. 

“Sorry, love.” He acknowledges, his tone still brusque.

“Are you alright?” 

Now that you can catch your breath a bit, you’re concerned, John’s dragging you down the street out of character. You march beside him for a moment and he seems to chew your question over before giving the most unbelievable answer possible when you arrive at the front door.

“Yeah, I’m good.” 

You sigh, watching him fiddle with his keys. As you wait beside him you take in his body language, your slowly sobering brain working overtime on the puzzle that is John Price. The tension hasn’t left his body and his shoulders are tight. The set of his jaw is stern, his expression pinched. You wonder at his full-bodied reaction to some mindless drunk idiot, unsure if the change in his normal demeanour is your relatively new relationship status or something else. You decide to push the boundaries you used to stick to, instead of backing off. 

“John, you dragged me two blocks. What’s going on?” You follow him into the front hallway, shrugging out of your coat. 

“Not a fan of his hands on you, is all.” 

John answers, half turned away from you, the lines of his body still stiff with unspent energy. He’s hanging up the coats while you step out of your boots, watching him for clues. 

“Jealous? Of that guy?” 

You can’t help the incredulity in your tone and are rewarded with a sharp look from John. 

“Not jealous. Concerned for your safety.” 

He answers, facing you again. You are reminded of the size difference between you, and how much restraint John usually shows when he puts his hands on you. 

“My safety?”

John stays silent but his eyes are locked on you, the intensity not having left his face in the slightest. Your half-sober brain finally puts the pieces together, catching up with your mouth. John’s primed for a fight that isn’t coming, his body wound tight to react to a threat no longer there. Oh.

“Are you sure, John?” 

“Your safety is my business, especially now.” He’s still terse, his hands going to his hips as he stares you down, not enjoying the implications of being considered jealous over some pissant.

You can’t tell if it’s the beer still running through your veins or some inner swell of confidence but you sashay away from John, plucking the buttons of your work shirt open as you go. You’ve already decided the best course of action, whether he realizes it or not. 

“I’m safe, John. Are you going to be able to let it go, now?”

He’s watching your hands, following you down the hallway without any conscious thought. 

“Sure.” 

He answers with one word, not convincing you at all. His back is still straight and the tension is still visible in his body, even at a few steps from him as you are now. 

You look at him with a raised brow before dropping your shirt into the hamper. John watches you wiggle out of your work pants, standing in your underwear giving him a disbelieving look. He stands arms akimbo, focus intent, sucking up all the air in the room.

“Not very believable, handsome. Want to know what I think?” 

You pick your way over to him, your heart thrumming against your breastbone. You’ve poked at John before, but he’s usually in a better head space to take your prodding. You hope you aren’t biting off more than you can chew, his mood not so forgiving now. 

“Hmm?”

“I think you need to burn off this energy.”

“You complained at having to walk fast, darling.” 

John’s tone is sardonic and dismissive, but his eyes don’t leave you. You can feel the hairs raise on your body, anticipation spiralling through you.  

“Not like that, I think you need to fuck me.”

“What?” 

John’s eyebrows shoot up, clearly not expecting those words to come out of your mouth. His eyes darken though, a nod to the desire simmering between you all night that even he can’t will away. 

“You heard me.” You step into his space, your fingers walking up his stomach to follow the curve of his ribs. You grab two fistfuls of his shirt over his pecs, tugging him down so you can speak directly into his ear. “C’mon John, fuck me.”

It’s as if you have flipped a switch in the man, his hands wrapping around your biceps tightly, stepping into you and directing your body backwards into the wall with a thump. His hands lack the tenderness they normally have, now grasping and greedy, squeezing the softness of your curves as he pins you in place. 

“You make me fucking crazy; you know that?” 

John’s breath is hot at the base of your neck, making your belly swoop with lust. His gravelly voice is low, sending shivers down to the base of your spine as it washes over you, your fingers spreading over his belly. You’re trying to get your fingers under his shirt when John yanks it up between his shoulder blades, throwing it. You only get a moment to press your palms against the wiry hair of his warm belly before he’s jerking you around, making you face the wall. 

His palms pin your shoulders firmly, the unspoken message clear, don’t move. You make a small questioning sound before you can feel the whiskers of his face and his hot mouth on the base of your neck. His hands stroke down to your bra, undoing it to make way for his mouth, working down the vertebra of your spine. You can feel him kneeling, his knees on either side of your feet and his hands tugging your thong down, his whiskers and mouth in the small of your back. Your thighs clench together of their own volition, your flesh breaking out in goosebumps at his touch. His teeth closing on the globe of your ass makes you gasp and twist, a hand landing in his hair. A dark chuckle and he grips your wrist, removing your hand as he stands, spinning you around to face him again. 

Before you can say a single thing, he’s got your face between his palms, claiming your mouth with his lips and tongue, shutting any higher brain function down. Your hands wrap around his forearms, steadying yourself against his crowding body. He’s moving you again, your legs wobbly from the rush of desire coursing through you. John follows your stumbling steps, steering you into the bathroom as he devours your mouth, drinking in the small needy sounds you can’t help making. You’re panting when he breaks away, his hands bold on your body, twisting you around again, this time to face the mirror.

You can see your own kiss swollen lips, cheeks and chest flushed, nipples tight in the reflection. John’s face is dark with intent, one hand curling over your belly to cup your slit, his fingers sliding over your slick curls, his other landing on your back, forcing your forward. The pressure of his fingers coupled with his insistent pushing has the air leaving your lungs in a moan, and your hands scrambling for purchase on the sink counter. The little bottles of face cream and serum you had lined up scatter as you awkwardly brace yourself, John snugging his still clothed erection against the curve of your ass. 

“You want me to fuck you? I’ll fuck you. You’re going to watch.” 

John is hunched over you, speaking lowly into your ear, making your thighs clamp around his hand. Your face is inches from the mirror in this position, bent over the counter, and you watch your own pupils dilate as John slides a finger into you up to his knuckle, sending you onto your toes.

“Oh god –“

Your next words die on your lips, replaced with a throaty moan. John’s finger is rocking into you as he frees his twitching cock, the blue of his eyes a faint ring around his blown pupils. He presses the hot length of himself against your ass, trapping his hand between your thighs and the counter. The muscles of his arm dance as he works you over, adding a finger as he glides through your slick walls. The moment you find some purchase to grind against him he eases off, sliding his hand from your body to your frustrated whimper. You can see the tell-tale flush of his arousal working down his throat in his reflection, his eyes tracking your body’s movements in the mirror. 

“Hold still.” 

He orders darkly, and you obey, watching as he focuses on tracing your soaked slit with the flushed tip, making you gasp and bite your lip, your gaze meeting with his in the reflection. His hot eyes bore into yours as he presses into you, the stretch making your eyes widen and a whine build in your throat. The intensity in his eyes as he buries himself in you steals all thought, making you mindlessly arch your back and press back against him as best you can. He only gives you a moment to process before he starts moving, the weight of his thrusts driving your thighs into the counter. It’ll leave a bruise tomorrow but your focus is completely on the drive of John’s blunt cock, filling you over and over again, his hands gripping your hips. 

He sets a steady pace, his heavy thrusts forcing you to slap a palm against the mirror to keep your face from crashing into it. It gives you some purchase to push back against him, making him growl lowly, his fingers tightening on your flesh. 

“You like that, hmm? You take me so well, darling, you feel so good wrapped around me.” 

John’s rambling, his low voice more of a rumble in his chest, his palm insistent on your back again. The drag of his cock through your wetness, paired with the sinuous movement of his body in the mirror and his velvet voice is making you feel drunk again, caught spinning between sensations. You can hardly string together a reply, your words slurred as you fight to keep yourself from colliding with the mirror.

“Yes, John, just like that, fuck –“ 

You break off, John’s insistent fingers on your hips tugging you back to meet his thrusts. He bottoms out making you both moan, your body clenching around him. You can feel your slick arousal leaking, coating John’s hot flesh as his thrusts pick up speed. Your hair brushes the mirror as you lose your focus to John’s insistent cock, and then he’s threading his fingers through it, tugging your head back, the pull a counterpoint to his thrusts. 

The moans he’s pulling from you are only raising in pitch, bouncing in the bathroom’s acoustics as you get caught between sensations. Each jolting thrust tugs your hair by the root, sending wave after wave of tingles through your scalp and back down your spine to your pussy. You whine as your muscles involuntarily clamp down on him, an answering guttural groan torn from his chest at the pressure. 

“Oh shit, that’s so good, don’t stop.” 

You manage to pant out, your voice needy and your eyes heavy lidded with pleasure, inches from your own face in the mirror. Your inner muscles are starting to flutter, a tell-tale sign of your impending orgasm. John doesn’t break his rhythm or let go of your hair, slapping your ass, the sting bringing you onto your toes. Your body bears down on him in surprise, making you push back on the mirror and John hisses, his grip on your hair tightening.

“Fucking hell, look at me.” 

John orders, his voice dark and his face intense. You drag your gaze from his flexing body to his eyes, suddenly feeling like you are being swallowed whole. Goosebumps break out, unable to look away as John’s thrusts turn slightly frantic, the wet sounds of your flesh meeting getting louder and more insistent. His grip on your hair brings you back onto your toes, your back arched and hips canted. Your hands on the mirror leave smudges as they slip, your body coiling taut and fighting for release. 

“I want to watch you cum around me”

His voice wraps around you, pouring into your ear and going straight to your pussy. He smacks your ass again roughly, and you jerk, your head bobbing and your hair tugging in his grip. He doesn’t relent, staring you down as he bucks into your body, his eyes two dark pools of desire, sucking you in.

“Cum for me, love.”

The authoritative snap of his command does something to your insides and your eyes widen as your orgasm slams into you suddenly, making your fingers curl against the glass of the mirror. John thrusts deep, releasing your hair to grip your hips tightly as you shudder, clenching around him as you cum with a rattling cry, your body tensing below his. He rides out your pulsing orgasm for a few heartbeats, watching your eyes finally flutter closed before he pulls out, making you whine. He strokes himself tightly until he spills thick ropes of cum on your lower back, hissed curses drifting over your slumped shoulders. There’s nothing but panting moans and the weight of John sagging against you, the world narrowed to the two of you as you struggle to catch your breath.

It takes John a moment to gather himself, your own legs feeling shaky as you lean your weight on the sink counter. He lifts and you feel him stroking a cloth over your back a moment later, cleaning you up.

“You alright, love?” His palm slowly smooths up your spine, squeezing the base of your neck.

You hum an affirmative and John’s hands wrap around your arms, pulling you upright again and turning you to face him. The fiery intensity in his eyes is gone, replaced with warmth as he searches your face for a moment. Satisfied with whatever he sees he kisses you, wrapping you in his arms when you sway slightly, still unsteady.

“Will you shower with me?” 

You ask, and it’s John’s turn to hum an affirmative, wrangling you close enough to turn the water on. You press your cheek into his chest, leaning into his solid body as the steam starts to accumulate in the room. You try to swallow the emotion suddenly clawing up your throat but John sees your face as he disentangles from you so you can get into the shower.

“What’s wrong?” 

He’s following you in, letting you stand under the water while he frowns down at you. You try to shake your head and dismiss it but he’s not having it, cupping your face to make you look at him.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s nothing.”

“Darling-“

You realize he’s not going to let it go after a moment and bite your lip, gripping his wrists tightly, wishing you were a better liar. This is not how you pictured having this conversation. There doesn’t seem to be any way to escape this without making it a bigger issue though. 

“John – I’m… I think I’m in love with you.”

He’s breathing your name, a smile stretching across his lips, genuine delight taking years off his face.

“You know I’m in love with you too, darling. I’d do anything for you.” 

You can feel his smile against yours when he kisses you repeatedly, and can feel the satisfaction in his touch when he derails the shower in short order, unable to keep his hands to himself. 

Next Chapter

Ao3

Tag list:

@deadbranch @beebeechaos @cadotoast @syoddeye @itr-00 @batw3nch @writeforfandoms @chloepluto1306

[ellecdc]

Could we possibly…maybe…please get a glimpse of when the team finds out the sexy long legged muscular thighs Remus and team doctor!reader are seeing each other 👀👀

YES - UH HUH - YUP - NO PROBLEM (ty ty ty ty ty)

hockey player!Remus Lupin x team medic!reader who are found out [2.6k words]

part 1 | part two | part 3

CW: fem!reader, blood, injury, talk of needles and stitches but the process is not described, hockey, proof of authors completely biased love of Swedes

Away games made you itchy.

The locker rooms were different, their medical rooms were different, and you spent what was likely an absurd amount of time before each game in the dark room (that each locker room had for concussion protocol) just familiarizing yourself with the set up. 

Hockey players were known for being superstitious, and they accused you of being much the same. But the difference between yourself and the team was that the medic hoped to the hockey gods each game that they wouldn’t be needed, while ensuring they were adequately prepared should they be needed.

And when your team wasn’t on home ice, you never felt adequately prepared. 

“I like watching your pre-game rituals.” Fenwick commented casually from his seat on the medical table - part of his pre-game ritual ever since you helped him stretch out his hamstrings before one game and he scored a hat-trick. Now he haunted your exam room like his career depended on it, much to your chagrin. 

“I don’t have a pre-game ritual, Fenny.” You grumbled as you reorganized the supply cabinet below the sink. “I have a job.” 

Fenwick made a non-committal sound as he continued taping up his stick - meticulously - when the door to the dark room opened.

“Doc, I was wond- are you really still on this, Fenz?” James paused as he furrowed his brows at his teammate. 

Fenwick let out a tired sigh as he gave you an exasperated look that read ‘can you believe this guy?’ before looking back over at James. “Cap, what you do to get ready for a game is your business, what doc and I do to get ready for a game is ours.” 

“For the last time, Fenwick, I don’t have a pre-game ritual.” You hissed before taking a calming breath. “What do you need, Captain?”

James had the grace to turn a little bashful. “Erm, well…there’s no more tape.”

You felt your shoulders sag as you gave him a disbelieving look. “I’ve asked you guys not to go through the medical tape; you need to ask the equipment managers to pack some if you need your own.” You repeated, again.

James grimaced as he went to respond, but was saved from needing to when a taller figure approached him from behind. 

“Coach asked the arena management for more, we’re all good.” Remus offered quickly, flashing you an apologetic smile over James’ shoulder as he clapped his captain on the back.

“Oh Loops, you beautiful, beautiful man.” James cheered before roughly pulling Remus’ head down to plant a smacking kiss to his cheek. “I love the Swedes!” He declared as he waltzed back into the locker room, earning him a cheer of approval from Isak Grönvall. 

“Five minutes, Fen.” Remus continued, causing Benjy to hop down from the table with an excited whoop. 

“Sorry doc, duty calls! Good luck out there!”

You let out a tired sigh as you fought the urge to shout “I don’t need luck - I’m doing my fucking job” after him. 

“You okay, doc?” Remus asked gently then, and you felt treacherous at how much of your ire simply seeped out of you as you saw his honeyed gaze and soft smile being directed at you.

“I hate away games.” You pouted rather petulantly, causing Remus to let out a laugh. 

“Home games are better.” He offered carefully as he moved further into the room to stand in front of you. “But away games have hotel rooms.”

You hummed in agreement as the two of you shared a look, but the door to the room opened again, causing Remus to take a significant step away from you. 

“Doc!” Sirius called breathlessly. “There’s no tape!”

“Loops found tape!” You heard someone call from further in the locker room, causing Sirius to let out a sigh of relief. 

“I fucking love the Swedes!” 

“It’s like they think I spoke some ancient Swedish proverb and a viking hand delivered medical tape to me personally.” Remus murmured quietly as the two of you watched Sirius disappear back into the locker room before you heard coach Moody shout for everyone to listen up. 

“Duty calls.” Remus offered with an almost disappointed smile at having to leave your company. 

“Good luck out there.” You parroted Fenwick’s earlier sentiments.

Remus’ disappointed smile grew more sincere; softer around the edges. “You too, Doc.” 

The Lions were up 4-1, and the Raven’s were not happy about it. It was turning into a rough game, and you had held towels up to more players' faces (threatening them with a weeks worth of bench time if they were hiding more injuries from you) than you could count, when the crowd went wild. 

Dearborn all but shoved your arm away from him in favour of standing against the boards to watch the action, and you couldn’t find it in you to be all that perturbed when you stepped up onto the bench to get a better view of the ice too, watching Remus’ line - the marauders, the team had taken to calling them - fly up towards the opposing team's side of the ice. 

James was the kind of guy to skate right through people versus around them, shouldering and checking people out of his way, while Sirius Padfoot Black seemed to swirl and dance his way across the ice like this was simply a well-rehearsed ballroom dance he could perform in his sleep. 

And for what Remus lacked in brute force or dancing grace like that of his linemates, he made up for tenfold in speed. He beat both James and Sirius to the otherside of the ice, slowing ever so slightly to allow Sirius to push the puck over the blue line before joining it on the home teams side and stationing himself near the side of the net as James forced his way to the goalies crease, and Sirius played keep away from the Raven’s with his defenseman, waiting for the perfect opening. 

The perfect opening came in the form of both of Ravenclaw’s defensemen fussing over James for blocking their goalie as said goalie craned his neck in an attempt to see over the clump of bodies in front of him, leaving Remus wide open. 

The puck bounced from Sirius, to Grönvall, who shot it to his fellow defensemen, who passed it back to Sirius who faked lining up for a slapshot before passing it to Remus who quickly tipped it in to the top shelf of the Raven’s net, causing the red light to flash and the goal horn to blare. 

In Remus’ focus on putting the puck in the net, he missed the Ravenclaw defensemen who had handed off James’ assault to his linemate in favour of directing his ire at Remus; checking him hard when Remus hadn’t even seen him, sending him face first into another Ravenclaw player who lifted his own arms, causing Remus’ face to make contact with the players stick before going down hard. 

You watched as Remus tried to pick himself back up again before his limbs simply sprawled out, flattening back down on the ice. Every player from both teams crowded around the net and nearly directly on top of Remus as they paired off in a brawl. 

“He’s still down.” You said aloud as if the coaches didn’t know, as if they couldn’t see. “He’s not getting up.”

The entire bench was standing and leaning against the boards as if just itching to join the chaos out on the ice; all four referees blowing their whistles and trying to pry players off of each other before turning around to pry two more apart.

James was still spitting words at the Ravenclaw captain when you made it down to the boards yourself. 

“Captain!” You tried, feeling your throat constrict when he didn’t seem to hear you. “JAMES!”

James paused where he was bending down to retrieve his helmet he’d lost in the fighting to look at you, seeming to recognize the panic in your face as he abandoned the rest of his equipment in favour of skating towards you. 

“He’s down; he’s still down.” You said, though it sounded more like a beg.

“Okay doc, okay.” He agreed breathlessly, offering you his elbow as you stepped out onto the ice, sneakers sliding as he helped you all but hobble across the ice to where Sirius was bent over Remus - seemingly talking to him, thank god - also sans helmet and a bloody lip. 

“James…” You whined after the third time your feet threatened to come out from underneath you, clearly attempting to move faster than James was willing to skate with you before he wrapped his arm around your waist and simply hiked you up underneath his arm like a fucking football, skating you the rest of the way to Sirius and Remus. 

“Hey, there’s our guardian angel.” Sirius offered with a wink as James gently placed you onto the ice, you forgoing all grace and falling to your knees and all but crawling over to Remus.

“Lupin you son of a bitch.” You hissed instead of crying, bending in an attempt to look at his face where he was positioned on all fours. “What the fuck was that about?”

Remus let out a breathy chuckle as droplets of blood landed below him, contrasting starkly against the pristine white snowed up ice. “I don’t think they liked that I scored.”

Something tight unclenched in your stomach leaving you feeling hollow and a little nauseous as you let out a slightly hysterical laugh at Remus’ joke.

“No, no. I don’t think they did. What hurts?”

Remus shook his head minutely. “Just my face. The wind knocked out of me when I landed and then there was fighting.” He explained. “I thought it best to just stay down.” 

“I agree.” You said as you held a towel to Remus’ cheek. “Just your face?”

“Only where the stick hit me.”

“Your head?”

“Is fine.”

“I’ll decide that, yeah?”

Remus sat back on his heels as the crowd slowly started clapping. James pulled you over towards himself, picking you back up to skate over to the bench as Sirius helped support Remus back over and the two of you disappeared through the tunnel towards the dark room.

“I’m fine, doc.” He argued as you pointed at the exam table.

“Protocol.” You responded simply as you closed the door behind you, your eyes struggling to adapt to the low light as you dug through your medical supplies. 

Syringe, two needles, local anesthetic, sutures and suture needle. 

You washed your hand thoroughly as Remus held the towel to his face, donning a pair of surgical gloves before bringing your supplies over to him. 

“Quick flash.” You warned before shining a light in his eyes; you were relieved by the results.

“Told you I’m fine.” He tried to tease as you clicked your flashlight back off and pulled the supplies you had placed on a rolling table over to you. 

“You’re bleeding through the towel, Remus. You’re not fine.” You bit back; words and tone harsh but hands painfully gentle as you pulled said towel away from his face to assess the injury.

The cut was small, but clearly deep; directly under his right eye high upon his cheekbone. 

The two of you were silent as you worked; you disinfected the wound and cleaned up the blood from his face, numbing the area before tying four quick stitches, taping over the injury more as a means of protecting it when you knew Remus would insist on going back out onto the ice again.

You hadn’t even realized his hands were on you until his thumbs started moving. You were stationed between his legs which were hanging off of the exam table, his hands had landed on the back of your thighs at some point during your work, and the pads of his thumbs began drawing soft circles when your hands started to shake, only after you placed the tape over his stitches.

“I’m okay.” He whispered again; his face so close to yours that you could feel the breath of his words fan across your face.

“Okay.” You responded, voice tight with emotions as your eyes started to swim with tears.

“Baby.” He cooed pathetically as he tried to pull you closer to him by your thighs, though between the exam table and all of his equipment, there was really no way to get any closer than you already were.

“I’m sorry.” You whimpered as you pressed the backs of your gloved fists to your eyes, humiliated at the onslaught of emotions now that the adrenaline had worn off. 

“My poor girl.” He breathed out, pressing delicate kisses to your forehead. “I didn’t mean to worry you.” 

“I don’t know why I’m acting like this.” You admitted; trying to laugh at yourself, though it came out more like a sob. “This is my job.” 

Remus hummed as he kept his lips pressed to your head, giving you a moment to catch your breath before he continued. “Yes, but that’s why you don’t do my ongoing care now, right? Because…it’s different.” 

“Yeah.” You whispered, still not trusting your voice to not crack under the pressure in your throat.

“You’re okay, babylove.” He murmured.

You sucked in a few deep breaths, willing yourself to toughen up and get back out there when the door to the dark room suddenly flung open.

“Doc, is Loops oka- oh my fucking god.” 

You fought back a groan as Remus simply breathed out a chuckle from his nose and Fenwick continued his sputtering from the door.

“Oh my god!” He shrilled. 

“Christ Fenz; will you keep it down? Lupin could be concussed.” You heard the coach bark. 

“It’s worse!”

Remus let out an offended scoff as you turned to look at him. “Worse?” 

“They- they’re, fucking- they’re….they’re fucking!!” Benjy ended up sputtering very ineloquently. 

You heard a flurry of movement before Sirius and James’ torsos appeared in the doorway; the two boys nearly wrestled each other out of the way in order to get a view of what the hell Benjy was talking about before they both started smiling, though in very different manners.

“Now…I don’t know how you do it, Fenny, but that is not fucking.” Sirius taunted salaciously. 

“I fucking knew it! You owe me ten bucks, Krum!” James called as he walked out of the dark room, followed by Krum grumbling something in Russian. 

“Who bet on finding out after the All-Stars?” You heard Dearborn ask. “Because you bastards owe fifteen.” 

That was followed by more grumbling.

“Doc!” You heard Grönvall call breathlessly, turning to find him standing in the doorway with a wide smile on his face. “You do love the Swedes!”

Remus let out a loud laugh as his arms wormed their way around your waist. “No, she loves this Swede.”

Grönvall laughed and nodded his head as if to say ‘fair enough’. “Well gratulerar! You’ve made me a rich man!” 

You shook your head as you shared a look with Remus before hearing a scandalized “OH MY GOD” from the locker room. 

“Doc’s the one with the wicked mouth!” James shrieked, and you felt all of the blood in your body migrate to your face as you buried your face in Remus’ chest - very uncomfy due to his pads. 

“Tell us something we didn’t know, Cap.” Sirius laughed. “She hands our asses to us every day with nothing but that sharp tongue.” 

“But-”

“Okay, going into the third period-” Coach started, and the topic of you and Remus (and your wicked mouth) was put to rest… for now.

[moonstruckme]

My stomach hurts so bad!! I feel so sick Bb do u think u could write a fic with James or Steve with a super sick gf???

I'm sorry about your stomach babe! Hopefully you're feeling much better by now, thank you for requesting

cw: food poisoning (no vom or anything, just mentioned)

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 615 words

You whine, curling in on yourself like you can squash your insides into numbness. “I feel so gross,” you whine. 

“You are pretty gross,” Steve replies, knuckles running up and down your arm. 

You look up at him from where your head rests on his lap, appalled. “You’re not supposed to agree with me!” 

“What?” Your boyfriend gives you a disbelieving look. “I didn’t say you were hideous, but you are definitely grosser than usual. Like, if we’re taking you on your best day, this is at least thirty percent more gross than that. I can’t agree with that?” 

“No!”

“In that case, I think you’re delirious with fever, babe. I never said anything about you being gross.” 

Despite yourself, a reluctant little chuckle puffs out of you. Steve grins. 

“Even if you were gross,” he drags his palm down the length of your back, letting it curve over your hip to your thigh before starting back in the other direction, “you’d still be way hotter than anyone else I’ve ever seen. It’s only fair that you get gross every now and then. You know, to make everyone else feel better.” 

“I don’t think everyone else is that worried about it,” you say. 

“That’s where I think you’re wrong. Think about it: we eat at the same place we go to all the time, and only you get food poisoning? That’s not chance, that is a planned attack.” 

You look up at him amusedly. “You think this was an assassination attempt?” 

“I mean, without the killing part, probably, but yeah.” 

You hum, settling back in on his lap. “You’re starting to sound like your nerd friends.” 

Steve’s mouth drops open playfully. “I am not! And anyway, if you tune out Wheeler’s brother, sometimes they’re making some good points.” 

You start to smile just before another cramp seizes your middle, rolling through you with a wave of nausea. Steve’s grip on you tightens as your eyes screw shut. 

“Shit.” He sounds part sympathetic and part like he might be in pain himself, one hand worming underneath your arms to rub at your stomach. “I’m sorry, baby. I know it sucks. All we can do is ride it out, and it should be gone by morning.” 

You make a small, distressed sound. “We don’t even know if it’s food poisoning.” 

“Nah, it is.” 

Steve’s massaging helps, and gradually the pain lessens. You take deep breaths until you can think clearly again. 

“How are you so sure?” you ask him. 

He shrugs. “It’s just the only thing that makes sense. You’re just getting whatever it was out of your system. You’ll be good as new soon, just you wait.” 

You shoot him a dubious look. “What, you think you’re a doctor now?” 

“No, but I kinda look like I could play one on TV, right?” At your bewildered silence, Steve goes on, his hand still moving gently over your stomach. “I’m just saying, have you ever seen those soap operas in the hospitals? If they came out to Hawkins to do their casting calls, I’d be snatched up in a hot second, babe.” 

You study him. Steve is undeniably handsome, this isn’t new information. He has a firm brow paired with sweetheart eyes and mussable hair, plus a classical sort of bone structure that’s humanized by the odd blemish or mole. Nice skin and a nicer smile. Good hands, too, one of which is currently caressing your hurting stomach while the other plays with the ends of your hair. 

“Nope,” you say, completely lovestruck. “I don’t see it.”

“That’s okay.” Steve gives the pudge of your stomach a gentle squeeze. “It’s just the fever getting to you again.”

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Running an errand together brings out even more sides of Eddie Munson, including one that you wish you'd never seen (5.2k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, parental conflict, poverty, jealousy, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter six: the eye of the tiger

Guilt fit like the shoes your mom forced you to wear as a kid, the dressy ones reserved for special occasions. It pinched at you, dug into you, a constant reminder of its unwelcome presence.

And so you did everything you could to alleviate the discomfort. On Wednesday, Dad mosied into the lobby for his shift to find the floor meticulously swept; there was not a speck of dust in sight. If he had any suspicions, he didn’t bother to show them. He was probably just grateful for the help regardless of its cause.

Mom, as usual, was more skeptical of your intentions, raising a disbelieving brow when you presented her with the bills you’d reorganized by their due dates. You’d offered up the excuse of being bored with nothing better to do. Did she buy it? Unlikely. But she also didn’t pose further questions, choreographing another step in your dance.

And when Dad hung up the phone Friday afternoon, thumb and forefinger massaging the bridge of his nose, you jumped at the chance to fix the situation.

“Everything okay?”

He looked up with a start, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to realize you’d been standing in the doorway. 

“That was Uncle Mo,” he said with an elongated sigh. “The delivery truck won’t start; something’s busted, I guess, so we won’t get our wallpaper until it’s out of the shop.”

“I can go after class,” you volunteered. The shop was a twenty minute bus ride from school, no transfers required. Lugging it on the subway back home might prove more challenging, but you could manage it. 

He dashed your dreams with a swift shake of his head. “They close early for the Sabbath.” Which meant they’d be closed all day tomorrow, too. 

Dad glanced around at the walls, lip scraping over his bottom lip. Their barrenness unsettled him; his pride and joy left empty and exposed.  

Imagine how he’ll feel once this place is boarded up for good. Bet he won’t care about some ugly walls then. 

“I’ll go on Sunday.” The promise practically made itself before you could stop it. Your final paper was due on Tuesday, and you had planned to spend your weekend finishing it, but that would need to take a backseat until the wallpaper crisis was resolved.

You could be part of that solution. For now, at least.

Sunlight teased summer’s beginning and warmed your skin. The walk to the subway station required you to cross paths with the mailbox you’d fought with—and humbly lost to—a few days prior. Dejection shot through your chest as you paused in front of it, focusing on a spot of rusted metal where the paint had flaked off. Short of intercepting the United States Postal Service, there was nothing you could do. Besides, your acceptance was probably already locked inside NYU’s admissions office, sitting among a pile of identical envelopes. Most of them, you suspected, were mailed with exuberance and not with the trepidation you carried. 

The station’s stuffiness engulfed you as you descended the stairs, fingertips brushing the railing to ensure your balance. Your return trip would be short of torture, sweat prickling beneath your arms at the mere thought of dragging wallpaper through the thick humidity. You might have to splurge for a cab to avoid melting completely.

Frantic, impassioned guitar strumming grabbed your attention just before you approached the turnstile, echoing off of the concrete and infiltrating all of your senses. Your breath caught in your throat when you saw that Eddie was the source of the noise. He leaned against the wall as he played an electric guitar—the same one he had clutched so dearly when sleeping at the bus stop. There was no microphone, no amplifier; just him and his instrument. The case was open in front of him, now holding a few scattered dollar bills and some loose change. 

He didn’t notice you, not at first, so you took that opportunity to silently watch him. His head nodded along with the beat, his voice a low timbre as he sang. 

Trust I seek and I find in you 

Every day for us something new 

Open mind for a different view 

And nothing else matters

The chords were nearly drowned out by his vocals, and the softer strumming should have clashed with the harsh lyrics, but he made it work. 

It was somehow even sadder than when Metallica played it, though not from a lack of power. Eddie’s version intertwined anger with desperation, a somber reprise of the gritty original. 

Deft fingers pressed into the frets, the pick pinched between the other hand’s thumb and forefinger. He took a step forward to launch himself into the chorus with a combination of focus and ease. This is what he was meant to do, what he was born to do. Whether he was in front of a captivated audience of thousands or a smattering of indifferent commuters, he was a rockstar. 

Never cared for what they say

Never cared for games they play

Never cared for what they do

Never cared for what they know

And I know, yeah, yeah

Heat blossomed in your belly at his gravelly voice, the way he pulled the notes from the depths of his diaphragm and belted them out. The E train came and went as it screeched along the tracks, but you remained as though the soles of your feet were glued to the ground. 

So close, no matter how far

Couldn't be much more from the heart 

Forever trusting who we are 

No, nothing else matters

For a brief moment after finishing the song, Eddie’s chest puffed out with pride. It quickly faltered in the absence of applause, but before he could play another song, his gaze landed on you. He grinned and shook a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. Part of you wanted to fix it for him, to tuck it behind his ear or sweep it all back into a ponytail, but you refrained. Instead, you dug into your purse and tossed a dollar into the case. 

“Was that the one I gave you for the cab?” Eddie asked, fingers absently brushing over the strings in a series of random chords. 

“Nah, this was from the other asshole guest who made me late for class.”

Your jibe caught him off-guard and he actually laughed with such force that he had to stop playing. “And here I thought I was the only one.” He ran a hand through his hair, wincing as it snagged on a knot. “Are you going to the library or something?”

You lacked the energy to explain that the library was in the opposite direction, opting instead to cut to the chase. “Picking up the wallpaper.”

Eddie’s brow furrowed and he cocked his head. “I thought it was being delivered.” As you relayed the whole broken-truck saga, he started sliding the guitar strap up off of his back and crouched down, stuffing the money from the case into his pockets. “Cool. I’ll go with.”

“Oh, I wasn’t–” You paused mid-sentence to consider your words. “I mean, you don’t have to. I can do it on my own.”

“S’fine.” Eddie laid the guitar down with the fragility that one would handle a newborn baby and snapped the case shut. “Didn’t realize this station is basically dead on Sundays. I normally just play here during the week, but I’ve been out of commission.” He held up his bandaged finger and pouted impishly.

The familiar playfulness settled back into the conversation, breaking up any lingering awkwardness, and you snatched up the opportunity to tease him. “Ah, right. Your man stuff.”

“Very manly. Burly, some might say.” He extended one hand in front of him, palm up, to gesture towards the turnstiles. “Shall we?”

You led and he followed behind so closely that his chest smacked into your back when you stopped in your tracks. The uneven weight distribution, courtesy of the guitar case lolling at his side, thrusted him forward, the metal buckle on his belt digging into your skin through your shirt. 

It set off a domino effect, one that had you falling face-first to the ground. Before you could even brace for impact, you felt Eddie’s fingers digging into your hip and tugging you upright. The way he caught you was almost reflexive, his grasp controlled enough to avoid bruising your skin, but strong enough that you realized he could if he wanted to. 

“What happened?” His tone was mixed with both concern and amusement; a crackle of laughter broke up his question. 

An embarrassing adrenaline surge shot through you, bringing with it a chill that immediately preceded a heatwave of perspiration. “The, um…” You lamely pointed at the card swipe machines that had replaced the token receptacles. “I forgot that we need those MetroCard things.” 

Eddie let go of your hip and you felt his absence almost immediately. “No, we don’t.” He left no time for questioning, hoisting the case to the other side and pushing himself up and over the bar, landing on his feet with cat-like dexterity. 

You stared at him in disbelief. Sure, you’d jumped the turnstile a time or two, but that was back in high school, under the influence of friends you hadn’t talked to since. 

“What’re you waiting for?” He called out. A Cheshire-cat grin graced his lips. 

What were you waiting for? It’s not like the transit police were scouring the station. The poor schmuck stuck at the now-defunct token booth was exasperatedly trying to explain the new system to an older gentleman; he probably wouldn’t have noticed a wildebeest stampede. And you certainly weren’t eager to contribute to the politicians who lined their pockets with taxpayer money. 

Fuck it. 

In one swift motion—much more graceful than your earlier stumble—you mimicked his actions. One foot, then the other, your biceps supporting your body weight. 

“You little rebel.” Eddie tutted, his smirk showing off his teeth. You never noticed the way one canine is slightly sharper than the other, and it digs into his lower lip. “This is how it starts, y’know. One day, you’re skipping out on train fare; the next, you’re committing armed robbery.”

If he kept rubbing your nerves raw, you might be more tempted to commit homicide. 

Another E train arrived not long after. You were an expert at scouting empty seats, and you made a beeline for the first one you found. There was another one across the way, just vacated by a woman pushing a stroller, and you assumed Eddie would take it. 

Instead, he shoved his guitar case towards you, parting your legs between the knees, and grabbed onto one of the overhead handles. 

“Can you hold this?” Eddie asked belatedly. He rocked forward onto his toes as the train moved to keep his balance. A guitar pick necklace swung out from beneath the vee of his shirt and swayed above you. 

You drank in the way he towered over you, so close that he was all you could see. The mingled scents of the motel’s soap and a musky deodorant wafted off of him and enveloped your senses. For a second, there was only him, and whatever the outside world had to offer was just shy of meaningless. 

“There’s a seat down there.” You peered around him and gestured to the one you’d spotted earlier, careful not to point at anyone. 

Eddie looked but declined with a shrug. “Nah, I’m good. I like standing.”

“See, that’s the kind of thing that separates the natives from the transplants.” You smiled up at him. “You didn’t even want to sit down after a gig? Or a long rehearsal?”

“I didn’t really ever take the subway,” he admitted. “Maybe, like, once or twice.”

You huffed out an incredulous laugh. “How did you get around?” 

“Taxis, car service.” He ticked off the items on his free hand. “One time we rented a helicopter, but then the label threatened to revoke the company card.” He chuckled forlornly, like the memory was heavier than an impromptu helicopter ride. 

“Sounds like you were living the life.”

Eddie shook off his wistfulness with a cheeky grin. “Hell yeah. Expensive restaurants, swanky hotels…did I ever tell you about the time we trashed our room?”

“You did not.” You’re not sure you want to know, considering he’s currently staying in one of yours. 

He laughed. “Get this: we come back to the hotel after a gig. We’re all fuckin’ exhausted. As soon as we walk into the lobby, the night manager is on us like a hawk. I mean, the guy gave a stink eye like you wouldn’t believe.” He tried mimicking him, but he was too upbeat to embody the manager’s full ire. “Anyway, we’re not in the room for five minutes when there’s a knock on the door. Of course it’s that schmuck, warning us about the noise policy.”

You looked at him incredulously. “That’s why you destroyed a hotel room?” 

“Mhm.” Eddie proudly nodded, not missing the way concern furrowed your brow. “Don’t worry, Heiress. I’d never trash your place.”

“I’d have to get Phyllis after you.” Laughter bubbled out of you at his visible cringe, probably thinking of being on the other end of her baseball bat. “Okay, so what’s the dumbest thing you guys bought with the company card?”

People pushed through the aisle as the train pulled up to the stop, elbows nudging Eddie until he was practically on top of you. Every hair on your body stood up at the sudden change in proximity. “Probably one of those stuffed tiger things for our apartment,” he admitted.

“You and your band bought a taxidermied tiger?” You scoffed. 

His face flushed, and he scratched at his jaw like he’d been caught red-handed. “N-No, not the whole band. Just me and the drummer. We, um, she was my girlfriend, I guess.”

Puzzle pieces started falling into place and interlocking curves. His ex-girlfriend was also in the band, which was probably why they broke up once Eddie quit. “How long were you two together?” You instantly regret not asking about the tiger instead, for his sake and yours. 

“Hard to say; we were pretty on-and-off.” Eddie tried to play it off casually but terse laughter gave him away. The subway lurched and Eddie swayed forward again, his knee grazing yours. “But it was about a year from start to finish.”

You let the information sink in. He had a girlfriend in Death’s Echo, but he seemed to be unattached at the moment. Made sense, considering he was living in your motel rather than with a partner.

“That’s what no one tells you about money: it runs out.” Eddie continued. “It’s like, common sense or whatever. But when you have no money and then you get a shit-ton of it, it’s hard to imagine ever going back.” 

His eyes found yours like he had been searching for them, and you held his gaze until a monotone voice crackled over the speaker, announcing that the train was approaching the Forest Hills-71st Avenue station. 

“We have to transfer here.”

Eddie wrinkled his nose, clearly not thrilled by this extra step, but he followed your lead without any audible protest.

“Y’know,” he said as the doors opened, the two of you joining the swarm of people pushing their way out, “my neighborhood back home was also called Forest Hills.”

“Seems fancy,” you quipped. 

He laughed, head thrown back. “Oh, yeah. It’s the most glamorous trailer park in all of Indiana.”

The faux pas curdled in your stomach. What were you thinking? He had just confessed that he was broke before Death’s Echo. 

“Sorry, that was stupid.”

He shrugged off your comment, seemingly unbothered. “How many stops is this next one?”

“Just two.”

He hummed his acknowledgment, and with the R train less crowded than the E, you found seats adjacent to one another.

You did your best to ignore the way his right leg brushed your left, the worn denim against your bare skin as the train jostled him. He murmured a barely-audible “sorry.”

There was no reason for him to apologize, and you almost told him this, but you substituted a tight smile for words. Truthfully, you were glad he confirmed that the touch was accidental. You’d nearly nudged him back, a secret handshake of sorts, and your body burned with the mere prospect of embarrassment.

The train screeched to a stop in front of a sign that barely read 63rd Drive-Rego Park, most of the letters covered in colorful graffiti tags. 

“This is us,” you said, handing him back his guitar so you could stand up. 

Eddie stepped aside with a small bow, equal parts awkward and endearing. “So, uh, where are we going, exactly?” He stayed close enough so you could hear him over the cacophony of commuters. 

“S’just a few blocks.” You maintained your fast-paced stride so as to not get bowled over. 

He kept up with you surprisingly well for someone unused to navigating the city’s public transit. The fresh air welcomed you as you ascended the stairs, leaving behind the station’s mugginess. Conversations and traffic replaced metallic clunking while you weaved in and out of a sea of pedestrians, checking every so often to ensure you hadn’t left Eddie behind. 

Bold white letters on a maroon awning proudly proclaimed Eisen’s Paint and Supply, and the faint sound of bell chimed when you opened the door. A middle-aged man stood behind the counter, eyes lighting up when you walked in. 

“Uncle Mo!” You exclaimed, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. Uncle Mo wasn’t your father’s brother, but their bond went beyond blood relation. He was part of nearly all of Dad’s stories since they’d met in high school: the good, the bad, and the ugly. 

There was more gray in his hair and in his beard than the last time you’d seen him, the lines from his lips to his jaw more pronounced, but he still wore the same cologne that you’d remembered. The familiar scent was like home, a reminder of all of the Thanksgivings your families had spent together before the motel engulfed your life. 

He beamed, his hands bracing your upper arms as he got a better look at you. “Look at you; so grown up!” His eyes misted over for a second before he blinked the moisture away. “How long has it been?”

“Too long.” You turned back to Eddie, waving him over and introducing him. Uncle Mo politely extended a hand that Eddie shook quickly before shoving his fingers back in his pocket. 

“Before I get your paper,” Uncle Mo said to you with a mischievous smile, “I have a bit of a surprise.” The stockroom door swung open on cue and a young man stepped out from behind it. 

Your hand flew to your mouth in shock, every bone in your body vibrating. “Ben?” The name was muffled but still audible, and Ben opened his arms just in time for you to tackle him in an embrace.

His gangly teenage limbs had been replaced with hard muscle, his chest straining through his t-shirt. There was no trace of the wispy excuse for a mustache he’d once proudly sported; his face was freshly shaven, only the slightest evidence of his stubble scratched against your cheek when he pulled you to him. 

“I couldn’t believe it when my dad told me you were stopping by,” Ben said, finally letting go after a few moments. He looked at Eddie as if noticing him for the first time. “Ben. Nice to meet you.”

Eddie said nothing in response, his jaw set and his arms crossed over his chest. Whatever friendliness he’d shown Uncle Mo was clearly not being granted to his son. 

“Ben, this is Eddie,” you hurried to explain before the tension became unbearably dense. “He works for the motel, doing different repairs and odd jobs. Whatever we need, really.”

Your old friend nodded and brought his attention back to you. “Do you guys need help bringing the wallpaper back? I don’t have anything to–”

“We’ve got it.” Eddie cut him off curtly, clipping the conversation’s wings. His eyes narrowed in judgmental assessment and their milk chocolate hue turned dark.

Ben had evidently stepped on his toes; you thought back to the wasp’s nest and his adamance to clobber it with a baseball bat despite your insistence to wait until you bought the spray. You shot Eddie a look that he either disregarded or didn’t notice, because his clenched jaw never loosened. 

“Right, yeah.” A blush crept into Ben’s cheeks, the other man’s brusqueness catching him off-guard. “But we should catch up soon,” he said to you, “maybe grab a cup of coffee?”

It was an effort to ignore the way Eddie tensed up; even more so to pretend like his reaction hadn’t stirred something inside of you. Everything between you and him, and you and Ben, was strictly platonic. Whatever melodrama he’d conjured up was his problem, not yours. 

Your relationship with Eddie teetered between acquaintances and friends; he was in no position to get bent out of shape over you going for coffee with Ben or any other man.

You pushed the intrusive thought away long enough to answer Ben’s question. “Yeah, of course! You’re home for the whole summer?”

“Actually…” Ben’s grin widened, harboring a secret he was eager to spill. “I’m back for good. You’re looking at Dr. Benjamin Eisen, D.D.S.”

“That’s amazing!”

He nodded happily, enthusiasm unrestrained. “Thanks. I’m hoping to open up a practice nearby, so I’ll be sticking around for a while.”

That was the best news you’d heard in a while. The pair of you were once inseparable, always devising plans to convince your parents to extend their visits. When you were six, you’d almost started a fire trying to put on a pot of coffee, hoping that it would coax the Eisens into staying longer. 

Too bad you’d forgotten to add the water. 

Uncle Mo returned from the stock room with rolls of wallpaper, and his son shuffled towards him to take one from his grasp. 

“Are you sure I can’t help out?” Ben tried again. He only looked at you when he spoke. 

You almost took him up on his offer, the reply sitting on the tip of your tongue, but Eddie answered for you. 

“We’re good,” he said flatly, taking the rolls from the other men. “I used to lug around amps all the time. This is nothing.”

He’d uttered the same phrase before taking a bat to a wasp’s nest, and he’d ended up hurt. Still, inviting Ben along would almost certainly guarantee an awkward commute home. At best, you’d force stilted small talk; at worst, Eddie might shove Ben onto the tracks. 

“Thanks anyway,” you said politely, trying to temper your irritation. 

Ben gave a tight smile, brows shooting up when remembered something. “Let me give you my new phone number so we can set up a time to meet up.” He plucked a business card from the little plastic container on the desk, flipping it over and scrawling his number on the back. 

“Sounds great.” It truly did, save for Eddie’s glare that made you grateful looks couldn’t actually kill. 

Tucking the card into your purse, you held him in one last hug before bidding them goodbye. 

Eddie said nothing the entire walk back to the subway station. He strode there despite heaving around a guitar case and cylinders of wallpaper. You suspected he could have flown there if he wasn’t so bogged down. The closest he came to acknowledging your presence was the scoff he let out when you veered off-course to buy a MetroCard. 

You ignored him, still fuming over his behavior towards Ben. With trembling fingers, you dropped your change into the coin slot, acutely aware of his presence as he stood beside you. He was close enough that you could hear his tense sigh, as though his frustration was justified.

Yanking the card out from behind the swinging Plexiglass, you silently stalked over to the turnstile, Eddie begrudgingly hot on your heels. The tiny diagram showed the magnetic strip facing downwards and you did your best to emulate it. After two failed swipes, the machine relented and gave an approving beep.

“Go,” you told Eddie, and when he stared at you blankly, you repeated yourself with considerably less patience. “Go.”

“Okay, okay.” There was no hiding his surprise at your insistence, the sharpness of your tongue. He obviously wasn't accustomed to taking the attitude he dished out. His eyebrows crashed into his hairline as he maneuvered through, wallpaper bumping up against the metal gates. 

There wasn’t enough money left on the card for you, so after a brief glance at your surroundings, you once again lift yourself up and over to the other side. The metal barrier seemed laughably obsolete beneath you.

Eddie blinked twice in rapid succession but composed himself before you reached him again. A peculiar expression graced his face; not so much amusement as much as admiration. If you weren’t so annoyed with him, with his antics back at Eisen’s, you might have cracked a joke about his bad influence rubbing off on you. 

The first leg of the trip—the shortest part, as it were, went smoothly. It was once the E train departed from Forest Hills that it almost immediately halted, the exasperated conductor announcing that extensive track work was causing delays. 

“Fucking great,” you muttered. Experience told you that the remainder of the ride would be stop-and-go, which meant more time spent with Eddie. 

He’d exhaled an exasperated sigh of his own, eyes flickering over the subway car and foot tapping to a beat only he could hear. When he finally spoke, it was the last thing you’d expected him to say. 

“Wanna play I Spy?”

“Um, what?”

“Y’know, I spy with my little eye…” he explained, as though you were confused about the game concept.

It took every last ounce of energy not to burst out laughing at his odd request, though it helped that annoyance still tarnished your mood. “All right. Sure.” 

“Cool.” He glanced around again, rubbing his palms over his thighs in concentration. “Okay, I spy with my little eye, something purple.”

Squinting, you searched for shades of lilac and violet. “That woman’s shirt?” You jutted your chin towards an older woman sitting across the car. 

“Nope.”

“That little girl’s shoes?”

Eddie just shook his head, his dimples gradually deepening with each wrong answer you gave. 

Your next three guesses were also incorrect, and Eddie triumphantly pumped his fist when you admitted defeat. 

“It’s the words on that sign,” he said, pointing to an advertisement for psychic readings. 

It was your turn, and it didn’t take you long to find your target. 

“I spy with my little eye, something…douchey.” Your gaze never left his face, watching the skin crease between his brows as he connected your implication. 

Eddie threw his head back and cackled, drawing the ire of your fellow commuters. You shushed him with a hiss, his apathy only fueling your anger. 

“Fine, I guess I deserved that.” He leaned back in his seat and stretched his arms upwards. For a second, you thought he might drape one over your shoulders, but he brought them right back to his lap. 

“You guess?” You gawped, and he laughed even louder. “You were a total asshole to Ben for no reason.”

Eddie’s voice got feather-soft; you had to lean in to hear him. “Trust me; I had a reason.”

You snorted. “What, him offering to help carry the wallpaper threatened your ‘man stuff?’”

“Something like that.” 

Crossing your arms, you shot him a bemused grimace. Whatever testosterone-laden excuse he concocted would just strengthen your irritation, so you saved yourself the headache and  plundered on. 

“Ben and I have been friends since I was born.” That wasn’t an exaggeration; a photo of one-year-old Ben holding newborn you was tucked away in one of Mom’s albums. Dad had snapped the photo while Uncle Mo sat next to his son, helping cradle your head. You were only a few hours old. “Whatever your problem is, don’t make it mine. Or his,” you add.

Eddie had no response to that, and you preferred it that way. Maybe he was learning not to argue with you, especially when he was so obviously wrong.

Your response halted all conversation for the rest of the extended ride and continued during the short trek back to the motel. The quiet was necessary, but not peaceful, and you refused to buckle when an invisible pull urged you to talk again, to push past the discomfort. If you couldn’t outright tell him that he’d upset you, the least he could do was feel that anger.

“Where do these go?” Eddie asked once the motel’s doors closed behind you. You pointed to the supply closet and he ambled over, wincing as the hinges squeaked in a plea for lubrication. “All right, so, I can get started on this tonight if you want.”

You considered this for a moment before shaking your head. The lobby could survive another night with bare walls, but you needed a break. A break not just from Eddie, but from his naivety to his actions having consequences. 

“Tomorrow’s fine.”

He stilled, his hands halfway in his pockets. “I mean, I was going to stop by anyway; I might as well—”

“I think I just need some quiet tonight.” It was the nicest response you could muster, though the way the words passed through your clenched teeth gave away your annoyance. 

“Oh.” His cheeks puffed out as he exhaled a breath of air, his eyes refusing to meet yours. Confusion tied his tongue, but if he didn’t realize the mistake he’d made, you were in no mood to spell it out. He waited a beat for you to follow up, to iron out the creases with an explanation that had nothing to do with his earlier behavior, but that never happened.

The lack of reassurance pained you, too. You despised leaving matters unfinished; part of you wanted to apologize—for what, you weren’t sure—just to have some resolution. 

Eddie raked his fingers through his curls. “Well, I’m sorry for pissing you off, or whatever.”

Or whatever. Those two words almost had you smacking him upside the head with the wallpaper tubes. Maybe sealing his lips with the glue, too. 

The worst part was the shock on his face when you’d wordlessly stormed out of the supply closet towards your room. Like he had no idea what he’d done wrong or why his non-apology fell flat. 

No, that was a lie. The worst part was actually the pang of disappointment in your chest when there were no footsteps pounding down the hall, no knock on your door, no attempt to talk through the situation. As much as you wanted to be left alone, you’d clutched to an optimistic sliver that he would follow you. It was a pathetic need for proof that he cared about you as more than just his employer. As his friend.

But there was nothing.

That silence hurt most of all. 

--

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[solarmorrigan]

Hello there! I’m not entirely sure if you’re still doing the whole angsty-ish prompt thing, but if you are could please consider doing, “Shit, are you bleeding!?”, with steddie and Steve being the one bleeding?

Maybe Steve never actually took care of his bat wounds and they reopened or smth??

If not then that’s totally fine! Feel free to ignore :)

THIS IS VERY LATE, I'M SORRY. I know you sent this request months ago, and believe it or not, I didn't forget about it! It haunted me. (Not really, but I did keep it in mind, and I finally managed to get a little thing out for it! I hope this is a little like what you had in mind?)

[CW: blood, mentions of injury]

-

They’ve done it.

They’ve actually fucking done it.

They pulled off the whole stupid plan, no one is dead (except for Vecna), they’re right-side up, the gate has resealed itself – it’s over.

They won.

And now, there’s just one thing left to do.

Nothing official, really, just something Eddie had promised himself he would do if he actually managed to survive (odds hadn’t seemed to be in his favor at the time, so he hadn’t expected to have to follow through, but he’d also promised himself there would be no more running away). In a way, he’d promised Steve, too, so he thinks he’d better deliver.

(At least, he hopes that’s what he’d communicated to Steve; he hopes that’s what that meaningful look and that significant nod that passed between them had meant and that he’s not about to get his ass kicked after surviving the siege of a bat tornado in a mirror version of his trailer in a fucked up alternate dimension.)

Eddie gives Dustin one last affectionate pat on the back, skirts around where Robin is babbling something enthusiastically at Nancy, who looks a little too shellshocked to do much more than listen with an almost disbelieving smile, and makes it over to where Steve is standing by the front door. He’s got his back to the group, hunched over a little as he fiddles with something beneath his unzipped jacket, but he perks up the moment he hears Eddie’s voice.

“Steve,” Eddie calls, more quietly than the last time, but with no less gravity, and just like last time, Steve turns back, his gaze falling heavily on Eddie.

Before he can talk himself out of it, and horribly aware that this isn’t really the best time or place (but then again, if not here, then where? If not now, when?), Eddie steps closer, steps right into Steve’s space, cups one hand to his ash-smudged cheek, and leans in to kiss him.

He barely even has a moment to wonder if he’s made a monumental mistake before Steve is kissing him back, tilting his head and pressing closer and moving his lips against Eddie’s like this is all he’s ever wanted to do. If the rest of the trailer has fallen conspicuously silent, Eddie doesn’t notice.

The kiss doesn’t last long (not as long as Eddie would like), but that’s alright; it feels like there will probably be more.

“Wanted to do that earlier,” Eddie murmurs as they pull apart. “But I didn’t want you to think it was some kind of last-ditch wish fulfillment because I thought I was going to die. Figured now would be better.”

“Now is good,” Steve says softly; his eyes are a little hazy, a little unfocused (and damn, had Eddie done that?), but they find Eddie’s without trouble. "Now is great."

And then it’s Steve’s hands on Eddie’s face, curled carefully at the edges of his jaw, drawing him in for another kiss. It’s only the feeling of something wet sliding across Eddie’s skin that distracts him and makes him pull back. Steve’s hands fall away, and Eddie reaches up to swipe over his jaw and looks down at his hand.

His heart thumps when he sees red.

“Am I–?” He reaches up again, rubbing his fingers across his skin again, but he feels no pain, finds no injury. “Are you–?” Eddie looks now at Steve’s hand, heart jumping again when he sees more of the same smeared across Steve’s fingers. “Shit, are you bleeding?”

Steve frowns, reaching up with his clean hand to try to swipe the mess away with his thumb. “Sorry,” he mumbles, but he sounds distant now, a little breathless in a way that Eddie can’t blame on any kiss.

Eddie reaches out and spreads his hands under Steve’s jacket, pushing it open to get a good look at him, and finds the damning dark spots spreading across the fabric of the t-shirt underneath.

“Shit,” Eddie hisses. “Shit, shit, Steve–”

“Might’ve pulled something,” Steve murmurs, “fighting Vecna.”

“You think?” Eddie is aware that he’s getting a bit shrill, but he thinks that he really can’t be blamed. “Wheeler!”

Nancy is there in an instant, and Robin is at Steve’s side just as he starts to wobble. She gets an arm around his back and he hisses, reminding them all that the bat bites on his sides aren’t the only wounds he’d sustained.

And then Nancy is barking instructions, and Robin is talking, quiet and rapid-fire at Steve as they sit him down on the couch, and Dustin is demanding to know what’s wrong (and if Eddie thought he’d been getting shrill–), and Eddie only manages to get him out of the vicinity by telling him to go call an ambulance.

“He’s gonna be fine, Henderson, but we need help,” Eddie says firmly, giving him a shove in the direction of the phone. “We’ve got him, he’ll be fine.”

And Eddie hopes to God, to Satan, to who-the-fuck-ever it is he’s supposed to be praying to at this point, that he isn’t lying to the kid.

He’s just gotten Steve – he can’t lose him now.

[corroded-hellfire]

Prompt Day 28: Back to Indiana

Words: 976

Rating: T

Pairing: Eddie x Reader

CW: language, talk of bullying

Thank you to my editor @munson-blurbs ❤️

Summary: When famous rockstars Eddie and Jeff come back for their ten year high school reunion, Eddie runs into a friendly familiar face.

@corrodedcoffinfest

Welcome Back Class of ‘86!

The banner in the God awful combination of green and orange greets Eddie as he pushes into the gym. Jeff’s by his side as they step into the once despised part of their old school.

Eddie and Jeff had debated whether or not they wanted to come back for their reunion, but ultimately decided to go. They knew it was petty, but they wanted to see how differently the “Hawkins High Royalty” treated them now that they’re successful rock stars. And they get their answer almost instantly.

“Whoa, Eddie! I didn’t think I’d see you here, man.”

Andy was one of the worst douches of all back in the day. Now he’s acting like they’re old friends ? Nah, fuck that shit.

Eddie gives him a terse nod of the head and keeps walking.

Jeff knocks his shoulder against his band mate’s, laughing as he does so.

The pattern repeats itself, other former jocks and students who ignored or tormented them trying to talk to them as if it’s the most casual, normal thing in the world.

“Holy shit, man,” Eddie says. “This is fucking hilarious.”

“I am so glad we decided to come tonight,” Jeff says. “You know, I’m aware that these aren’t the tables from the cafeteria, but something about being back here has me itching to see you jump up on one and make some grand speech.”

“What, you think everyone here needs a lecture? Teach your kids to be nice to the freaks because they might end up Grammy winners someday?”

Jeff laughs. “Holy shit, it’s scary to think that some of these people are parents now. Oh hey, look. There’s the only reason you passed, what, three of your science classes?”

Eddie follows his friend’s gaze and grins when he sees you sitting at a nearby table. He can’t help but notice that you’re sitting alone. It seems like not much has changed, because you were always quiet in school and could often be found in a secluded spot with a book.

“Uh no,” Eddie counters Jeff, “she helped me pass two—no, shit, you’re right, three times.” He pats Jeff on the chest. “I’m gonna say hi. I’ll catch up with you.”

Jeff gives a small salute and heads further into the gym.

Eddie pulls out the chair that’s across from you at the round table, spins it around, then plops down on it. He rests his arms on the back of the chair and leans forward.

“Hey, you. Long time no see,” he greets.

Your eyes widen when you take in your former lab partner.

“Hi,” you say, unable to keep the surprised squeak out of your voice.

Eddie smiles and tilts his head. “How are you?”

“I’m-I’m good,” you say. “How are you?”

“Pretty good for being back in this place.” Eddie looks around the gym, as if he’ll see back in time to his six years here.

“Yeah,” you say with a small chuckle. “Why did you come back for this? We didn’t exactly go to school with the greatest people.”

“That was good practice since Hollywood isn’t filled with the greatest people either,” he says. “But figured it might be fun. Plus, I get to thank you for helping me graduate.”

“I don’t think I did that much,” you say, shyly ducking your head.

“Are you kidding?” Eddie asks with a disbelieving chuckle. “If I didn’t have you, I would’ve failed biology, chemistry, and anatomy.” He pauses a second, pursing his lips. “How did we end up having all those classes together? I mean, what are the odds?”

You nod and let out a nervous chuckle, avoiding Eddie’s eyes as you look down at the table.

“Y-Yeah, I know.”

The rockstar’s gaze narrows as he eyes you suspiciously.

“Okay, spill. You know more than you’re saying.”

Your face feels like it’s on fire as you release a breath and find the courage to meet Eddie’s eye.

“Well, uh, I was an aide in the front office,” you start. “And so they let me help with making student schedules.”

“And you put us in the same science classes?” he asks, a smile growing on his face.

“I did.”

“Why? Just to help me graduate?”

“Um.” You scratch at the side of your neck, your stomach doing a somersault. “Also because I had a huge crush on you.”

Eddie couldn’t look more surprised if you told him aliens made the class schedules.

“Wait, really?”

“Yes,” you answer before taking a deep breath.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

He’s still smiling, so that’s good. You were half afraid he was going to laugh in your face.

“Because,” you say with a shrug, “I didn’t think you’d want to go out with me.”

Now, Eddie frowns.

“Of course I would’ve,” he says. His eyes scan your left hand for a ring before he speaks again. “Actually…do you want to get out of here now? Get a burger or something?”

Now it’s your turn to look shocked.

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah!” Eddie stands up and situates the chair back to its normal position. “It’s not everyday I find someone who liked who I was before I was famous.”

“How do you know I’m not lying?” you challenge, feeling slightly bolder.

Eddie laughs. “Because I had classes with you for three years. You couldn’t even lie to Mrs. Click when you were late to class because you wanted to finish the chapter of a book.”

The tumbling in your stomach turns to butterflies.

“I can’t believe you remember that.”

Eddie just shrugs, giving you a bashful smile.

“You’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. You were bound to stick out at this school of assholes.”

You stand up from your seat and place your hand in Eddie’s outstretched one.

“Benny’s Burgers?” you ask.

“You read my mind.”