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sc0tters · 8 months ago

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Distance Apart | Nico Hischier

summary: sometimes all you need is your boyfriend, even if that means he has to put his family above his team.

request: yes/no

warnings: swearing, like one mention of blood.

word count: 2.78K

authors note: we are back with the Rosie universe! I miss writing for dad Nico and when I asked you guys said you wanted it in this universe so here it is! we have a bit of angst in it but I like how it got to in the end.

pt 1

You were tired.

Rosie had decided that she wanted nothing to do with you after you started showing. You were now seven months pregnant with your baby boy and Rosie was hating it. The poor season that the devils were having, left Rosie and you walking on eggshells around Nico who was constantly stressed out. What made it all that much worse was the fact that Nico hadn’t seen you in weeks and now he was on a road trip with the team.

Nico tried everything to convince you to come with him on the trip but as you couldn’t sleep through the night as your back was killing you. To make matters even worse, Rosie was now feeling your nightly pain as she was having nightmares every night. You were running on mere minutes of sleep which was only going to grow less as Rosie started running a fever.

Yet, still that wasn’t your biggest problem. You were in his cabin in Bern with Rosie as you prepped for the arrival of your new addition. It had been a month since you saw Nico as he came to see you, not hesitating to come during the all star break. But now you were counting down the days until you were no longer a single parent “I know Rosie.” You sighed getting up to hear the sounds of her sobs echoed in the baby monitor.

Her new favorite thing to do was cry for her father “papa!” Rosie wailed as her lights turned on looking for her father’s face “you know he is home my love.” You ran your hands through your greasy hair that you couldn’t remember when you last got the chance to wash it as it seemed that you had been rocking the messy bun for days.

She continued to cry as her red cheeks meant she wasn’t getting any better “let’s go sit outside.” You offered hoping that her play mat would be enough to calm her down whilst she sucked on one of her old frozen teething toys. The 15 month old clung to your shirt hanging to the faint scent of her father that the shirt still had. You attacked what remained of his closet as nothing from your own seemed to fit anymore “I know I miss him too.” You nodded as you sat her on her mat seeing the picture of her and Nico that sat on the table ahead of you both.

It seemed that the world was on your side as your phone began to ring, causing your gaze to snap from the picture “I will be right back. You announced getting up to grab your phone from the kitchen where you’d get her a teether, hoping it would act like a popsicle. Your phone screen was lit up by Nico’s contact just like he promised to call when he got to Las Vegas. You took less than a second to grip your phone to answer the call “hey schatzi!” Nico shut his door smiling as he got to see your face again.

You wanted to tell Nico all about the day you had but instead when Rosie let out a cheer you were reminded of who really needed to see him “Rosie I have your dad!” You announced coming back into the living room with both your phone and the frozen toy.

Nico was full of concern seeing how you never even took the chance to speak to him “hi maus.” He cooed sending her a wave as she sucked on the ice piece “papa!” She sent him a toothy smile whilst you held the phone. All the medicine that Rosie needed was her father’s attention. The duo continued this conversation which was primarily just Nico talking to his daughter ass she nodded along like she understood what he said.

You began to take the moment to shut your eyes falling asleep with your head on the couch as you yawned “maus why don’t you let me talk to your momma?” Nico’s voice combined with Rosie tugging on your shirt it made you look up “hi Nico.” You forced a smile onto your lips.

Being with him for years though Nico knew that you were hiding something “think we should talk about Glasgow.” The Scottish city was in fact where you guys learnt that you were pregnant with Rosie. It was a reminder of the joyous memory, that you now both now used as a code word. Rosie was beginning to want to listen to every single conversation that you guys had, and now used it when you needed to talk about something in private.

He watched you sit there as you tried to ignore his gaze “schatzi please.” He pleaded as he grew worried for what was going on with you in that moment “play with your toys and I’ll be right back.” You kissed Rosies head as she now seemed content with her practical popsicle.

You made the short walk back to the kitchen wanting to keep Rosie in your sights “how are you?” Nico wanted to drop the team and all of his responsibilities to be with you, as guilt consumed him that he wasn’t with you “and don’t lie to me because I will get my mother to move in there if you do.” The offer was something you then responded with being met with a break up. You did love his parents, but you weren’t going to lose your independence.

Now though you were a fraction of that strong woman “I miss my sleep.” You began gripping your hand on your stomach as you let out a grunt “schatzi what is it?” Nico was ready to get out soon the next flight to see you.

You raised your hand to wave off his concern “Rosie can’t sleep and my body is killing me.” Your boobs throbbed under your touch as you groaned “you missing our favorite cure for that?” The captain teased, only to quickly realize that you weren’t in the right mood to hear him joke around.

It was the glare that made him go quiet, opting to regret his sex offer. When you were close to having Rosie you only wanted to climb him like a tree and Nico wasn’t going to stop you as it made you feel comfortable. You groaned again as you were too tired to stay mad at him “I just need this baby out.” Your confession had two meanings, you were done with being pregnant and on top of that you needed your boyfriend back.

Rosie’s rattle echoed as she hit it on the floor “let me talk to my coach.” He could see how drained you looked with the stains on your (his) shirt “absolutely not.” You shook your head refusing to be the reason why he would leave his team “we can survive for the next month without you.” It was clear you were lying and it took Nico everything to keep his mouth shut as he sent you a look of concern.

He wanted to argue but knew that you’d just hang up “there is no harm in wanting a bit of help y/n.” He felt horrible that he couldn’t be there for you, but with your boy coming at the end of the season you both agreed it was best for you to be in Bern. His words made your gaze sharpen “I’m fine.” You snapped making him run his fingers through his hair as he let out a sigh.

The captain hated it when you got all closed up and refused to let him help “just let me in.” Nico pleaded as he watched you shake your head “it is hard to do that when you aren’t here!” You grumbled reminding him of the fact that you were practically alone. Your tone made Rosie cry, causing your head to snap in her direction.

Your fingers rubbed your temples as you groaned “look I need to go get that.” It was the last thing either of you needed as you hung up letting Nico see his reflection in the screen “fuck!” He groaned throwing his phone across his room in frustration.

This time you were lucky that all Rosie wanted was company “papa!” She cried gripping her hands out to hold you “I know honey.” You sighed pulling her into your arms as you began to rock her trying to soothe your upset toddler “I miss him too.” Yelling at him was the first time you felt like you had any kind of control over something in days and now here you were feeling like an ass.

On the other side of the world after sleeping on it Nico was shoving his things back into his suitcase “what are you doing?” Timo furrowed his eyebrows as he walked in to see a disheveled Nico rummaging around his room “I need m-my passport and I can’t.” Nico sat on his bed not knowing much of what to do.

He was grateful that you made him bring it all of his roadies now in case you gave birth when he was gone “but can you breathe for me?” Timo crouched in front of his captain wondering what could have pushed him to this as Nico nodded “then I’m pretty sure you need this if you want to meet your baby boy.” The blonde fiddled with the passport in his hand as he waved it in front of his teammate.

Nico felt his eyes go wide seeing the book he tried so hard to find “it was on the table when I walked in.” Timo explained as he watched the captain get up “my girls need me.” Nico reminded himself of the reason why he was leaving this team “go get ‘em then.” Timo sent the boy a salute as he watched him run out of his room.

After an argument you and Nico usually didn’t talk until you both calmed down, but now you were sat staring at your phone as you reread the headline Nico Hischier will be taking a leave of absence for personal reasons. Nina sensed your worry as she handed you a cup of tea “I’m sure he is coming here because he wants to check on you both.” You called his sister in tears when you realized you had gone too far in getting mad at him.

You nodded hoping she was right “but what if he just goes back to his apartment instead?” You asked watching Rosie smile at Nina “and it seems like I am the only person she cries around.” You mumbled pushing your head into the pillow behind you.

Nina pulled her niece onto her lap “Nico is in love with you and Rosie loves you too.” She reminded you as she placed her hand on your knee “you are a great mom and don’t forget it.” As you stared at the garden in front of you Nina knew you had every worst case scenario run through your mind as you were a mess. The calmest girl she had ever met was now focused on everything that wasn’t her.

You forced a smile onto your lips as you tried to act receptive to the compliment “look I have to get to work but don’t forget you call if you need anything.” Nina kissed Rosie’s head as she didn’t want to leave you two alone “I will.’ You nodded watching her leave.

After she left you couldn’t shake the fact that you were failing, as a partner, a mother, and even a pregnant woman. So as Rosie went down for a nap you opted for a shower, forcing yourself out of your clothes as you went to shower. As the warm water hit your skin you forgot how great it felt to let the lavender scent of your shower gel invade your nostrils. But not even that soothing scent could calm you down from the pain you felt in your stomach “ahhh.” You moaned running your hand under your belly as something felt off, the water turned a shade of crimson red only making you panic.

Each moment faded into the next as you got out of the shower and grabbed whatever clothing you could find rushing to the door as you picked up Rosie and your delivery bag from the front door. Tears clouded your eyes as you drove yourself to the hospital feeling as alone as ever.

Nico was surprised to see Nina stood at the airport waiting for him, but when he saw the fear in her eyes he knew something was wrong “the baby is coming.” His mom had come to the hospital after she was called with Rosie needing supervision “no we still have over a month.” Nico felt his mouth go dry as he shook his head

Nina nodded as she shrugged “I know but he is coming and has been for two hours now so hurry up.” She clasped her hands together taking his duffle as the siblings pushed out of the airport running to get to you.

The hospital room was quiet as you felt numb, by the time you had woken up again you were no longer pregnant and couldn’t even hold him as he was in ICU “schatzi.” Nico gasped seeing you look up at him “I’m so sorry.” You apologized feeling your eyes fill with tears as you shook your head thinking about how the last thing you did was yell at him.

Nico couldn’t let you continue as he wrapped his arms around you “no baby don’t say that.” He kissed your head as his thumb wiped away your tears from your cheek “I didn’t even get to see him.” All you got was a nurses description of your baby.

It killed him hearing the pain in your voice “been told he is okay and strong.” Nico squeezed your shoulders as he watched you nod trying to calm down “really?” It made you feel like you really did get to see him.

He moved to sit in front of you taking up the side of your bed as he nodded “I really am sorry for everything I said though.” You reached out for his hand honestly glad to see that he really was there “can we agree to never fight over the phone again.”He announced making you quickly nod “it’s far more enjoyable making you sleep on the couch when I see it happen.” Your joke made him suck at his teeth only causing your grin to grow wider.

There was a moment where the two of you were able to just enjoy each others company “I really have missed you.” You mumbled watching him move closer to you “then it is a good thing I have the next three weeks off.” Nico kissed your lips as you furrowed your eyebrow.

As you cocked your head you wanted to point out that he only had two weeks nobody needs to know that you are no longer pregnant.” He shrugged resting his forehead against yours “I love you so much.” You mumbled kissing his lips once more.

Hours had passed and you had taken a nap and were now clear and ready to see your boy “you better not crash me Hischier.” You warned placing your feet on your footrests “would be a funny way to end this date.” He teased making you giggle before you winced “don’t make me laugh you ass.” You groaned gripping at your stomach trying to avoid the stitches from the c-section wound.

He squeezed your shoulder as an apology “you ready to see our boy?” There was a hopefulness in his voice as he looked to the room number in the NICU “you know it.” You nodded failing to hide the grin on your face as he pushed you into the room.

You let out a gasp seeing him laying in his crib “he’s so sweet.” You pressed your hand against your chest as you cooed “c’mon mama let’s see him.” Nico held his hand out to yours.

The captain helped you up looking around to make sure you guys weren’t caught by any nurses “he is perfect.” You felt your voice break as you smiled “little Elias is all ours too.” Nico watched how your eyes couldn’t leave him.

It was the happiest he had seen you in weeks “so how long until you’re clear for our favorite activity?” Nico smirked as he ran his fingers along your back “I just got the last one out, you are celibate for the foreseeable.” You warned sending him a glare as he laughed kissing your temple.

“There’s my girl.”

#nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine #hockey imagines #imagines #oneshots #hockey imagine #nhl oneshot #nhl imagine #amber writes fics #ambers love moments

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deanbrainrotwritings · 6 months ago

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— i hate buffering

SUMMARY : “hey hi, could you do an imagine with Dean who is dyslexic or dyscalcic? Please I would really care <3” — anon

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), fluff

WORD COUNT : 826

A/N : title from a the devil wears prada song. ah, an imagine. I actually don’t know what the hell I'm doing, but I loved this as I started reading a Stephen King book in the semi-darkness and I kept reading words wrong and thinking about how difficult it would be to be dyslexic.

Dean heard your adorable giggle before he heard your footsteps coming closer to his bedroom.

This new, long-term dating thing made his heart skip a few beats.

You were cute and compassionate, mostly, but there was so much to you than just that. The longer he spent getting to know you, the more you seemed to unexpectedly expose parts of yourself, like heated kernels turning to popcorn.

He stopped cleaning the stuff in his bedside table’s drawer to watch you with a dimpled smile. He sat on the bed and you finally showed him what you were shyly hiding behind your back.

He blinked a few times, willing his brain to focus on the yellow sticky note and your pretty handwriting. He glanced up at you, your expectant gaze, the flush on your cheeks. Embarrassment flared up his neck and he panicked.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he blurted out. You tilted your head at him as your brows twitched and your smile faded into confusion. “I'm tired, I can’t focus,” he lied, rubbing his eyes.

You thought it odd, but shrugged it off anyway.

“Oh, that’s fine,” you smiled, “it says: show me your tits, cowboy.” Dean laughed softly and you slapped the sticky note on the wall above his bed as you climbed into his lap. He instantly grabbed your waist and slowly slid his hands down to your ass. “But if you’re tired, we can just sleep… after you finish cleaning this up.” You dipped down to kiss his forehead, but he searched for your lips for a real kiss that made you warm all over.

One of his hands slowly moved up your back until he cupped the back of your head to deepen the kiss. Before you knew it, he had you laying down on his bed and impatiently moved between your legs to kiss you harder.

You laughed against his lips and moved up the bed, never breaking the kiss until your head was properly pressed into his soft pillow. His warm, calloused hand sneaked up into your tank top, slowly lifting it, distracting you by licking into your mouth.

His soft tongue played with yours and he gently squeezed your breast, causing your breath to hitch. He pulled away with a smirk that made you feel hotter. He removed his hand from your warm flesh to kiss down your neck and your hands moved into his soft hair. His soft lips pressed and brushed teasingly against your skin, and his careful teeth grazed your sensitive flesh. He gently pulled down the strap of your top and followed the thin strip before moving to kiss your cleavage instead.

“Fuck,” you whispered impatiently, but let him do things his way despite the fire you felt on your skin from his touch and his kiss.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered warmly against your skin. You smiled and hummed softly, watching him with his greedy eyes while he grabbed a handful of your ass and slipped his hand underneath your shorts.

“You're not wearing underwear.” His voice was low and deep, and all you could do was bite down on your lips while he licked his own and just watched you hungrily. Your heart was in a frenzy and your mind was clouded with incoherent thoughts of him. Naked.

“I pretty much told you I came here for sex, but cuddling is an option if you’re tired.” He slid his hand out from under your shorts, moved back up to peck your lips before smiling down at you cheekily. You pressed your lips together shyly and lowered your hands to his broad shoulders.

“Can I tell you something?” He asked suddenly, pressing his lower body against yours and gently leaned on his side with his arm beside you. You tried to ignore the sensation of his body being all over your and lovingly cupped his cheek.

“You can tell me anything.”

He inhaled and looked away from you slightly. “I’m dyslexic. I couldn’t really read your note.”

You almost blurted out really? without thinking, but this is Dean. He wouldn’t say that if he wasn’t completely sure about it. Your smile softened and he chewed on his lip for a few seconds before trying to cover it up with a seductive lick of his lips and a quick glance at yours as an escape for his confession.

“That must make all this hunting research very difficult for you,” you considered thoughtfully. He kissed you softly to interrupt your thoughts.

“It does…” he mumbled against your mouth and rocked his hips gently against your core. Your breath got caught in your chest.

“You’re still very good at it,” you reassured him breathlessly and grabbed at his shirt to tug it up and off his flushed body. He hummed appreciatively against your lips. “Thanks for telling me,” you murmured, teasingly nipping at his lip when he started pulling away to remove his shirt.

“Thanks for being you.”

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#dean winchester x reader #dean x female!reader #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 13 days ago

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Hai^^ I love your stories so much and I was wondering if you could make one about 80s slash x reader? And how the reader’s parents and slash’s mom were friends and forced them to meet each other?

When the reader sees slash - she kinda into him and the more she stares at him the more attractive gets and slash is a bit older than her and finds her funny and weird as he notices that she’s been staring at him the whole time during dinner.

It isn’t until they’re left alone that they start talking to each other and slash makes playful gestures and teases towards her? With smut and fluff of course :P

I hope that’s not a lot^^ anyways whenever you get the time^^

A/n: I wrote this in class and barely finished so the end is kind of shit

Warnings: smut, arranged marriage trope(ish), if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

I think I’ve used this before but no I didn’t bc I said so

Ever since you were young, around twelve, there was always this pressure to be with someone, relatives coming by and asking where your boyfriend was. It was annoying and you couldn’t get away from it.

Your parents only got worse as you got older, inviting friends over with suitors. Annoying old men shoving money and power in your face, none of it was ever for you they just wanted to show you what they had. They didn’t care about you.

This dinner was just like any other, you had to get all dressed up to meet some guy your parents knew. He’d be old, creepy and wasting away, just wanting someone to bed whenever he wanted, someone to beat, who he could show around town as he pleased.

You were in your room, getting ready as per usual. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, pristine and proper, white floral dress and golden makeup. Just once you wanted to do something bigger, something harsher.

The doorbell rang and you were called down to meet the guests. You say yourself at the table, ready to meet the next suitor to leave.

A woman walked through, she was gorgeous and had a beautiful smile, behind her came a man with bigger hair than his mother. He shared those big, dark eyes, full lips, but he didn’t smile. He wasn’t dressed up all fancy, he wore jeans and a leather jacket over a Ramones shirt that was torn up and well loved, to say the least.

You weren’t allowed to listen to the Ramones, devils music you were told. This man was the devil incarnate and you were certain he’d be the one to take you away.

Your mother sat down next to you and placed a hand on your knee, leaning into you. “Don’t you dare go looking at this one all puppy eyed, I gave you good men you will not be falling for this monstrosity.” She said through gritted teeth, but her warning was moot, you’d already made up your mind.

The dinner went as every other did, your mother would ask questions and listen closely to the answers, except she didn’t. She didn’t care what this man, Saul was his name, had to say.

You sat idly by and ate, gaze flickering over to him all too frequently, he was sure to notice but he didn’t bring it up or look back at you.

His voice didn’t match his appearance. He was soft spoken and only spoke when told to, he rarely looked up from his plate and when he did he didn’t make eye contact.

Saul Hudson to be wed, you could see it in the papers now.

“I play guitar in a band.” He said, it broke through your day dreaming haze.

“You-you play..?” Your mother sputtered out, unable to even finish her sentence.

Saul nodded, a wide grin on his face and he looked up at you, still not making eye contact. His gaze flicked from your lips down to your shoulders, you didn’t dare guess where else he was looking. “Big band, Guns N’ Roses.” He clarified. “Playing stadiums now.” His mother smiled proudly over at him.

You wiped your mouth on a napkin and stood, quietly excusing yourself from the table. The food was gone and what was left needed to be packed away now anyway, you were just leaving it for other people.

You went to your room and sat down at your desk once more, staring at yourself in the mirror. Something new filled you, you wanted his attention, all of it. You wanted to run with him, to venture with him. He’d take you all over with his band and he’d love you. He was gentle and he wouldn’t hurt you, he wouldn’t flaunt his money, only buy you jewelry for your birthday and flowers when he loved you, just because.

You dug through your drawers and tried to find something… big, a statement piece for your face. Your attention snapped to the door as it opened and Saul walked in.

He was hesitant at first, staring at you bent over a desk drawer and digging through it like a mad man. He came over and stood just beside you, placing a hand on your lower back as he looked through the drawers for you.

Saul pulled out a deep red lipstick. He brought a finger under your chin and tilted your head for him to see you properly.

You were struck, in your core a pulse came with a heat, a desire, but you snapped out of it quick enough to wipe the gloss you already had off your lips so he’d have a bare canvas to work with.

He smiled down at you and got to work, using the tip yo outline your lips before filling them in.

You looked back at yourself in the mirror, Saul now stood behind you with his hands on your hips. He didn’t look in the mirror, he stared at you in front of him, the side of your face and how pleased you seemed with his work.

You turned back to him. “Do more.” You asked, drawing a chuckle from him and he shook his head, by god you made him laugh and you wanted to hear it again and again for as long as you lived.

“I don’t know anymore.” He said, bringing his hands to your shoulders and turning you around again. He leaned down to you, his lips caressing the shell of your ear. “You do it, you can’t mess up when it’s just gonna be running down your face in a minute anyway.”

You paused a moment and looked back to him. “Why? Will you make me cry?” He nodded confidently, you looked back to the mirror. “Why would you do that? Will you leave?” You asked curiously.

“More than one way to make someone cry.” He said, rubbing your shoulders. He inhaled deeply, taking in your saddened expression, you clearly didn’t get what he was referring to. He’d just have to show you once you looked the part, well enough the part anyway, you didn’t have the clothes.

“Heavier on the eyes.” He said as you tapped on a bright red, something to connect the lipstick while still being different. You picked up your pencil liner but he took it from you and had you turn towards him. “Gimme a second.” He said with a smile, being careful to not poke you in the eye as he worked.

He was giggling when he turned you back to the mirror. You had a leopard print on your eyelids and whiskers on your cheeks. The print on your eyes was pretty, neat and well done, the whiskers were an afterthought he was enjoying much too much.

You stood up and turned to him, placing your hands on his shoulders. “It’s perfect!” You exclaimed, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, he couldn’t say no to that.

He wasn’t a gentleman, not by a long shot, he was just sweet. The first chance he got his hands were on your ass, pulling your dress up over your head and not caring if he smudged it, not one bit.

Your arms went around his neck and he lifted you up, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist while he carried you to your bed and laid you down.

He was laying over you, an arm holding him up by your head, his other hand moved down between your legs, rubbing through your folds and catching your clit, feeling how wet you already were for him.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” He asked, already starting to trail kisses up your jaw towards your ear. You hesitated before slowly shook your head, hoping it wouldn’t make him stop. Luckily he didn’t and just sucked his teeth. “Well, I don’t feel like slowing down for you.” He said sitting back up and undo his jeans, pushing them down just enough for his dick to spring free, of course he didn’t wear boxers. “Just tell me if it hurts.” He said as he pushed into you, groaning as he did.

Despite his words he did give you a minute to adjust to him, running his hands up and down yours sides until he felt you were ready and he started moving, slow at first but he couldn’t keep that pace for long.

His hands gripped your hips tighter, tugging you closer to him as his hips slammed into yours, each thrust bringing you closer to an edge you’d never seen before.

He was perfect above you, full lips, bruised just like yours, parted ever so slightly in soft, low grunts and groans. Sweat clung to his curls just around his face, the rest of his mane framing his sharp jaw. His teeth were crooked and he didn’t look right at you, focusing on feeling good, making you feel good.

You didn’t have anything to compare it to, but this was definitely the best you’d ever felt. Free, and it felt so good. You reached down and found your clit, rubbing it in circles.

Saul chuckled over you and nodded in approval. “Just keep doing that, keep doing that.” He said. You could feel him inside you, veins dragging against your gummy walls, cunt pulling him in for more, every time he pulled away you sucked him back in.

You melted into the mattress, vision going white and when you came doing from it you felt something warm spilling out inside you, Saul’s face tucked into you and he kissed over your chest, latching onto your nipple and swirling his tongue around it.

Finally he pulled away and pulled away and sat up, fixing his pants before heading out to your balcony. You saw he was smoking, he just looked so… you couldn’t even describe it.

You got your dress back on and went out to stand with him.

He smiled at you when you came out, he held the cigarette out for you but took it away before you got the chance to get it. “No way in hell am I letting you do that.” He said with a laugh.

You sighed and leaned your head on his shoulder. He glanced down at you as he took a drag from his cigarette. “It’s pretty tonight.” You said.

He nodded, looking out on the cities lights below. Your house was up on a mountain, giving you a good view all around. “I bet it’s a pretty night for you every night.”

You smirked up at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you live here, you see it every night.” That’s not what you were expecting.

You looked back out to the city. “I want to see more… with you, Saul.”

He let out a heavy sigh, he wanted you with him too. You were intriguing to him, you needed a chance to rebel and he knew you would never stay with him, not after growing up like this, but he could be the one with you to see the world and that was enough. “Slash.” He said. “If you’re coming with me you call me Slash.”

“Slash.” You repeated. “Slash Hudson.” He might regret this, but he didn’t care. In that moment, he didn’t care about anything.

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authormars · 7 months ago

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Headcanon dumb bc why not?

We'll do one per character since I don't do that very often

Lucifer showers in the morning and night every day and, if he can, will brush his teeth three times a day (once in the morning, once after lunch, once at night)

Mammon sleeps in nothing normally, but if MC asks him to be in their room, is sleeping in his room, or he's sleeping over at someone's house, he has the decency to put sweatpants on (unless MC doesn't want him to 👀)

Levi is amazing at art and regularly does commissions for people. In Satan's room, above all the shelves, he has posters made by Levi for his favorite shows and books.

Satan goes to varsity Fangol practice, not because he's on the team, but because he likes watching the cheerleaders practice (and he has a crush or has had a crush on half of them)

Asmo regularly takes selfcare days, which almost always include shopping and treating himself in the morning at various stores and spending the afternoon (and sometimes night) at Purgatory Hall with Solomon.

Beel will often take food from anyone, but if he notices a particular person giving him their food a lot of the time (looking at you Asmo, Luci, and MCs with an ED) he will stop accepting it to make sure they're eating.

Belphie almost never sleeps in his own bed. Beel's is warmer, much more comfortable, and it has something to cuddle that occasionally bites his shoulder as he sleeps.

Diavolo has a shower that's enchanted by Barbatos to always spit out healing water, which is part of the reason bruises never last long (the other reason is that Diavolo has a crazy good immune system and it's hard to bruise him anyways.

Barbatos fell in love with Diavolo's mother and father and they were together until Diavolo's mother died. After that, since Diavolo's father was broken-hearted, Barbatos swore off love

Mephisto has a cane because of an accident when he was younger. He rode horses for sport and during one of the races (that little Diavolo was allowed to go to, I might add) another jockey purposely knocked him off his horse, leading to a permanent injury in his leg so he limps all the time and it causes lots of pain

Solomon has lived through three different earths. The first earth, where he was a peasant. This earth was wiped out because the ecosystem was falling apart (not the human's fault, for once) but the humans were allowed to go to the next earth as the first humans. The second earth was wiped out while he was in Devildom, so he wasn't wiped out with it. The second earth was wiped out due to Lilith and Belphie. The third earth is what we know today.

Simeon can actually use his phone a lot better than he lets on. He just absolutely adores the look on Luke's face when he helps him fix something.

Luke cannot seem to get any Devildom pastry right. It's always slightly off. He knows this because Barbatos always smiles sadly at him when they do their taste tests. For the life of him, he cannot figure out what it is

Thirteen was once a human who lived in the first earth with Solomon (she hated him there too) When she died, her sins and virtues were exactly equal, so the father and mother (God and Devil herself) decided to make her a reaper, a being to watch over the newly created life candles that hindered a being's lifespan.

Raphael isn't actually indifferent to most things. As an angel, he was taught not to show his emotions and be a perfect guard for Michael (pretty sure thats what he is) so he never learned how to properly express emotions (and he's a lil autistic)

I struggled with some of these, sorry if they're bad or inaccurate. I haven't met Mephi, Thirteen, or Raphael yet

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curiositydooropened · 5 months ago

Text

Hell Hound • Part One

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

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

Wordcount: 10, 712

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

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

Navigation • Masterlist

---

Moodboard • Fic Masterlist • Part Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really? Which one?” You humored her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where was it taken?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

“Are you coming over tonight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your lawyer is my lawyer.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His phone buzzed in his hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

“You asked if she needed a ride home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“Speaker phone!” Robin squeaked.

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

“Hello?”

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

“What’s wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

“I love you,” he agreed.

“See you next week!”

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

—

The worry etched across your beautiful features was devastating.

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

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

Roses are Red

Beauty is You

Stay away from the Devil

Before he kills you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gave it willingly.

“Eddie, hey,” Steve sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You offered a sheepish smile and squeezed his wrist.

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

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

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

Steve’s blood ran cold.

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

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

He cursed under his breath.

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

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

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

Steve hated that he was right.

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve swallowed.

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

“All clear?” Your soft voice startled him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve snickered and merely shrugged.

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

—

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

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—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We won’t.” He shook his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, man. I can’t lose her.”

—

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

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

Robin: Was it the baby deer eyes?

Steve: Obviously.

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

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

Steve: What do we think of Front Desk Becky?

Robin: You leave that sweet girl out of this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve swallowed, made himself look busy.

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

Steve glanced back up to see you roll your eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

Mr. and Mrs. Edgar Jones • Chicago

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

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

sharrington: Best gallery opening I’ve been to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve swallowed, chewing on his own words now.

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

Steve nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve rolled his eyes and snorted at your delight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He held his breath.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled at Steve from across the space and waved.

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

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

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

You were beaming. Steve’s stomach flipped.

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

Steve took two steps forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You too.”

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

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

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

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

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

Martin Brenner

Founder and CEO

Gifted Children of Chicago Foundation

Annual Gala and Live Auction

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

Steve bit back a smile to let you continue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallowed. “He sent me an email?”

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

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

Steve cocked an eyebrow.

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

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

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

—

1 Voicemail

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve groaned and rubbed at tired eyes.

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

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

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

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

“I can see you.”

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

“Come inside, please.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reverend Jason Carver

Faithful Servant of Christ

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

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

“You’re damn right I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Night.”

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

---

Moodboard • Fic Masterlist • Part Two

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

#steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #bodyguard!steve harrington #rockstar!eddie munson #steve harrington #hell hound wip #hell hound fic

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vnards · 6 months ago

Text

NSFW MAFIA!AU SNIPPET

Ghost pushes Johnny against the wall, all teeth. “You never know how to listen.” Ghost made his way down the scot’s neck, biting a bit more than necessary.

It didn’t matter. Johnny loved it.

“Aye did what aye did.” One of ghost’s gloved hands come up and cover Johnny’s throat.

“Shut up,”

A quick flash of a hand strikes against Johnny’s face. “Only words I want to be hearing from you is ‘yes’ and ‘sir’, are we clear?” Johnny hesitated with a smirk, but Ghost wasn’t having it. Another slap to his other cheek, “I said are we clear?” He rumbled.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Ghost didn’t let up on the grip in his hair, “Now, Get on your knees and suck my dick.” He shoved Soap to his knees.

The Scot was still muttering curses as he begrudgedly started to undo his pants. Ghost was pissed, annoyed that a situation like that could even happen with him around. He needed to let a load off before he can even address having you down the hallway.

Another pair of hands wrap around Ghost's torso, the silky voice like a devil on his shoulder, “Do you need any help punishing Johnny boy?” Kyle teased.

Gears began to turn in Ghost's head. Johnny reveals his member as his pants slide down his hips. He has always been a considerable size, but there were never any complaints about it.

“I think Johnny does need to be taught to listen. You hear that, boy? Kyle is gonna help me tonight.” He punctuates his sentence by gripping his mohawk tighter.

Johnny pointedly ignores him as he gives him a few strokes before putting him in his mouth. Regardless how angry Soap was, he could not deny how much he loved Simon's cock in his mouth. He worked his way up and down his shaft, eager to take him all the way down his throat as an apology.

Ghost groans in pleasure as Kyle’s wandering hands continue downwards. He watches Kyle slide down to his knees next to Johnny who's eyes were already tearing up. The portrait the both of them make; on their knees, looking up at Ghost as the absolute unit that he is. Johnny's anger melts away as he sinks on his cock.

Adjusting his grip once more, Ghost begins to move his hips, shoving his dick further down his throat. “Take it.” He grits.

And Johnny's such a good boy.

Ghost uses his leverage against Johnny, using his throat roughly. Kyle's voice is teasing, almost sinister. “Johnny boy is just a little confused on who's in charge.”

Ghost hums in agreement, He leans his hand out, rubbing Kyle's cheek, “Why don't you help him out, Kyle?”

Kyle smiles, “Gladly.” He goes for his heavy balls, licking between them before sucking one into his mouth. Ghost's mood was increasingly getting better.

He throws his head back in pleasure, getting lost in the sensation of being serviced. Fantasies of you come forward, something that's been happening since he first met you. One your knees with the boys. He imagined your hand would be soft and gentle. Did you even know how to please a man? Ghost will teach you, he promised.

As the boys make quick work of his cock, all shiny with spit and standing to attention, Ghost starts getting impatient. Luckily, Kyle, the good boy he is, was already fingering his hole for Ghost to use. Another groan came from the boogeyman, “Such a good boy, Kyle. Knowing you're about to get fucked.” He thrusts in Johnny's throat particularly deep as he punctuates his sentence.

Johnny looked up at him with those baby blue eyes, silently pleading with him. “No,” Ghost states simply, “Bad boys don't get to get fucked.” He takes him off his cock, keeping him from diving back on. Johnny eventually listens.

Kyle undresses, always a tease as his curves always caught the eye of every passerby. His bubble butt so firm and supple. Ghost doesn't admit it often, but he loves Kyle's ass. He gives himself a few strokes as Kyle continues his show.

Still on his knees, Johnny kept trying to gain Ghost's attention. Ghost catches Soap's eye and he scolds him, “You could've gotten more than her hurt, Johnny.” Johnny's puppy dog eyes were not going to work today, “You can't be getting sloppy out there like you did tonight.”

Getting too close to being vulnerable, Ghost closes off, going back behind the mask he uses to stay seperated. Johnny knew there’d be no talking him out of this.

“Bend over, Kyle.” He does as he’s told, just like always. Ghost come up behind him and lines himself against his hole. He slips himself in and they both groan at the sensation.

Kyle never complained about his size, convincing Ghost he liked the burning stretch. Ghost pushed until their hips connected. Kyle starts to pant, “God, Simon, I-"

Ghost pulls back just to shove himself forward again, pressing Kyle's face into the wall. “Shut up.” Ghost was very demanding tonight, “Only thing I want to hear from you is permission to cum.”

Ghost starts up a brutal pace, focusing only on his pleasure after the shit night they had. Kyle bounces between the wall and a hard place, biting his lip to keep some of the noises down. You were only on the other side of the house after all. Ghost didn't care. His grunts and growls were only low enough for the party to hear him. Johnny was still on his knees, watching Kyle get fucked the way he loves being fucked.

His thrusts became heavier as he spoke, “God damn stubborn assholes you lot are.” The boogeyman found his grip on Kyle's hips and was able to fuck deeper into him. Kyle's pitch changed, an edge of a whine starting.

“That's it, boy, make those pretty noises for me.” The bulked man leaned his head back to bask in taking pleasure, bottoming out with heavy strokes as his ball draw closer and closer up.

“G-Ghost, sir…may I cum?”

Ghost decided to be mean, “No.” He whimpered. “Not until I do.”

That's when Ghost felt an extra pair of hands cupping his balls as they swung against Kyle's ass. Ghost grunted in surprise, the sensation doing nothing but driving his hips harder.

“I-I can't. I-" Kyle blubbered.

“Hold,” He commanded. He was close. He continued to pound away at Kyle's hole when he suddenly feels a finger slip into his own hole. “A-Ah!” It catches him by surprise, drawing his balls up and unloading into the smaller man.

Finally, Kyle was able to cum and he shivered and shuddered against Ghost's arms, his own cock spewing cum. Kyle's head lolled as he basked in the pleasure of his orgasm.

Spurting out a few more times, Ghost moves his hips absently, trying to cum as deep as he can. It satiates a deeper feeling in him, to mark them all. He wishes you'd let him mark you.

It took a few more moments for his breath to even, but he notices the very well known noise of Johnny stroking his cock. Ghost looks and sees the art Johnny makes.

He situated himself under Kyle, leaning back against the wall with Kyle's cum covering his bare chest and a few strings on his chin. Johnny is too blissed in pleasure to feel bad for stroking his needy cock, his pulsing need hot and ready.

Johnny makes eye contact with Ghost and that seems to be the thing that tips him over, his cock pulsing out strings of cum that land in tandem with Kyle's.

Johnny's orgasms are always a wonder to watch, his mouth agape and forehead creased. He was doing a great job keeping eye contact until they started rolling, the ends of his orgasm striking him with pleasure. The dazed glint afterward was always Ghost's favorite.

He allows a few more moments, feeling a bit winded himself, “You both need showers.” A chorus of moans started, “You're not going to see her covered in cum, Johnny.”

“But what if she likes it?” Ghost could hear his smirk.

“Johnny.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kyle helps Johnny to his feet and they give each other small kisses. Kyle takes in Johnny's tablaeu, “'s kinda hot.” He mutters.

Johnny turns over his shoulder, “told ye.”

Ghost ignored him and headed towards his own room in the safehouse. He was already pulling off his shirt as he stepped through the door. Now that he can think without his dick getting in the way, it was time to figure out what to actually do with you.

They couldn't kidnap you. Maybe. They shouldn't kidnap you.

But you couldn't go back to your every day. Not getting run up with them. As much as Ghost hates to admit it, you're a target right now and you need to protecting.

I can protect you.

It seemed to be settled in Ghost's mind. You're his pretty little doll, after all.

#mafia!141 #mafia x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #smut

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cambion-companion · 1 year ago

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hi!! binge read all your raphael stuff and i think it added more worms in my brain!! :D thank you!!!

raphael idea: artist!reader (or tav/durge) that raph commissions to paint a portrait of him. maybe how the sitting would go- would he be monologuing? would he be looking over contracts? would he be sneaking fond (in his own way) glances at the lovely little artist sitting in his foyer putting so much passion and concentration into capturing his devilish visage?

or maybe smth like he can't make it to a sitting one day so he sends haarlep to do it expecting that the artist won't be able to tell the difference. instead, his artist refuses to start working since that's CLEARLY not her patron!! his facial structure is off!! that piece of hair doesn't flow down like that!! and his gaze- clearly not!!! so raph comes back hours (or even days) later to find the little artist still in his house, waiting for his return so that they can resume work <3

I LOVE this!

Thank you for reading my work and for sending this lovely message in! This idea kinda ran away with me but I hope you enjoy this drabble!

“Where is Raphael?” You squinted at the devil lounging on the gold embroidered cushions.

On first glance, it appeared to be the cambion you’d met yestereve. He had commissioned you to paint a self-portrait for him, showed you the many that already hung from his marble walls. You’d begun your work, sketching the lines and filling them out with practiced dexterity.

Due to time constraints, the devil was a busy man it seemed, you had to cut your painting short, determining to begin again the following day.

Now you sat again, upon the small stool, staring in consternation at the creature who would have you believe it was Raphael.

The fiend stretched, feigning a languid uncaring composure. In all but those burning eyes, focused so sharply upon your frowning face.

“Whatever do you mean, little succulent?” It was Raphael’s voice as well, though something was off about the cadence. “You have everything you need right here.”

You shook your head, frustrated, lowering your paintbrush from where it had been poised over the canvas. “No, this isn’t going to work. You aren’t him.”

“My, quite the perceptive thing.” The devil straightened, looking displeased. “How very annoying.”

“What…who are you?” You asked, a slight tingle of fear running down your spine.

“I am Haarlep.” The devil’s long tail swished to curl around his feet.

“That’s an odd name.”

“Isn’t it just.”

Your frown deepened, an annoyed breath hissed through your clenched teeth. “Well, I cannot continue until the real Raphael returns. When will he be back?”

“The master will not return for quite a while.” Haarlep rolled his shoulders, looking equally put off. “I do my job quite well. What exactly is the issue?”

You set down your tools and folded your arms, still wary of whatever this creature was. “The way your hair falls, the cadence of your voice…”

“All aspects I am sure you can rectify without too much issue.” Haarlep interrupted with a petulant gesticulation, but you spoke over him.

“And your eyes.” Your own eyes narrowed in concentration, focusing on the burning embers within those inky black orbs. “Your eyes are wrong.”

“I’m offended.” Haarlep deadpanned, then tilted his head with a curious smile. “Explain.”

“I cannot.” You shrugged.

“Then work on painting everything except the face.” Haarlep repositioned himself upon the sofa, his eyes rolling slightly in bemusement.

“For professional reasons, I cannot.” You didn’t budge. “The master of the house didn’t notify me of this change.”

“The master of the house apologizes.” Now that voice you recognized, Raphael’s. Deeper and with more presence than the voice Haarlep used.

Raphael, still in human form, strode into view and offered you a wry smile. He bowed slightly at the waist, his brown eyes never leaving yours. “I admit to not foreseeing your powers of insight. What a delightful discovery, my dear.”

He turned and observed Haarlep with mild amusement for a moment. “You’re slipping.”

“Nonsense.” Haarlep stood from the chaise and flexed his batlike wings. “You know as well as I, some things cannot be replicated.”

“Such as?” Raphael directed the question to you.

You shifted, your behind slowly numbing from the uncomfortable stool. “Well, the way Haarlep carries himself for one.” You said carefully speaking the other’s name. “The eyes are also completely different, not in shape or color but the nature they hold within them.”

“Fascinating.” Raphael put his hand to his chin, a slight quirk to his lips. “The eyes. Windows to the soul.” He laughed, short and rough.

You didn’t quite understand the joke but smiled politely. “Have you time now? I can come back later.”

“No.” Raphael shook his head and placed a firm hand on your shoulder, taking a moment to inspect your canvas. “This is important work. I am at your disposal.” Raphael’s human form melted away. His hand on your shoulder grew in size and sharp claws bit through your shirt to your skin. Hellfire eyes looked down upon you, familiar, calculating. “For as long as you need me.”

#haarlep #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #raphael bg3 #raphael baldur's gate 3 #bg3 drabble #cambion vs incubus

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sansaorgana · 8 months ago

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Angst idea where readers brother is in the 100 and buck her lover has to break the news that her brother was killed and she’s screaming in agony, and he’s just trying to be their for her in anyway possible :)

hi, love! 😌 I see you have a thing for angsty pieces 🤣 here it is then!

my inbox is open for blurb/short fic requests for major cleven 🤗

Buck felt stupid for interrupting the nurses’ work with something as irrelevant as a headache when they were busy with much more important things but he couldn’t handle the stinging pain inside his head anymore. On his way to the sickbay he felt his temples pulsating and in a brief moment of a haze, he bumped into someone.

“For God’s sake!” He heard a female voice and then a sound of papers landing all over the floor. “Major Cleven!” She scolded him.

Buck’s senses came back to him and he spotted a woman crouching on the floor, gathering the scattered papers.

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” he went on his knees as well to help her. “I’m sorry… I was on my way to the sickbay, I have an awful migraine,” he confessed.

“And you want to bother the nurses with it? When they’re patching up men with bullet holes?” She raised an eyebrow at him and he blushed, handing her the last paper off of the floor. She straightened herself and looked down at him with pity. “Come with me, I have aspirin in my office,” she offered him her hand and he took it to stand up as well.

He followed her to a small office next to the Colonel’s one and she gave him an aspirin from her desk’s drawer.

“Thank you, miss…” Buck stuttered out.

“(Y/L/N),” you introduced yourself.

“Are you perhaps family with Lieutenant (Y/L/N)?” Buck asked.

“Yes, he is my brother. We made sure to be assigned to the same place,” she nodded her head and he nodded his head.

“Thank you for the aspirin,” Buck said before walking out of her office.

This time he nearly bumped into Bucky.

“What is wrong with you today, man?” Bucky asked, worryingly.

“I have a migraine, doesn’t matter… I have aspirin already,” Buck showed him what he was holding in his hand. “(Y/L/N)’s sister gave it to me,” he explained.

“Stay away from her, you devil,” Bucky chuckled and Buck hissed at him. He was sure she could hear them. “I mean, for real, he’s a rough son of a bitch.”

“I know, I flew with him,” Buck chuckled. “He’s one of a kind.”

“Yeah, so if you don’t want to lose those pearly white teeth of yours, stay away from his sister,” Bucky teased.

However, it was not so easy to stay away from her. Perhaps the fact she was a sister of one of his friends was making it a bit more tempting as it felt forbidden.

But she really was a pretty girl – a bit rough like her brother sometimes – but also very helpful and kind when you got to know her.

“I see you’re staring at my sister, sir,” (Y/L/N) grinned at Buck one evening when they were eating supper by the same table. Buck blinked a few times and stopped looking at (Y/N) sitting with her female friends before laying his eyes on his friend.

“I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” he made up an excuse.

“It’s okay,” (Y/L/N) shrugged his arms and Buck’s eyes widened a little. “I mean, she’s my little sister, so you know… Not easy for me. But she has to start dating one day whether I like it or not. And you’re a good man, Buck. If there is one man around that base I’d accept her to be with, it would be you.”

“Surely you can’t be serious,” Buck was confused. He liked to look at her, yes. Sometimes he observed her. But he hadn’t actually been thinking of starting any relationship on the base. “I mean, we can die any day.”

“My sister’s a tough cookie, she can handle that,” (Y/L/N) shrugged his arms. “What I’m sayin’ is that if you find my sister pretty, then talk to her, goddamnit. You don’t hear such words often, am I right? That’s how much I trust you, Cleven.”

“Thank you…” Buck cleared his throat and looked at (Y/N) again. She was staring at him, too, with a teasing smile. Her brother waved at her and she rolled her eyes before turning around to giggle at something with her friends.

It was almost as if (Y/N)’s brother was a matchmaker between Buck and her. Soon enough they became a couple as everyone else on the base teased them about it. Buck was trying to always be a gentleman around (Y/N), though, fearing that (Y/L/N) would indeed punch him if he tried to get too touchy or too pushy with his sister. Back at home, he had won some boxing tournaments, so they said. Buck didn’t want to find out if it had been true.

On that day both Buck and (Y/N) were nervous as hell because Bucky and Lieutenant (Y/L/N) were up in the air together. Buck was sitting in his girlfriend’s office and helping her with filling the papers to keep their heads busy.

“Ow,” she hissed suddenly as he raised his eyes, worryingly.

“Is everything alright?” He asked at the sight of (Y/N) clutching her chest.

“Y-yes… Just some weird cramp around my heart, I don’t know…” She tried to sound as casual as always but her eyes wandered to her brother’s picture on a desk.

“You should tell a doctor about it. Heart matters are no joke,” Buck was not satisfied with her answer.

“No, it’s different, baby, it’s not… Nevermind,” she sighed and her lower lip trembled a little. She bit on it and went back to filing the papers to keep her head busy.

About an hour later, Buck heard familiar noises from the outside.

“They’re coming back,” he stood up rapidly. “I’ll go and check. Wanna go with me?” He offered her his hand but she shook her head.

“N-no, I’d rather stay here,” she admitted.

Buck nodded and hurried out of her office to go outside and watch the planes land. He was relieved to see Bucky’s one but he couldn’t find the one with (Y/N)’s brother on board.

Nervously, Buck approached Bucky as his friend was jumping out of the plane.

“That was fucking hell!” Bucky looked exhausted but he grinned. “You’re a lucky bastard that you weren’t there!”

“What about (Y/L/N)?” Buck asked seriously and Bucky’s face frowned in an instant.

He shook his head as Buck’s heart skipped a beat.

“What do you mean?”

“Listen, the plane, it went down…” Bucky explained nervously.

“Any parachutes?”

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Bucky shook his head. “I mean, it happened so fast. They just… They blew up in the air. I doubt they even had time to grab any parachutes.”

Buck only nodded and turned around to walk back inside the base. He wanted to be the one telling (Y/N) about her brother’s death but he had no idea how to do it. He grieved his friends but his heart was also breaking for his girl and for the pain she would feel now. He wished he could take that all on him but it was impossible.

When he carefully entered her office again, she was already sobbing. There was no way someone had told her before the interrogation, though. He looked at her questioningly.

“He’s not back, am I right?” She hid her face in her hands and Buck’s eyes widened before he approached her to put his arms around her.

“How did you know?” He only asked and she let out a cry. She wrapped her arms around him and took a deep breath in.

“I just knew… I felt it, back then… I tried to tell myself it was not true but I just knew,” she admitted and Buck caressed her back.

After a while of holding her close and letting her cry out all the tears as she trembled in his arms, (Y/N) moved away slightly to look at Buck’s face.

“Maybe he’s just MIA?”

Oh, how he wished to be able to feed her with such hope. But there was none and there was no point of lying. Although her eyes were practically begging him to.

“Do you want the truth?” He swallowed thickly. He hated seeing her like that.

“No need. I already know,” she sobbed again and hid her face in the crook of his neck. “God, Buck, how will I even tell it to my parents?”

Buck didn’t say anything. There were no words. He only held her close and kept caressing her back and arms to comfort her.

Time passed and they just stayed like that. At some point, Colonel Harding opened the door and froze at the sight.

“She already knows,” Buck whispered and the Colonel nodded before leaving quietly.

Buck was sitting on the bed and watching (Y/N) going through her brother’s things quietly. He was there for emotional support because there was nothing else he could do except for just being there and it was killing him that he couldn’t do more.

“This I’ll send back home, this I’ll keep here with me,” she was mumbling as she rummaged through her brother’s personal belongings. She suddenly turned around with a smile on her face wet from tears. Buck furrowed his brows. “No comment at that,” she chuckled sadly and threw a few condoms at her boyfriend. “You can give them to Bucky,” she sniffled and went back to looking at her brother’s things.

Buck chuckled sadly, too. He hid the condoms in his pocket. He would give them to Bucky later indeed. (Y/L/N) and Bucky had loved to brag to each other about their adventures with women.

“Weird,” (Y/N) turned around and handed Buck an envelope. “It’s for you,” she said.

Buck caressed the paper delicately as he read the message written on it.

Give to Buck Cleven if I go down

“Are you sure you want me to read it?” Buck looked at his girl.

“What do you mean? It’s addressed to you,” she answered, confused. “It’s weird but that’s how it is.”

“Perhaps you’d like to read it first?” Buck wanted to make sure. It felt odd to have a letter from her dead brother waiting for him like that.

They had become close these past few weeks but it was not like they had been best friends.

“Just open it. Or not, it’s your decision. The letter is addressed to you,” (Y/N) shrugged her arms and went back to looking through her brother’s things.

Buck’s hands shook a little as he tore the envelope open and took out a note from it.

Buck, if you’re reading this, it means I went down. A possibility I’ve always considered. If there's one pilot out of us all who will survive this whole thing, it’s gonna be you. We both know it, don’t deny that. I sincerely hope you’re gonna be lucky enough and my sister will want to marry you one day. But for now, no matter what happens next, please take care of her. I made sure to be assigned to the same place she was being sent to. I promised our mother to look after her and now that’s a promise I cannot keep anymore. Please, do it for me. I am no man of words. As you can probably see… Ha ha ha. So that’s it, old man. Tell my baby sister that I love her and that I’m going to look after her from the other side. Sincerely, (Y/L/N). PS When you two have a son one day, it would be nice if you named him after me. Just a suggestion…!!!

“And?” (Y/N) turned around to check on Buck. “Oh, baby, what is it?” She asked when she saw tears in his eyes. “What did he say?”

“You can read it,” Buck handed her the letter and she sat next to him, holding the paper in shaking hands.

He watched her reading it as her eyes also filled with the fresh tears.

“I’m going to miss him so much… What will I even do without him?” She asked after giving Buck the letter back. Her voice was oddly calm as if she finally started to realise what had truly happened.

“He’s still here. Watching over you. That’s what it says here,” Buck pointed at the letter. “I take very seriously what he wrote,” he assured her and put his arm around (Y/N) to bring her closer and kiss her forehead. “Every word,” he added.

“I just want you to promise me one thing, Gale,” (Y/N) hugged him tighter.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“Don’t leave me in this world like he did.”

Buck took a deep breath in. It was a promise he wanted to give more than anything but he couldn’t. All he could say was that he would try his best. But that was not what she wanted to hear. Perhaps she needed a little lie.

“I will not,” he said. “I promise.”

MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST

#euryno-j47 #sansaorgana: Answered #*buck #lilysfiction #gale cleven x reader #austin butler x reader

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soaln · 8 months ago

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i am a sucker for Luffy and Zoro! so can you write Luffy or Zoro with nezuko reader that’s their boyfriend? :3 it can be a small fic or headcanons, and it can either be sfw or nsfw! if this sounds complicated then please don’t do this! :)

🤍┆ ╰┈➤ [SUMMARY] ; which, the reader is like from nezuko kamado, and is luffy’s bf !!

⤷ randoms hcanon, gn!reader

‘‘𝐌𝐌𝐇𝐇 !’’

pre!boyfriend! Luffy,,

• you met him while you were chased by marine. They stopped chasing you when they saw the straw hat, you could have run away, but you didn’t want to act in a selfish way.

• they thought you were a kid from you small height (when the marine was chasing you)

• you grew back to your real height, and attack them from behind. You had enough strengh at the moment to knock them out.

• Luffy found you cool, he wondered if you were a devil fruit user. Which you hummed as a no, weren’t one.

• he didn’t really thought much bout why you weren’t fruit user bcs no one could to this.

• "hmm !" You always hummed by the fact you had a bambo muzzle on your mouth.

•you words were barely understandable, so it confuse most of the crew, but only Luffy understood.

• he was so curious about you and wanted to know you even more. he wanted you to join his crew.

• "you’ll love the sunny/merry (idk) !" He spoke to you, with a beaming smile across his face.

• Luffy is the most dense when it comes with feeling

• He took him several months to have feelin for you, well he never notice how clingy he was towards you, so he didn’t notice it. he felt warm around you, his heart beat faster then usual.

Boyfriend!luffy

• he wanted to know what’s under you bamboo, when you showed him It was just some sharp teeth.

"mhhhmm!" You hummed, explaining to your captain, Luffy the reason of why you shouldn’t take of your sort of muzzle on your mouth. "ohh so you’re man eater !!" He lilted, finding It kool.

• he didn’t really care about you being a demon, but he does sometimes forgot about it.

• he wants all your attention, he wants your eyes on him !!

• he shares his meat (i don’t think he do that to anyone) but you refuse since you cannot eat human’s food

• he loves your kind attitude.

•he also like how you would pat his head to show how much you care about him.

• he would try his best to protect you, even tho you know how to fight. You aren’t afraid to get you hands bloody if you had to protect someone.

•He wants to spend more time with you, each day.

• he’s kinda worried when you slept for 2-3 weeks just because you can’t eat. He often tries to wake you up from the sleep. And he also out his hat on your head while you’re sleeping

• he sneak in your bed sometimes

A/N ; Fuck, its feel repetitive asf. I should really write other chars but i’m bad at writing them (they often are ooc, sobbing) i have smoker fic to write but scared he’d be ooc even Law x ftm!reader i’ve gotta write😥😥

#male reader #one piece x male reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece #one piece x reader #x male reader #luffy x male reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #one piece x gn reader #one piece x gender neutral reader

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rileysluvr · 1 year ago

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almost 4k words of john price and throat fucking omg i love old men. this one is a little crazy i won’t lie guys my bad

“Hi, Captain,” you smile, closing the door behind you. “What are you up to?”

He hadn’t bothered lifting his head from the documents in his hand when he heard the knocking on his door, nor to bark a gruff order of entry. He simply doesn’t have the time to. When he catches sight of you in his peripheral, though, with that sweet as sugar voice greeting him like a heaven-sent amusement, he does suppose a short break won’t horribly kill him. You are always reminding him he works too hard, anyway.

Your presence is always sure to cheer him up. Whether it be on a day where far too much is happening for his brain to keep up, or one that progresses so slowly he can actually feel himself aging in real time; you show up near the end, all spry and dolled up for him, and he’s sure to forget all about even the shittiest of days. You’ve just got that sort of delightful energy to you.

“The usual paperwork, nothin’ exciting.” He taps his cigar on the corner of the ashtray in front of him, just next to a glass with a thin line of brown liquid he’d been working on. Whiskey, presumably. “Why?”

The room is lit a dull color, easier on the eyes. He always liked things that were easy on the eyes, yourself included.

The admiration for warm, maybe even domestic comfort like this, comes free with the job, and he’d be a fool to not notice the sweet girl in front of him who fits all the requirements and more. Actually pursuing it, however, without the childish sneaking around; that’s a whole ‘nother ball game, trickled with millions of obstacles of every kind.

“No reason. Just that you’ve been in here a while,” you say as you walk over to him, hands clasped behind your back. “And we all missed you at the bar.”

He drops everything—cigar hits glass, documents hit desk, hardened manner going unnourished—and pushes his chair back. Your eyes instantly fall to see how his legs are spread naturally, big and just begging for you to come closer. You’re not going to pass up the opportunity.

He jeers, arms crossed over his expansive chest. “So you’ve come here to save me, is that it?”

“Maybe not save you.” You step between his knees, wondering when his posture had dropped so that he was leaning farther back, hips forward and closer to the chair's edge. Like he’s showing himself off, welcoming you to take a bite. You’re not going to refuse him. “But I can always try my best to help.”

He’s no idiot. He knows what you’re suggesting; you’ve done it plenty before, without fault. He just wants to hear it in that unabashed and wildly indecorous tone of yours. “And how are you going to do that?”

Bottom lip stuck between your teeth for a moment, balancing back and forth between your heels and toes. Your head tilts down a bit but your eyes stay on his figure, like a cheeky pout.

“Lemme suck your cock?”

He heartily laughs at your proposal. “Right now? While I’m working?”

“I promise it’ll be quick,” you pry, in that dangerously, easily seductive voice of yours. You’re dangerous. You’re the only one who’s capable of breaking the bond between the captain and the work he’s bound and effectively caged himself to.

“You’re a devil, y’know that?” The disapproval in his voice is entirely for show, and you seek out that playful coyness in his tone like it’s your favorite candy. “How do you expect me to say no to that? ‘Specially with a pretty girl like you offering?”

He looks you up and down, from smile to hips, and it’s like his stare holds the power of a thousand daggers, each piercing blade laced with arousal and relentlessly digging into your soft skin. God, you really are just a needy thing for him, aren’t you?

He clicks his tongue, eyes landing on yours after practically stripping you bare in his head. Let him finish his work and it doesn’t have to be left up to the imagination, he reasons with himself. “You can’t wait ‘til I’m finished with all this?”

“But I want to now,” you pout, head tilting to the side and making it far too difficult for your captain to deny you.

You play it up, dramatizing your disappointment with the idea of him so invested in his work rather than what you’re offering. Though, it certainly isn’t entirely a charade; you fear that a few tears may actually prick through if he turns you down. Then he definitely wouldn’t have it in him to send you away.

He glances to each side of the room, thinking on what he’s already sure of. He has to appear at least slightly annoyed, otherwise he loses all authority to a tricky thing like you. An inkling of his hesitation is real, but not for longer than a second.

He sighs, “Alright, then. Knees.”

You give a great smile of pure excitement over victory before doing as he so vaguely ordered, sinking to your knees with a helpful hand on his thigh. Even through cargo pants and a military-green fleece jacket, your mind is doing cartwheels thinking about what’s beneath the baggy, yet so tight around the arms and chest, clothes. And he can’t deny the same thoughts for you, dressed in your issued getup as well.

“You lock the door?”

You shake your head; there’s that cheeky look on your face again, except it’s somehow infinitely better when you’re knelt between his legs rather than standing upright. He’ll take it either way. You’re his favorite vice, by far.

He scolds you with the click of his tongue. “Then you better get on with it, right? ‘Less you want someone to walk in and find you down there, now.”

You giggle, telling him all he needs to know. You wouldn’t mind being caught all that much.

“Oh, you naughty thing…” He shakes his head, “Pretty little devil, like I fuckin’ said.”

You grip and pull at his cargoes, growing impatient. “Can’t help it, Sir. Wanna be your girl.”

“You are my girl, sweetheart.” His big hands soothe over the sides of your head, cupping your cheeks as if you held more value than any prized possession. “You know you’re my good girl, don’t you?”

You nod with a sultry hum, just like you do every time he tells you that. Your hands glide up his thighs and reach up to the buckle of his belt, pulling the leather loose as the clanging of the metal rings in your ears. With his elbow on the armrest of his chair to prop up his head, watching your hands work at unzipping his pants with your big eyes looking right up at his stern ones.

Palming him through the clothing a few times, your mouth watering and lips aching to wrap around the fat, hardening cock beneath your fingertips. You can see the glint of adoration in the blown out centers of his eyes, a smirk crept onto his face. Like a king sat on his throne with prey presented at his feet, and you surely make the prettiest prey.

When you’ve got his cock out, you waste no time in wrapping your fingers around the base and sticking your tongue out flat to lick a languid strip up the entire length of him. He groans lightly, though it turns throatier when the tip of your tongue reaches the head of his cock, precum salty on your tastebuds and a bitterness your body learned to miss after mere days of going without it. You know where he’s most sensitive under your tongue, and you begin to play into it instantly.

He grits his teeth with a quick hiss, though he’s so quick to compose himself. “Haven’t got all night, sweets. Suggest you stop your teasin’ and get on with it.”

You take him in your mouth, head of his cock nudging the roof of your mouth as you work to fit more of him. Relaxing your jaw to get used to his unruly size, earning an appraising mutter of a swear from under his breath. Sucking on him like your favorite flavor of lollipop, drool spilling from the corners of your lips.

Making such a mess before you even take him down your throat, faint strings of saliva tickling your chin and sending waves of cool liquid down his spine when it drips onto skin still untouched and unwarmed by your mouth.

You ease more of him past your tongue until he hits the back of your throat, a muffled moan coming from you having his cock twitching in your mouth. He rolls his shoulders back, actually giving into comfort. “Fuck. Jus’ like that, lovie…take your time.”

Even when he’s off the field, he’s still going to coach you through your tasks like a good captain does. No matter how overbearing it gets, no matter how obvious the cues. You’re his responsibility, and he’s always going to watch after you.

Your hand that’s wrapped around his cock proceeds with languid strokes up the length of what you don’t reach with your lips. You trace a vein with your thumb and bend your wrist a bit; anything to boost his pleasure, and anything to get the chance to consume said pleasure like it’s your first and final meal.

He pushes your fallen hair out of the way, tucked behind your ear so you can better choke on his cock without a single distraction. So he can see that pretty face of yours going all dumb, lips stretched around the sheer size of him as that view he loved more than any.

“Keep goin’, sweetheart, it’s alright. I’ve got you.” His big hands hold the sides of your head in a way that really makes you feel treasured without force. You swallow around his cock and he huffs a heavy breath.

The hand on the back of your head is getting heavier and heavier as you bob up and down on his cockhead, and a sick part of you just wants him to shove your skull fully down and make you to take all of him without a breath to yourself, nor a single care spared from him.

“Christ, this mouth of yours…gonna be the death’a me.”

He reaches forward to pluck his still-burning cigar from the ashtray, tapping it against the glass once before bringing it to his lips. He takes a long drag from the dry, rolled paper, and the sight has your efforts of properly sucking his cock faltering just a bit. His other hand, remaining on the nape of your neck, urges you to keep going with a nice squeeze, so you do.

Smoke spills from his mouth and clouds the air around you, and not once does he take his eyes off yours. The scent of tobacco and burnt paper spins your head around in all the best ways; that smoky aroma that lingered from the moment you walked in the door is nothing but homey.

You swallow around the head of his cock again, and he just about loses it. Every word he says is so breathy and spent, yet so authoritative as usual. “Yeah, keep doin’ that right there, love. Fuckin’ brilliant.”

You push on, doing your best to make him feel good. All you’ve ever wanted was to make him proud.

And he is proud of you, beyond what words can describe.

You’re valuable to him both off and on the field, and the progress he’s watched you make while under his command is mind-reeling. He takes pride in having you on his team, to himself. He revels in the fact that he was the first cock you’ve ever taken in your mouth and now you do it on your own volition almost flawlessly, every time, always with a devoted gleam in your naive eyes that nearly suffocates him.

Your tongue glides up to pay more attention to the tip of him, causing him to muffle a groan between his teeth and shove you back down in an instant, almost too hard. You whine around his length and widen your eyes at the sensation of his cockhead hitting farther than what you had progressed to. A gagged noise fills the space and your eyes squeeze shut, only opening when he’s gently pulling your head back.

“Already strugglin’?” He takes you all the way off his cock and you gasp out. You hadn’t even realized how you were depriving yourself of air, though the shock mainly comes from how uncomfortably empty your mouth has become, so suddenly.

“Let me fuck this pretty throat, love. Y’gonna let me do that?” Care laces his voice and it’s near hypnotizing, so much so you’re entirely deaf to the slightest tone of mockery beneath it. “Be easier on the both of us.”

You nod as best you can with a spinning mind, and it’s so utterly desperate that it would surely bring shame to your name. A pleading mantra repeats itself in your mind, running through every possibility you can think of that consists of him using you in ways both pleasant and torturous, yet all landing around the same area; if he feels good, you do too. And if you’re on the brink of passing out from whatever he’s subjected you to, and you keep going because nothing would kill you worse than to fail him? Well, then he feels pretty fucking good himself.

He leans forward to abandon his cigar; it’s not like he needs both hands to use you however he’d like, no. He just loves to have his touch encasing you, feel the way your head gets heavier and easier to maneuver as you go on. Leaning into him, drooling all over his palms; the more control he has, the better.

The big hand on the back of your neck is moving up to lock into your hair, a snicker being heard from above as your mind goes numb. He spares a quick glance at the door, returning to you as fast as he left.

He’s a mixed blessing; he cradles your face in his calloused palm and collects your hair in a messy ponytail, the roughness of his skin alone speaking volumes of what he’d do for you. How he’d always protect you, before he’s tugging tight and pulling you up to your knees and off your haunches, impossibly and overwhelmingly closer so you can better gag and choke around him without backing out.

You take your own hand from his cock and land it on his knee, giving him full reign.

“Good girl.” He eases you off of him before he’s slowly pushing you back down, this time with added inches of his cock in your throat. Both of his bruty hands encase your head like he’s just come into possession of a priceless jewel, and in his eyes the analogy doesn’t lapse far from the truth. “My good fuckin’ girl.”

He repeats the process until he’s fully fucking your skull like a fleshlight, though ever-so nice with it. He keeps the same pace you had set for yourself, and he refuses to push you entirely down to where your nose would make contact with the ending hem of his fleece zip-up. At least not yet, anyways.

You open up the best you can for him, until you’re scared your jaw will lock up on you or even unhinge. You squeeze a thumb in your fist, curl your toes in your steel-cased boots, ship your mind off to somewhere else. Remind yourself over and over how much you value his pleasure; anything to keep your body from rejecting his bully of a dick in your mouth.

“That’s it, lovie. Easier like this, ain’t it? S’just like I told you.”

You spiritually agree, convinced that this was your true purpose in life. If you aren’t pleasing your superior—the one who has always been there for you to lean on, cry on, save you from your own stupidity—then you aren’t really living.

“Christ. Letting me use this tiny mouth like you’ve got no shame, eh? No dignity?” He laughs in your face, and you’re only able to flutter your droopy eyelids in response, tear after tear overflowing to your cheeks with each blink. He pushes your head down rougher. “It’s a good thing ya don’t…be no fun if you actually gave a shit ‘bout your humility. Your fuckin’ career…just so you can be your captain’s perfect, little fucktoy.”

He’s laughing again; he doesn’t give two shits right now, as he’s pressing your head down and fucking your face harder than ever. He’s murmuring more to himself than anything. “Don’t know if I should scold you or applaud you for it.”

He pulls you off him for a moment and you catch your breath like a madwoman, coming close to choking on the saliva that pools in your mouth. Tears fall freely from your burning eyelids, rolling down your cheeks and dripping onto his cargoes while your pinkened, glassy eyes don’t leave his worshiping ones.

He’s prying your jaw wider and pushing you back down before you can even think.

“Cryin’ and gagging ‘round my cock isn’t gonna make it any better, honey.” He grinds his teeth, telling you sweetly, “C’mon, you’re almost there. You’ve got this, baby.”

Your jaw hurts like hell, a familiar soreness you could never learn to simply get used to. Though, it’s a pain you so easily ignore each time. You suck it up and pull through like the good soldier you are, wishing for it not to go unnoticed by the teacher. And he always notices, just like he does your breaking and pleasure points. He wouldn’t push you terribly too far.

One of his hands falls to land on your neck, thumb reaching around until his grip is fully and loosely wrapped around your neck. Until he feels the bump of his cock moving in and out of your esophagus under the pad of his thumb, protruding up and down beneath his knuckles. It gets him higher than any drink or cigar ever could, even the rush of a battlefield can’t compete.

“Fuckin’ A, sweetheart, that’s it. Perfect, little thing.”

You’re doing too good of a job for him to even think of making a snarky comment about how much you must love having him so deep down your throat. He knows the answer well enough, and it shows through the glistening tears in your eyes and the willing, faithful hands practically anchored to his knees.

His grunts become more gravelly and common as he gets closer to finishing. It’s a prospect that bubbles deep in your belly, like his orgasm was worth far more than any pleasure to yourself at this point.

“Tell me. Y’want me to paint this pretty face?” he proposes, all exasperated but still so fucking cocky. You’re dizzy, lightheaded, every other word that could be used to describe the out-of-body feeling of him treating your body so harshly, in the nicest, most giving way possible. It’s visceral, really.

“Or should I come down this throat instead?” he pants. A smirk plasters itself onto his lips, though you don’t think it ever left in the first place. “You’d like that, wouldn’t ya, sweetheart?”

You can’t even respond, apart from your strengthening grip on his knees and the flexing and tightening of your neck muscles around him. He scoffs above you, but it’s loving. “Throat it is.”

It’s only a few more thrusts of pushing your head down to the base of his cock until his hand is stuttering in its movements, and he’s holding you in place as he spills his hot cum down your raw throat. A deep, long groan emits from his own, and it’s well-earned music to your ears with the way it vibrates in his throat as his head is thrown back. At least, the bits of his high that aren’t drowned out by your own struggling are a nicer gift than you could ever ask for.

You can’t breathe as he does this, and it’s even worse than when he was relentlessly shoving his cock down your throat; you can only think to swallow until he’s satisfied. You can only writhe and cry beneath him and try to savor the feeling of making him feel so good, until you have no choice but to beat your hand down on his muscular thigh to let you up for air.

He listens, but not without a laugh that would make him seem evil if you didn’t know him well enough as the compassionate captain with a warmer heart than most would imagine. He rips your mouth off his cock, yanking your head back at a rate that has you stumbling backwards on your ass and palms on the hard floor, under his old, wooden desk.

He watches on as you feverishly catch your breath, him as well but not nearly as crazed as you, gasping for air with your chest heaving up and down and a hand clasped to your neck. Attempts at blinking away your teary vision, your other hand soothing over your strained jaw; all the while, he’s shoving his softening, spit-soaked cock back in his pants and zipping them up with a predatory visual hold on your pretty form.

Once he’s got his fix of staring and you’ve caught up to a somewhat stable reality, he helps you. “C’mon, darlin’.” He reaches a hand out to you and you take it, smaller fingers being enveloped by his strong ones. He tugs you up gently and matches the action with a benign, “Up here, now.”

You wipe your tear-stained cheeks with the back of your free hand as he pulls you up onto his lap. Your back leans up against his shoulder and the armrest of his chair, legs hanging off the other side like the bridal-style position. He wraps his big arms around you, knowing your head is still far up in the clouds.

“Did such a good job for me, love. Y’know you always do. One of your best goes yet, don’t ya think?” His hand replaces yours with a duty, thumb swiping over and around your lips to clean you up so tenderly. “You feelin’ quite alright?”

Your mind is beyond numb, words that actually spill coming nowhere near what you’d actually want to say; pour your heart out about how much you’d do for him, how much he means to you. It’s all indescribable. “Mhm…always good f’you.”

“Awh, sweetheart.” His face matches yours with a grin, but the broken grogginess in your voice doesn’t go disregarded. “My poor girl fucked her throat raw like she wanted and now she can barely talk, eh? Is that right?”

You nod drunkenly, still with that needy pout in your demeanor that had him babying you like it was his only responsibility.

He brings the glass of whiskey from his desk and to your mouth, pressing the rim against your puffy lips rather harshly. He’s already beginning to tip the glass towards you, so you have no choice but to open up a bit wider and take what he’s offering. “Take a drink,” he tells you, and you listen.

He actually laughs, watching how you wince and whine from the burning of the hard liquor tainting your throat. Similarly to how his cock was only a moment ago. “Atta girl.”

Something about the control that comes with directing your next move, and your innocence to it, your compliance; it all has his mind elated. The only thing he’s sure of is that he likes it, far more than he probably should. You’re gonna get him in some serious trouble, one day.

You adjust your body on his lap so that you can wrap your arms around his neck and press your chest to his, burying your face in his neck to escape whatever was not him. His beard tickles your skin, and his huge, welcoming frame beneath you grounds and stabilizes you so comfortably like no other.

He brings a hand to drag up your back, tracing your spine a couple times before he palms the back of your head to keep you close. Truthfully, he wants to stay like this until morning.

“What now, pretty? Tell me what you need, anything.”

“Just wanna stay here with you.” You nuzzle in closer, attempting to absorb all of him and be devoured by his being. Your voice is muffled and mumbly due to being pressed up against his neck, “Promise I’ll be quiet while you work.”

He chuckles a light, sincere one, words muttered quietly for the close proximity. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

His eyes land on the door to his office; blinds closed, thick wood and metal sure to keep any noise of your endeavors from reaching the ears of any unsuspecting individual on the other side. He squints his eyes. The door is indeed unlocked, but he can’t seem to view that as an issue anymore. So what if someone were to walk in and see the two of you like this? It’s far past the peak bureaucracy hours of the day, anyhow.

His thumb soothes circles on the back of your head, and he can tell you’re calming down more by the second with the way your chest is gentle against his and your pulse has slowed. “I don’t mind that one bit.”

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