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mggslover · 3 months ago

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Valentines Savior

In which Spencer saves his best friend from a failed Valentines date.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff x slight angst Content warnings: friends to lovers, mutual pining, reader is tipsy, reader curses, confessions of love, vague mention of reader having abandonment issues, suggestive joke Word count: 3,6k A/n: happy valentines my lovers! 💛

Everything seemed perfect. And maybe that was the problem.

The restaurant you found yourself in had the perfect setting. There was the right amount of background noise: the clinking of wine glasses, muffled talking, occasional laughing in the back, and a jazz band playing the most atmospheric tunes. The lights weren’t too harsh—a pet peeve of yours—and the food was delicious, which you knew was a reason for you to return some other time. Just not with the person you were seated in front of now.

Kamil Everett was a good-looking guy. Slightly older than you, but not enough to doubt his reasons for being into you. He had the perfect jaw structure, covered in the perfect amount of neatly trimmed stubble. He had nice, white teeth, not the kind that you could tell was fake. He wore a cologne that was strong enough to notice, but not overpowering enough to bother you. He’d put effort into his hair and outfit, and he asked questions that showed interest but weren’t too invasive. He was perfect. Again, just perfect.

Still, the little devil on your shoulder nagged at you that this wasn’t what you were looking for. That something was missing, something neither Kamil nor the restaurant could give you.

You jumped in your seat when a pocket-sized Penelope with pink wings suddenly popped onto your right shoulder. Fuck, you’d been drinking too much.

“I am sick of this! Truly!” Penelope’s chipmunk voice peeped right into your ear.

“How many times have you come to me, saying, ‘Oh Penelope, someone has put a curse on me. There are no cute guys anywhere. The universe hates me’, and look at you now! Perfect guy, right over there!” Her small finger pointed at Kamil, and you pulled a sour face.

Angel Penelope responded by shaking her head in disapproval. “I will never hear you complain again. Now make sure to turn the poor thing down nicely and send him over to my place so I can give him some love.”

You chuckled at her comment.

“Are you okay?”

You choked on your red wine as Kamil spoke up. Devil you and Angel Penelope disappeared from your shoulders in a cloud of smoke. You coughed a couple of times before nodding, “Yeah, I am so fine.”

You looked at Kamil, seeing the genuine concern in his brown eyes. You knew you couldn’t continue keeping him on like that. “Actually, I think this is not going to work.”

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean us,” you answered, pointing your finger between the two of you. “You’re a great guy. I just don’t feel… the spark.”

He scoffed under his breath, immediately standing up and pushing his chair back to the table. You grabbed his wrist as he tried walking off.

“I swear, you’re great! I’m the problem. It’s always me, actually.”

Kamil didn’t get soothed by your words, pulling his arm free out of your grasp and turning his back to you, walking toward the exit.

“I have a great friend!” you yelled after him. “She’s an angel. Literally!” He kept walking, ignoring your pleas.

“I could send you her address! Kamil!”

“Ma’am, please tone it down or I’ll have to call security.”

You looked up to find a stern-looking woman standing in front of your table. When you looked around, all the couples at the surrounding tables were staring at you. You offered them a tight-lipped smile and mouthed a small sorry.

Once the critiquing whispers calmed down, you grabbed your phone from out of your purse, finding Spencer in your emergency contacts as you clicked on the call button.

“Hey, how are you-”

You shushed him. “I’m in a restaurant, whisper, or they’ll kick me out.”

Spencer listened and lowered his voice. “The new one downtown? I’ve been meaning to go there.”

“Well, consider today your lucky day. If you can make it in fifteen minutes, I’ll have dessert ordered for you.”

You chuckled as you heard his keys jingling from the other end of the line. “I’m heading out right now.”

“Good,” you laughed. “I’ll see you then.”

-`♡´-

A sigh of relief escaped you when Spencer walked into the restaurant. He gave you a smile and lifted his hand as he spotted the table you were seated at.

You stood up from your seat, letting out a satisfied groan as he enveloped you in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too. I can’t wait for ice cream.”

You chuckled, leaning back to see his face.

“You smell nice,” he complimented.

“Oh why, thank you,” you playfully responded, grinning as you both sat down.

Spencer observed the cutlery and half-drunk glass of wine in front of him, raising an eyebrow. “I assume I’m not the first person you offered dessert to.”

“Nope,” you answered, exaggeratedly popping the p. “Was on a date.”

Spencer lifted his eyebrows. “Another one?”

“Hey, don’t judge me! At least I go on dates.”

“Does it count if they all run away before dessert?”

You scoffed a laugh in surprise, not prepared for his burn. “You’re such an ass.”

He cheekily grinned. “What was his name?”

“Kamil,” you deeply sighed, knowing you’ll be getting chills every time you hear that name from now on.

“Did you know Kamil is derived from the Arabic element kāmil? Which means “perfect” or “complete”.”

You rolled your eyes, picking up your glass before taking a sip. “Of fucking course.”

You thanked the waiter as he set two neatly made plates of dessert down on the table.

“I thought you gave up on dating,” Spencer wondered out loud, humming as he took his first bite of ice cream.

“I was,” you responded, taking a bite yourself. “Valentine’s an exception, though. I don’t want to be sitting at home by myself.”

“You could’ve asked me to come over. We still haven’t seen all the Star Wars movies,” he responded, commenting on the movie marathon you started last month. Then he pointed his spoon at you, “Well, you haven’t.”

“I know. I just meant spending the day with a lover.”

“I could be your lover.”

Before you knew it, the wine shot out of your mouth, painting your dress and the white tablecloth red.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked in worry, hurrying to your side as you continued coughing.

“Spencer-” you coughed a couple more times, and his arms made their way around your body, your hands reaching out to pull them off. “Spencer, I swear to god,” you sputtered out, “do not perform the Heimlich on me.”

The fact that you were able to talk reassured him enough to loosen his grip around you. Still, he didn’t leave your side.

You looked down to see the inevitable: your dress was ruined.

“Fuck, I loved this dress,” you groaned in annoyance.

“Here, let me-” Spencer grabbed a napkin from the table, turning back to you and tapping your chest dry. His eyes were focused on the low neckline of your dress, and the movements of his hand slowed, as if hypnotized.

“Spencer?”

“Hm?” He hummed as he continued tapping the now non-existent wine droplets.

“Can you stop touching my boobs?”

He dropped the napkin like it caught fire.

“I-, I wasn’t-”

“You totally were,” you widely grinned.

“No!”

“Yes, you were. You’ve been staring at my boobs all night.”

Spencer swallowed. His gaze quickly landed on your cleavage before he blinked up at you. “Well, I can’t help it when you’re wearing a dress that’s showing décolletage.”

“Ha! You admitted it.”

A red flush crept up his neck, spreading over his cheeks. “That was a ploy! You were tricking me!”

“Ma’am, this is your last warning; I need you to leave the restaurant now.”

-`♡´-

The moon hung low in the sky, the streets cast in a warm yellow glow of the lampposts. A slight breeze caught your skin as you walked out of the restaurant.

“Well, that was a disaster.”

“You shouldn’t have kept insisting on a doggy bag.” Spencer laughed.

You let out a chuckle, turning to him. “Did you see the look on her face?”

Your comment spurred more laughter from Spencer, making him fall against you in response. You widely grinned and nudged his shoulder, feeling proud of getting him to laugh like that.

“This reminds me of the time when I first joined the team and you asked me to have dinner.” You recalled once your laughter had calmed down, still trying to catch your breath.

The moment felt like yesterday. It was strange to be reminded of the fact that it happened years ago. Spencer had caught your attention the instant you joined the team, which was surprising considering the fact he wasn’t a big talker. Well, he talked most out of everyone, but it always stayed on the case, rarely sharing something personal.

That’s why it surprised you that one day, on the jet after finishing a case, Spencer moved from the couch he usually found himself on to the empty chair opposite you. You remember finding it endearing how nervous he looked as he asked you to have dinner with him in a restaurant downtown.

You’d overheard the several times he asked other team members to join him in activities, whether it was a new food chain opening or a movie screening. You didn’t have the heart to tell him no. Besides that, you were curious to get to know the so-called genius Spencer Reid better. He amazed you again when the dinner turned out to be one of the times you’ve laughed hardest in your life. Since then, you knew Spencer would be at the top of your friend list.

“You seem to have a habit of spitting out your drink.” Spencer mused with a grin.

You returned his smile. “That’s because you seem to have a habit of trying to make me spit out my drink by acting like you’re in love with me.”

Due to your tipsy state, you didn’t notice the way Spencer broke eye contact, the way he nervously tapped his fingers against his pants, and how he seemed to look anywhere but at you.

If it wasn’t for the subtle shudder of your shoulder against his, he might’ve never gained the courage to look you in the face again.

“Are you cold?” He asked considerately, his eyes taking over your form.

You looked down at your outfit, reminded again that you were just wearing a sleeveless dress. “Kind of.”

Without saying another word, Spencer took off his corduroy jacket. He held it open by the sleeves, making it easy for you to slide your arms in. His hand grazed the back of your neck as he tugged the collar up, then pulled your hair out from underneath the material, letting your locks fall over the jacket.

You softly mumbled a thanks, and Spencer responded back with a sweet smile.

“It looks better on you anyway.”

You chuckled, “Such a sweet talker.”

“Just to you,” he replied, a little too fast for his liking as he saw your gaze drop to the ground.

What he wasn’t aware of was the rush of butterflies that soared through you at his words, ambushing you in a way so surprising it made you feel nauseous. Or maybe you were still feeling the effects of the alcohol.

It was ironic how naturally the compliments rolled off of his tongue, how effortlessly romantic gestures came to your friend — actions you longed for in your dates.

Spencer Reid was old-fashioned, a gentleman, sure, but you couldn’t help but wonder if there was more than just kindness to his acts. If Derek and Penelope were right every time they gave teasing looks when Spencer brought you your favorite coffee, or when he’d made sure the seat next to you on the jet was always occupied by him.

“Are you okay? You seem quiet.” Spencer noted after the two of you had walked in silence for the last couple of minutes.

“Yeah,” you breathed out in a sigh. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

His question slipped in your ears just as easily as it went out, as your attention was taken by the neon gelato sign across the street. The brightly colored flavors stood on display, a harsh white light shining down on it, luring you like a moth to a flame.

“Gelato.”

Spencer’s brows furrowed, but before he could make sense of your answer, you took a leap, crossing the street as if invincible to any vehicle that was speeding on the road.

“What are you doing?!” Spencer yelped in panic, eyes flicking over the road before sprinting after you, ignoring the honking cars.

His warm hand caught yours, and in a hurry, he pulled you onto the sidewalk, spinning you around so that your back was pressed against the brick wall, Spencer hovering over you as he caught his breath.

He blinked at you in disbelief, jaw tense, and you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your mouth.

“Have you lost your mind?”

“We’re all mad here,” you dramatically quote, pointing to yourself, “I’m mad,” and then placing your hand on his chest, “you’re mad.”

“Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,” he mumbled.

You nodded your head, a wide grin displayed on your face.

“So… gelato?” you asked, wiggling your brows.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh. “You just had ice cream.”

“Actually, I just had half an ice cream before they kicked us out. And it is not to be compared to gelato. You should know that.”

“Well, gelato does have a lower milk fat content. It usually varies between 4 to 9%, whereas ice cream has to have at least 10% of milk fat. The vast majority of brands have an even larger percentage, some even going up to 25%. Actually, now that you mention it, there are a lot more differences between American ice cream and gelato, for example, the use of eggs-”

You hummed in response as you took his hand in yours, letting him continue his ramblings as you guided him into the parlor.

-`♡´-

Your feet were dangling off the high chair you were sitting on as you licked the red plastic spoon clean that came with your dessert.

“I haven’t properly thanked you for helping me earlier. You really are my Valentines savior.”

Spencer smiled, pulling a lock of hair behind his ear. “I didn’t mind. You can always call me.”

“I know,” you replied just as honestly. “I wish it could be as easy as this with others. I wish I could just date you.”

A flush crept onto his neck, red skin showing on his chest where his top buttons were unbuttoned. “Why-” he hesitated before continuing, “Why can’t you?”

“Why can’t I what?” you asked back in oblivion, scooping another spoonful of gelato.

His fingers fidgeted with his spoon, his gaze nervously fixed on his empty cup as he spoke the next words: “Date me.”

Oh.

The longer you remained silent, the thicker the tension grew in the air. It wasn’t like you didn’t have any thoughts; hell, your mind was full of them. Your earlier theories flashed through your mind again, now getting the confirmation that all his attempts to be close to you meant more than solely friendship. How he had indeed tried telling you about his feelings all this time, and how you’d been blatantly oblivious. How you kept telling him about going on dates with other people while he was pining over you. There were too many thoughts to articulate, to even make sense of.

“Please say something,” his voice cracked in a soft beg, his eyes twinkling with hope, or maybe an emotion closer to desperation.

“I- I don’t know what to say.”

The spark in his eyes flickered out. Spencer mouthed okay while giving you an awkward, tight-lipped smile, his hands finding their way into the pockets of his pants.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, he said to you, “Let me walk you home.”

-`♡´-

People always say fresh air is the answer to everything. Feeling sick as a dog? Go outside! Feeling depressed? Go outside! On the verge of a nervous breakdown? Go outside! Turns out whoever invented going on long walks had a point.

Your mind cleared with every step you took. Your initial anxieties around Spencer’s words fade around you in a blur. Slowly coming to peace with his feelings and your own.

Dating your best friend could work.

Spencer, on the opposite, felt more tense after each second that passed in silence. It wasn’t that he regretted being honest with you; the weight of his love for you was overwhelming. It was inevitable that there’d come a time where he’d spill his thoughts. However, he shouldn’t have done it like this, with you not even sober enough to understand the gravity of his words.

So, when you rounded the corner of the street and he spotted your house, which was all too familiar to him, he knew he had to retract his confession.

“I shouldn’t have said that earlier. I just… like you. A lot.” He rubbed his forearms, either in a nervous habit or because the cold was getting to him. “And I thought you felt the same, but I’m aware that it’s irrational because, well, you go on dates. And you go on dates with people you like and-“

“Spencer,” you interrupted, having to catch his eyes to get him to focus.

“I know it was inappropriate to confess that I’m in love with you when you’re not even sober. Alcohol interferes with the communication pathways of the brain, so this might be the worst moment possible to admit to something like this.”

“You’re in love with me?”

This caught Spencer’s attention. He focused on you with a puzzled look. “Well, technically I asked you why you wouldn’t want to date me, but I-”

The words died on his tongue the second your lips found his. It felt like you finally got the confirmation you’d always longed for. Someone that knew you inside out, who understood you, and who wasn’t afraid of showing you.

Spencer’s mind was spinning. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air before he settled them on your cheeks, holding you as if afraid you’d disappear.

It was only after a couple of seconds that his IQ regained from 60 to 187, using his hands to gently pull you back from his lips.

His lips remained slightly parted, pink and swollen from the kiss, and his eyes narrowed in overwhelming confusion. “What was that for?”

“That was to show you that I love you too.”

“You can’t just say something like that.”

“But I mean it, Spence,” you stated in confidence. “I was stupid for not seeing it before. For some reason, it felt like you and I were impossible. The thought never occurred to me that we could date. We’ve been friends for so long. But you’re the only one who actually cares, the only one who stays, and I see that now.”

His eyes watered at the creaking of your voice, but he blinked the upcoming tears away. He took a deep breath. Selfishly, he didn’t want to say the next words, satisfied living in the delusion that you loved him back, but he knew he had to stay objective.

“Alcohol consumption also heightens emotions.”

“I know what I’m feeling, Spencer,” you assured. “I’ve just… I’ve been afraid of you leaving me as well, of seeing me as not lovable enough, that I didn’t even consider it a possibility.”

You let out a small self-deprecating laugh, making his heart ache.

“Just give me another chance, please. I will not be so oblivious this time,” you spoke, the corner of your mouth slightly lifted.

His expression mirrored yours, and he gently grasped your hands, his thumbs running over them to bring you comfort. “Can you call me tomorrow?”

You looked up at him.

“If, uh, you still feel the same when you’re sober, we could talk about it.”

There was nothing you were more certain of at that moment. Still, you nodded.

-`♡´-

The buzzing of his phone on the nightstand was enough for Spencer to wake up with a pounding headache. His mind had worked overtime yesterday, rolling in bed in anxiety, waking up every fifteen minutes, and now he was experiencing the physical side effects of it.

“Hello?” he answered, pressing the device against his ear, too sleepy to have checked who called.

“Spencer?”

At the sound of your voice, he sat straight up in bed, his back leaning against the wooden headboard.

He cleared his throat. “H-hi, yes, it’s me.”

There was no pause on the other end of the line, your words determined. “I still love you.”

He leaned forward, pressing the phone closer to his ear, in an attempt to absorb your words.

“I’m really happy to hear that.” His fingertips skimmed along his jawline, in need of proof that he was awake, that this was actually happening. “I love you too. Still. Right now. Always, probably.”

You chuckled at his nervous rambling, hearing him breathlessly laugh in reply.

“Good. Because I don’t want to waste any more time second-guessing.”

“You shouldn’t worry. You won’t be able to get rid of me. I won’t leave you.”

He meant the words in a light, joking manner, but still your heart happily pounded at the sentence.

“Neither will I.”

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inkpetrichor · 4 days ago

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Nasty Dog! | Kuroo Tetsurou x f!reader

2.- Part two.

masterlist here<3

cw. MDNI. fem! reader. delinquent! reader. use of yn. smoking. cursing. smut. p in v. unprotected sex. oral sex (f receiving). overstimulation. dirty talking. power struggle. bratty! reader. kinda brat tamer kuroo (?. lemme know if i missed anything<3 wc. 5.5k an. thank you so much for all the love you showed the first part! i love y'all enjoy<3 comments are appreciated <3

Emi snorted behind her palm.

"So he blue-balled you? And you let him?"

"What was I supposed to do? I'm not gonna force myself on him. What am I, a man?" You sighed, shaking the soft carton box in your hands and pulling out a cigarette with your teeth and holding the flame a little longer than you needed to.

"Oh, he blue-balled you blue-balled you. Was his makeout game that good?"

"Oh, believe me, it was. And then he just stood up and left." You ran a hand through your hair, the skin where he'd bitten, sucked, and kissed still burning beneath your clothes—even after a whole weekend and then some.

"What a cocky bastard," you muttered, your fingers twitching at the memory of his smirk, that stupidly sexy bedhead, and his big, strong hands on your body.

The way he'd squeezed you, moved you over him like you belonged there—fuck. Just thinking about it made the heat crawl back into your cheeks and settle low in your stomach. You gave your head a sharp shake to chase the images away.

"So... that's it? You giving up?" Emi asked, fixing her mascara in the reflection of a classroom window.

"Do you know who you're talking to? Of course not." You turned with a slow smirk, catching her eye. She smiled back.

"I just have to push the right buttons."

Before Emi could reply, her eyes flicked past you, widening in alarm. The way they darted to the cigarette between your fingers said it all.

Shit.

You dropped it and stomped it out in one smooth motion, turning just in time to face the one person you really didn't want to see right now.

Inukai-sensei.

Your homeroom teacher stood a few paces away, looking down at the half-smoked cigarette by your boot. His posture was relaxed, but there was quiet authority in the way he carried himself—tall, lean, the kind of person who didn't need to raise his voice to be respected. His black hair was neatly trimmed, though time had started peppering his temples with gray. The pressed, earth-toned shirt and worn leather watch only added to the whole dad energy thing he had going on.

He was the kind of teacher who was there—not for a paycheck, but because he genuinely gave a shit. It would've disgusted you—how nice he was—if you didn't so often feel like the stray dog in the rain he'd stop and feed without a second thought.

His brown eyes, soft behind wire-thin glasses, lifted from the cigarette to meet your gaze. He held up a sheet of paper with a single raised brow.

"Who did you copy the chemistry homework from?"

You flinched, eyebrows furrowing, instantly offended.

"What? No one! I don't cheat."

He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before letting out a small laugh through his nose.

"I know," he said. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Just had to make sure."

"Why? Is it good?" you asked, lips curling into a proud smile despite yourself.

"It's perfect," he admitted, shaking his head like he couldn't believe it. "Have you finally listened to your teachers and put some work into studying?"

Behind you, Emi snorted.

"She's been studying, all right," she muttered under her breath.

Inukai-sensei shot her a look, and she straightened like a scolded pup.

"I have a tutor," you said, giving her a sideways glare.

His gaze snapped back to you, eyebrows lifting.

"Really? Who?"

You wanted to tell him it was none of his business—formally, of course. You were a delinquent, not suicidal. But before you could answer, Emi slithered in beside you like a smug little devil.

"The volleyball team captain~," she sang, grinning.

You clicked your tongue, shooting her a sharp glare that only made her smile wider.

Inukai-sensei blinked in surprise.

"Kuroo Tetsurou-kun?"

"That's the one~," Emi chimed again, giggling as she dodged a flick of your hand meant for her shoulder.

"Well... he's top of his class. That's a good choice for a tutor," he said, nodding slowly, thoughtful.

"Top of my class, remember?"

The words echoed in your mind like they'd been tattooed behind your eyes. You bit your lip, hard, willing yourself not to replay the way he'd said it—in that low, cocky murmur while his mouth was on your neck, your hands tangled in his hair—

You were saved by the bell.

Thank fucking god.

You all but snatched the sheet from Inukai-sensei's hand as you breezed past him, calling over your shoulder, "Well, if that's all you needed—"

He called your name. You paused, bracing for a lecture about smoking on school grounds.

But when you turned, all you saw was that soft smile of his—the rare kind. The kind that stuck with you. There was something behind it, too. Something that looked suspiciously like pride.

"I knew you could do it."

You froze. The tips of your ears went hot. You looked away with a scoff and a roll of your eyes.

"Whatever..." you muttered under your breath.

Emi giggled and waved goodbye, and the two of you walked off. You didn't look back, but you heard him pick up the crushed cigarette and toss it into a nearby trash can.

Emi was practically bouncing as she pestered you for a look at the paper. You shoved it at her, annoyed, and she whistled low.

"Damn. That volleyball nerd of yours might actually be an angel. Who knows—maybe he'll help you pull your grades up. Fix your life n' shit."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, well, that's not what I'm actually interested in, am I?"

She pouted. "You're no fun," she said before skipping off toward her class.

It didn't matter.

Once you got what you wanted, you could forget about grades. Forget about stupidly handsome Kuroo Tetsurou.

Or at least, that's what you told yourself.

It was Wednesday, and the late afternoon sun bathed Nekoma's school grounds in a warm, honeyed light. For once, the place looked almost comforting as you made your way toward the exit, lulled by the quiet that blanketed the halls.

You had one more day until your next tutoring session with Kuroo.

You weren't counting.

Okay, maybe you were—but only in that restless, irritated way you counted down to something unfinished. Not because you wanted to see him. Not because his crooked smirks or annoyingly warm voice had burrowed under your skin like a splinter you couldn't reach. And definitely not because you missed the way his eyes tracked you like he already knew what you were going to say and dared you to surprise him anyway.

You hated how easy it was to think about him.

Worse, you hated that the thoughts didn't stop at his mouth or his hands or the phantom heat still clinging to your skin. They wandered off into the weird, dangerous parts—the parts where he laughed at your dumb jokes or challenged you just to see what you'd do. The parts where you imagined staying a little longer after tutoring just to argue about something stupid and feel him look at you like you mattered.

You stuffed your hands in your pockets, jaw tight, and scoffed to yourself. Fuck that. You weren't catching feelings. He blue-balled you and walked out. You just wanted to finish what you'd started.

You just wanted... revenge. Or control. Or something else you couldn't name.

Your boots hit the pavement a little harder as you rounded the building, trying to shove it all down.

Time to go home, text Emi, and forget about the excitement bubbling in your gut at the thought of seeing him again.

Or so you told yourself—until you heard the sharp, unmistakable bark of Kenkiba's voice behind the main school building.

"I told you to apologize. You tryna pick a fight with me, little pudding head?"

You rolled your eyes, heading toward the noise, where the group you were a part of—the so-called troublemakers of Nekoma where well... Making trouble.

There were six of you in total, with you and Emi being the only girls. You were never looked down on though—especially when the boys knew damn well you could take any of them in a fight and win. Not that they would risk it; they were "delinquents," sure, but not monsters. There was a weird kind of chivalry among them, the kind that kicked in when a particularly pretty girl caught their attention—or when someone messed with someone they cared about.

Kenkiba Haruki had that rough-around-the-edges charm that made you overlook his dumb choices more often than you should. His wavy, dark brown hair constantly fell into his eyes—he just refused to get it cut properly—and there was always a bandage somewhere on him, evidence of a fight, a fall, or just a stupid stunt. His uniform was a disaster: blazer slung over his shoulder, shirt half-untucked, school tie? Nowhere in sight.

Tall, broad-shouldered, always in motion—leaning back in chairs, slouching against walls, draped across desks with a lazy grin. His eyes were sharp, always scanning, like he half-expected someone to come at him with trouble. Or snacks. (Either was fine.)

When he laughed, it was loud, wild, infectious—the kind that cracked even the tensest moments wide open. But when he got serious, especially when it came to protecting someone, there was a stillness to him. Like a mutt that wouldn't let go of the hand it had chosen to trust.

And then there was Shibata Taiga. Where Kiba was brawn, Taiga was brains—though not the studious kind. More like chaotic, scheming energy bottled up in a leaner frame. His dyed hair always showed dark roots, like he was halfway between rebellion and not caring enough to finish what he started. And his ever-raised eyebrow made it seem like he lived in a constant state of sarcasm. (He did.)

Shorter than Kiba, wirier, and always wearing at least two accessories the school rules banned—maybe a ring, maybe a chain around his neck, usually both. He got Kiba into most of their trouble, but he was also the one who could talk them out of it. Sharp-tongued, quicker-witted, and while he'd talk shit about you to your face, he'd throw himself into a fight if anyone else tried it.

Rumor had it they once fought an entire group of upperclassmen and won. No one knew why. The story changed every time. They probably started it for something stupid. They probably didn't even remember.

You liked them. You didn't always like them. But you trusted them.

The same couldn't be said for the other two, Junpei and Inuzuka.

They were quieter, less flashy, always hanging around the edges. You couldn't quite put your finger on what rubbed you wrong—but there was something about their glances—too quick, too calculating—that made you cautious. Where Kiba and Taiga wore their hearts on their sleeves (and fists), those two kept everything close to the chest. Too close. You weren't sure they'd have your back if things got messy.

You'd put your neck out for Kiba and Taiga. They'd do the same for you. You couldn't say that for the last two.

Inukai-sensei, oddly enough, was one of the few adults the group respected, and the only teacher who you'd listen to. Maybe because he saw right through the "delinquent" facade to what you really were: a bunch of loud, messy kids trying to figure shit out. He never coddled you, but he never judged you either.

Normally, you wouldn't have had an issue with the group stirring trouble—they did it all the time.

But today? Today you had a problem.

Because standing in the middle of the group was none other than Kozume Kenma.

Kenma always looked vaguely annoyed, like the world was a mild inconvenience he'd learned to tolerate. But Kiba's glare and close proximity pulled an extra twitch from his brow—just enough to show he was actually irritated.

Kiba barked, "So? Are you gonna apologize or what?"

"I already did," Kenma said flatly. No fear. No anger. Just cold efficiency.

"Not energetically enough. I wanna hear you loud and clear."

Kenma scoffed, quiet and dismissive, like the whole exchange was beneath him. His fingers twitched around the console in his hands as he tried to retreat into the screen again, attempting to walk past the group.

Kiba knocked the console from his hands. It clattered onto the pavement.

Kenma stared at it, then slowly lifted his gaze to Kiba. The look he shot him was a flash of cold fury that could have cut through steel. You could practically feel the chill that ran down Kiba's spine.

Kiba reached out, hand forming into a fist, ready to grab Kenma by the collar, mouth opening—probably to say something stupid.

"Kenkiba."

Your voice cut through the moment like a blade.

The boys turned. You gave Kiba a tired jerk of your chin. "Leave him alone."

"Huh?! He bumped into me!"

"I heard him say he apologized."

"Well I didn't hear him."

You sighed, stepping closer. "Kibaaaa," you drawled, low and threatening. "Leave him alone."

It made him shift, visibly uncomfortable.

He was scared, you could see it in his stiff shoulders. But he still stared right back at you, defiant.

You sighed again, switching tactics.

"I heard Emi was looking for you."

That got him. He straightened instantly, a blush climbing up his neck like ivy. You felt a little bad using his crush against him—but Kenma needed saving. The idea of Kuroo's best friend vouching against you didn't sit right in your chest.

"She did?"

You nodded, tired. "Yeah... Something about karaoke?"

And just like that, Kiba's brain emptied. Tail practically wagging.

"Where is she?"

You shrugged, smiling. "I dunno. Go look for her before she invites that scum of an ex instead."

It was all it took. The boys wandered off, a chorus of grumbles and last-minute teasing trailing after them.

When the crowd finally left, Kenma knelt to retrieve his console. He picked it up with a tight jaw, inspecting it for damage. His brows were furrowed in quiet irritation as he wiped the screen with the hem of his shirt.

"Sorry about that," you said, quiet but honest.

He glanced up at you, squinting slightly like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn't care to finish.

"I don't need you to protect me."

You shrugged. "I didn't think you did. But it's easier when you have some help, right?"

His mouth pulled into a reluctant scowl, more pout than real anger. Still, he took the tissue you offered without a word.

You watched him clean his console with meticulous care, thumbs brushing lightly over the buttons. His movements were sharp but restrained. His face calm, but you could tell—just barely—he was irritated. Not at you. Not even really at Kiba. Just... at the inconvenience of it all.

"I don't like you," he muttered later, accepting the canned coffee you handed him as an apology.

"I know."

"You'll get Kuro in trouble."

You raised a brow. "Hopefully not."

"And your friends suck."

You exhaled, sitting beside him on the bench. "They're not that bad. Once you get to know them."

Kenma didn't respond, just stared at you, quiet and still.

You tapped the can against your thigh before continuing.

"Taiga? The dyed one? He has a soft spot for animals. Feeds the school's stray cats. He got detention once for sneaking a sick puppy into the nurse's office. Swears he doesn't care. Totally does."

Kenma glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

"And Kiba..." you chuckled. "He was late to a hangout once because he found a first-year crying behind the gym. He didn't say anything—just sat with him until he was done. Turned out the kid was getting bullied. Kiba swore he didn't beat the bullies up, but his knuckles were a mess when he finally showed up to karaoke. We let him pretend like he isn't a big softie."

"Why are you telling me this?"

You shrugged. "I dunno. I guess I just want you to know not everything is what it looks like."

He studied you for a beat, his expression somewhere between curious and mildly annoyed—before shifting his gaze to the horizon.

"Huh... I still don't like you."

You shrugged with a smile.

"I know. You'll see I'm not that bad eventually."

He didn't answer. Just looked away and took a slow sip of his coffee.

Then, after a beat—quietly:

"I don't want to owe you a favor."

You tilted your head. "So you admit I did you a favor?"

Kenma rolled his eyes so hard you almost laughed.

"You're just like Kuro."

You snorted and pulled your wallet from your bag.

"Nah, he's smarter than me. Here." You handed him 3000 yen.

Kenma stared at it like the money might bite him. You chuckled and shook the bills a little.

"Give this to him? It's for tomorrow's tutoring. That way you won't owe me anything."

He took the money cautiously, unsure whether this counted as a trap or a transaction.

You drank the rest of your coffee in a somewhat comfortable silence, letting him study you. You could feel his eyes flick toward your profile now and then, measuring, analyzing, trying to figure out where exactly you fit on his mental chart of tolerable people.

It wasn't judgment, exactly. More like curiosity disguised as apathy.

Eventually, he stood and left without saying goodbye.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket.

Emi <3: Did u just pimp me out to Kiba? Not cool (•̀⤙•́ )

Emi <3: Get ur ass to karaoke, we're all here.

You laughed under your breath, slung your bag over your shoulder, and headed for the gates.

It was Thursday afternoon.

The apartment was too quiet now—the kind of quiet that made every creak sound like a dare. You'd lit a cigarette earlier, let it burn in the ashtray untouched, like you were trying to give the room a scent. Something smoky. Sharp. Tangible. You didn't want to feel nervous, but you did—because this time, you weren't just dressing for revenge or seduction.

You were dressing for success.

So you opened the door for him like sin wrapped in cotton. Oversized tee swallowing you whole, no bra, bare thighs flashing underneath, just a hint of gym shorts if he looked hard enough.

Calculated. Deliberate.

You leaned on the doorframe, one brow arched—as if you hadn't been thinking about his mouth on your neck all week.

"Thought you might cancel," you said.

Kuroo didn't blink. Just looked you over slowly, like he had every right to. "You paid me early."

You stepped aside. "Right. Professional."

God, he was so calm.

But you were done waiting. He was smug, in control, keeping you teetering on the edge—tonight, you were going to make him crack.

No textbooks. No pens. No charade. Just you on the living room couch, cross-legged in that oversized tee, eyes locked on the door as he walked in.

He paused. Took one long look, and raised a brow. Cool, unreadable—as if he hadn't been fucking his fist to the thought of you all week.

"You forget the textbook?" he asked.

You smirked. "I think you've drilled enough chemistry into me by now."

"Maybe," he murmured, dropping his bag on the low table. "But exams are close."

You stood slowly from the couch. Sauntered over and straddled his lap before he could even unzip the bag. His hands hovered at your hips, hesitant— But you grabbed his wrists and shoved them higher, guiding them to your waist. Daring him.

"I'm done playing, Tetsurou," you whispered against his mouth. The way you purred his name—slow, dirty, like you were already imagining him inside you—made him fucking growl under his breath.

He laughed, teeth catching his lower lip like he was still trying to hold on. Like he wasn't seconds away from giving it up.

All the mental prep he'd done before getting here? All that resolve he built at practice, all the times he swore he wouldn't fold, all the times he told himself You are not letting her win—already out the fucking window. It was gone the second you opened the door, really. Your eyes, heavy-lidded. Your lips, parted. A siren in cotton and nerve.

Fuck, you were gonna be the death of him.

"You sure you can handle it?" he asked.

"You act like I'm scared of you," you said, cocky as hell. "You're the one always running. Afraid I'll laugh at your size?"

"Oh?" he said, voice slow and smug, hands tightening on your waist like a challenge. "Worried I'll disappoint you?"

You shrugged, feigning boredom even as your pulse pounded like a war drum in your throat. "You haven't impressed me yet."

That did it. The expert provocateur of Nekoma's volleyball team had just gotten played. Ironic.

His grip locked like a trap. In one move, he dragged you down into his lap and kissed you like he was collecting a debt—mouth greedy, tongue deep, teeth catching your lower lip just to hear you gasp. It melted into his mouth, hands threading into his hair, hips grinding against the thick, already-hard bulge straining through his pants.

"You think you're running this?" he murmured against your mouth, one hand dragging down your thigh with deliberate slowness. "That mouth of yours keeps writing checks you can't cash."

"Can't I?" you shot back, yanking his hair until he hissed through gritted teeth. "You're hard every time I breathe too loud."

His breath hitched—then he chuckled. Low and dark. Like he was already ten moves ahead.

"You think I haven't imagined fucking that attitude out of you?" he said, almost conversationally.

You didn't answer. You didn't need to.

His mouth found your throat—hot and biting—teeth grazing your skin like a threat. His hand slipped beneath your shirt, pushing it up in slow, deliberate increments, your body already hot and shaking—exposing you like a secret he intended to learn by heart. Your nails raked down his back, your body betraying every ounce of bravado.

He yanked your shirt off and tossed it aside, pulled back just enough to drink in the sight of you—bare, flushed, his golden eyes dark and greedy.

"Just say you want me," he murmured, voice like velvet stretched over something dangerous.

"Fuck you," you spat, even as your thighs clenched tighter around his hips.

That smirk—the one that always meant trouble—cut across his face.

"Exactly."

He scooped you up like you weighed nothing and dropped onto the couch, keeping you in his lap. His hips surged beneath you, cock grinding against you through his pants. Two fingers slipped into your panties and found your folds—slick and aching.

His breath left him in a hiss. "Goddamn."

He pushed one finger inside, and your body jolted like it had been lit. Then another—stretching you open, curling, finding, his thumb circling your clit like he was testing reactions for later.

"All that attitude and this is what's underneath? Fuck, you're soaked."

You cried out, hips jerking. Barely able to breathe, pleasure coiling tight in your belly.

"Oh god—Kuroo, fuck—"

He cut you off with a filthy kiss, tongue fucking into your mouth while his fingers fucked into your pussy harder, faster—angling just right until your thighs were shaking and your moans melted into his mouth. His palm grinding against your heat until your whole body trembled.

Just when your release was right there—on the tip of your tongue—

He stopped.

You gasped, trembling. "What the fuck—"

He pulled away from you and laid flat across your couch. Eyes dark. Mouth wet. Dangerous.

"You wanted control?" he said, voice low and razor-sharp as he hauled your hips toward his face. "You've got it. Ride my face."

You didn't hesitate. You didn't think. You just moved—got naked, gripped his hair, and straddled his face, sinking down on his tongue with a broken, desperate sound. The way he groaned into your pussy when he tasted you sent a shiver through your spine.

You rolled your hips helplessly against his mouth—slick, shaking—tasting lightning on your tongue, the obscene wet sounds echoing in your bones.

He groaned into you, devoured you. Tongue working you open, lips sucking, dragging along your clit, his moans vibrating straight through your core. The grip on your hips was bruising—keeping you in place, forcing you to take everything he gave.

Your thighs shook as you rode his face, eyes rolled back, moaning so loud you were afraid your neighbors would hear. His tongue flattened and flicked, sucked and swirled, obscene noises pouring from his mouth and yours.

You came hard. Pathetically fast. Screaming his name like you were trying to curse him and beg him in the same breath, thighs locked around his head as his tongue fucked you through it.

But he didn't stop.

Didn't even slow down.

He kept going—licking, sucking, fucking you through the aftershocks, dragging you past the edge of sanity into pure overstimulation.

You squirmed, clawed at his arms, but he held you there until you were babbling nonsense, until your pussy was twitching and fluttering against his mouth.

Finally, he pulled you off his mouth and back into his lap—body limp, lips trembling.

And that's when you felt it.

Really felt it.

His cock—rock-hard between your thighs.

He was big.

He sat up slowly, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand like a fucking savage, like he was savoring the mess he'd made. His golden eyes blazing with something dangerous and hungry, like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

"I'm not done," he whispered.

His zipper came down with a sharp, metallic hiss, and you tried—really fucking tried—not to lose it, even as your blood surged and your knees barely held out long enough for him to shove his pants down.

But there was no fucking way you were giving up control that easily.

He reached for you—quick, instinctive—but you ducked under his arm, shoving him back onto the couch with a smirk that didn't match the chaos between your legs. He let you—head tilted, teeth bared like a predator indulging its prey.

Those cat-like eyes followed your every move—hungry. Unblinking. Waiting for the excuse to pounce.

"Your turn to listen," you said between his legs.

You yanked his pants down to mid-thigh, rough and unceremonious, your palms sliding over the thick heat straining against his soaked boxers. He was already dripping, the fabric clinging, sticky and damp with precum.

Kuroo's jaw ticked. His hands flexed against the couch cushions like he was fighting the urge to grab your throat.

Good.

"Not so smug now, are you?" you murmured, licking a slow, filthy stripe up the length of him through the fabric. You dragged your tongue over the head, felt it twitch violently beneath your mouth.

He groaned, low and wrecked, head dropping back, abs twitching as you mouthed at him again—and yet he didn't lose composure.

Not yet.

You hooked your fingers into his waistband and peeled it down, slow and deliberate, revealing all of him—hard, massive, gorgeous—and fuck, your breath caught.

Your lips hovered over the flushed, leaking head, so close the heat of him made your mouth water.

"Had me aching for days," you whispered. "Maybe it's time you beg."

That did it.

He grabbed you—fast, brutal—lifting and flipping you like you weighed nothing. A blur of motion and you were face-down on the cushions, ass up, thighs quivering—and his cock grinding against your dripping heat.

Then his hand slid between your legs—coating his fingers in your slick before you could curse. You moaned, helpless, spine arching, legs spreading wider like a traitor.

"You wanna act tough?" he growled into your ear, voice all gravel and heat. "Then why do you melt the second I touch you?"

"Fuck you—"

"You'd love that."

He lined up behind you, dragging the fat head of his cock through your folds, rubbing over your swollen clit again and again until your hips were jerking backward, chasing it, clenching around nothing, desperate to take him in—but his hand clamped hard at your waist.

"You're gonna behave," he murmured against your ear, smug and sharp. "Or I'll edge you until you cry."

You whimpered—pathetic and honest—and that bastard grinned against your skin and kissed the back of your neck like a reward.

Then he pushed in, slow and deliberate, like he had all day to ruin you. Each inch a taunt, a lesson. You choked on a curse, and he groaned—long and low—as he bottomed out.

"Oh my god," you choked out. "You're such a—"

SMACK!

His palm hit your ass—sharp, controlled. Not cruel. But dominant enough to make you gasp and clench around him like a vice.

"Keep running your mouth," he said, "let's see where it gets you."

Then he moved.

Hard. Brutal. Unrelenting.

Relentless. Perfect rhythm. Every thrust designed to ruin you.

Still—you fought back.

Still rolled your hips. Still matched his rhythm. Still snarled through your moans.

"Thought you were gonna break me," you rasped, voice shredded. "I'm still standing."

"You're shaking," he grunted—pleased.

He wasn't wrong. But you didn't stop. You twisted under him, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and yanked him down into a kiss so messy, so fucking desperate, your teeth clacked.

"I'm not tapping out," you growled against his lips.

His laugh curled dark and smug against your lips. "You will."

Then he flipped you again, shirt finally coming off—muscles taut, eyes wild. Your legs hooked over his shoulders. He slammed back in, deep enough to make you scream.

Your back arched, fingers scraping angry red lines down his arms.

"Say my name," he snarled.

You bit your lip. Refused. Really tried not to.

But then his hand snaked between your thighs—thumb zeroing in on your clit with ruthless precision, stroking you in tight, devastating circles, perfectly timed with his hips—and you broke.

"FUCK—Tetsurou—don't stop—!"

He silenced you with a kiss, messy and needy, one hand wrapping around your throat—not choking, just holding—like a leash.

"You like being fucked stupid, don't you?" he panted, voice thick, messy. "Fuck—such a sl—"

You slapped a hand over his mouth, your fingers trembling but firm, and he immediately stopped. His eyes went wide—shocked, chest heaving.

"No." You whispered, voice soft but unshakable. "Not that."

Immediately—he shifted.

Tension eased from his jaw. The glint in his eyes softened.

He blinked, like he'd just realized he'd gone too far.

Then—softness.

He kissed your palm, slow and grounding. Turned his head to press his lips to your wrist—an apology in motion.

"Okay," he murmured, voice hoarse. "Got it."

He braced himself beside your head on his forearm. He let out a heavy breath, and you felt his cock twitch—even deeper in this angle, but tender in a way that made your chest ache.

When he moved again, it was still rough—but different.

Intentional.

He wasn't just fucking you now.

Only your name on his lips.

He kissed you between each thrust, murmured filthy praise into your skin—so tight, so good, meant for me—until you shattered around him with a cry that bordered on a sob.

But he didn't stop.

He fucked you through it, hands gripping your waist like a lifeline, until he buried his face in your neck, groaning your name like a curse, and pulled out just in time—his release hot and thick across your belly, his entire body trembling as he came undone.

He collapsed on top of you, gasping, drenched in sweat and slick, a mess of tangled limbs and overstimulated nerves.

For a long moment, there was only your breathing.

Then—your voice, hoarse and smug:

"So... what page of the textbook was that again?"

He laughed, breathless, hiding his face in your neck.

"Extra credit," he rasped.

You were still tangled together, skin slick, breaths slowing. His hand rested gently on your hip, thumb tracing soft circles like he hadn't just wrecked you five minutes ago—just to help you clean his mess right after, brushing the hair from your face like it mattered.

You hated that it made you feel... safe.

Your head fell back against the cushions as you tried to gather your thoughts—but they were scattered all over the room like your clothes. Your heart wouldn't stop racing. Not just from the sex—though God, that had been next level—but from him. The way he'd held you after you said no. The way he'd listened without flinching, shifted without hesitation.

It was the bare minimum, yeah—but it was messing with you.

The sudden change from absolute filth to softness was confusing you way more than you'd like to admit.

This wasn't supposed to be real. You were paying him, for fuck's sake. A fun excuse. A hot distraction. A stupid little crush you meant to burn through with one dirty, fast, no-strings fuck.

Not... this.

Not warm hands lingering after.

Not this soft.

You let your eyes roam over his body as he lay beside you now—chest rising and falling, arm slung over his eyes like he didn't want you to see him. You stared anyway.

You took your time, tracing the sweat-slick curve of his chest, his stomach. Then, inevitably, your gaze returned to his face—beautiful, vulnerable, real. Dangerous in a way you hadn't planned for.

"Don't look at me like that..." he murmured.

"Why? Afraid I'll fall for you?" you replied, voice light, teasing—but not genuine.

He moved his arm to study your expression, eyes sharp.

"Don't worry, smart boy. I'm not that dumb. I know how this works."

He didn't answer. Just looked at you from beneath heavy lashes, unreadable.

For a second, you thought maybe he'd call your bluff. Say something smart. Something cutting. But instead, he just breathed out through his nose—quiet. Nodded once like it didn't bother him.

Like he hadn't felt it too.

Then he sat up—slow and lazy, like he didn't have a single thought in his pretty head.

"Post-nut clarity is a bitch," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. The words were casual. The tightness in his jaw wasn't. He grabbed his shirt off the floor, buttoning it up without looking at you.

There was a strange silence then. Not quite awkward. Just... thin. Like one wrong word might tear it wide open.

He swung his bag over his shoulder while you lit a cigarette.

"You don't have to walk me out," he said. Not cold, not warm. Neutral. Controlled. Like this was just another Thursday.

You nodded. "Didn't plan to."

He hesitated at the door, back still turned. "See you next session?"

Your chest tightened, but you gave a little shrug. "If you're not too busy solving the mysteries of the universe, sure."

He didn't laugh. Just glanced at you over his shoulder—and for a second, there was something in his eyes you couldn't name.

Then he left.

And that was it.

A conversation that didn't happen. A conversation that maybe should've.

But hey, it wasn't like things could get even more complicated, right?

...Right?

Next chapter↪ (coming soon<3)

tags. @themoreeviltwin @taylordenae @rhea-sylvea @iluvikeu @tgnvhp @adangerousbalance @orphicarchive taglist open! let me know in the comments ♡

#haikyuu #hq fanfic #hq x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fluff #hq #kuroo x you #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo testuro #kuroo smut #haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut

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bardic-inspo · 2 months ago

Text

Dhampir Dreams

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x F!Tav (Generic/Unnamed)

Part 2 of 2 - Read Part 1 Here

Rating: Explicit (Smut)

Key Tags: breeding kink, pregnancy kink, body worship, light dom/sub, switchy submissive Tav, cunnilingus, PIV, Astarion’s past trauma, smut with so many feelings but nearly no plot, character introspection

Summary:

“It doesn’t have to be,” she says softly, brushing back the rogue curls that have fallen into his face. “It doesn’t have to be just a dream.”

Tav brings Astarion’s dreams of breeding her to life.

Click here to read on AO3 instead

He’s a dream, Tav thinks, with Astarion’s naked body sprawled beneath her in the sheets, his white curls snarled with sleep. Astarion Ancunín is a dream she never has to wake from. Tonight, she batted her eyes open to that carmine gaze already upon her, awash in love and lust. It’s bliss, to bathe in that look, in the warmth of his want for her. It’s no mystery why she never misses the sun anymore.

Tav thanks the gods every day for the bittersweet sting of his teeth, for pinching her at the exact moment she needs to remember this is real. Straddled over his pelvis, his stiffened cock seeping in her palm, Tav finds herself thanking every devil she can think of, too. Anyone who could’ve planted such filthy fantasies in her lover’s mind. Anyone who had a hand in having him flushed, panting, yearning like a man starved.

Tav wets her lips. “If you want something, my star, you only need to say it.”

Her fingers curl, slender, around the thick of his shaft. Her wrist twists downward, smearing his slickness with the motion. Astarion turns his cheek, muffling a groan into the pillow. At once, she stills.

“That’s not a language I know, love,” she chides, smiling warmly. “Why don’t you try common instead?”

Much as she adores the elegance of elven in his mouth, and much as he’s often eager to indulge her, it’s not her desire that needs coaxing into the open. Tav knows it still snags him, sometimes: the notion that he can have the things he wants at all. That he can ask and receive, simply because he’s loved. She knows sex, more specifically, surprises him more than he cares to admit. It’s a shock to his system that he wants it this much. That she could show him shades of pleasure he’d never known, despite his long list of past lovers.

Out of every gentle moment spent in each other’s arms, and every still evening spent untouched but not lonely, they’ve built a sanctuary. Safety breeds freedom, breeds empowerment. To give, take, and be taken. To taste and be tasted. To confess to craving it. Or, to let himself be enticed into confession by soft kisses laid across his scars in reverence and remembrance, like flowers laid on a grave.

She’d move mountains for this man to know the heights his happiness could reach. She hadn’t needed to. He says with her, with them, even the hard moments have softened edges. That she is the counterweight to his centuries of torment.

And how could something like that hit with any less force than an avalanche? For as much as Astarion says Tav saved him, Astarion reshaped her world. When the dust settled from their adventures, it felt like a whole new one. With her star at her side, guiding her through the night, how could she ever miss the--

“S-Sunlight,” he whispers his favorite name for her on a stuttered breath.

Astarion doesn’t need to breathe at all. But it grounds him, ties him to her touch as his body winds at her whim. She gives his throbbing cock another long, languid stroke.

“I’m all ears, lover,” she says, voice husky.

Her eyes sweep the lithe flex of his chest. A low whine leaks from the corner of his mouth where she catches the glint of a fang. His eyes scrunch shut, stirring an urge within her. She gives in to it, letting her hips roll, grinding against the hard ridge of his cock. The thin fabric of her nightgown clumps between them. She fists it out of the way. Astarion groans again, this time pained, as her slit glides freely over his aching length.

“I-It was just a dream,” he mutters, sheepish. His eyes take on a far-away fog as they flit to the curtained window, his cheek dropping back to the pillow.

Again, Tav stills. She stretches out an arm, cradling a hand beneath his chin, steering him back to center. Ruefully, his gaze latches to hers again.

“It doesn’t have to be,” she says softly, brushing back the rogue curls that have fallen into his face. “It doesn’t have to be just a dream.”

“You don’t even know what it was about,” Astarion counters, one fine brow arched.

Her palm rests against his cheek. He leans into the touch, smushing against her skin. It only underscores his blooming pout.

“I would if you’d only tell me,” Tav laughs.

“Well, we weren’t talking in my dreams, darling. So why don’t we do away with the words altogether. I could show you what’s been on my mind.”

He grips her hips like reins. She can’t deny the kick it puts in her pulse. Her hand leaves his cheek to stroke the panes of his chest, stopping firmly at his sternum.

“You’ve been dreaming a lot lately,” she says, her voice steeped in sugar and just as much cunning. “Sleeping next to you every day, I sometimes hear the sweetest mumblings come from your mouth. Makes me wonder if you remember them when we wake.”

Astarion smirks, fangs gleaming sinfully. “My mouth holds a bounty of delights for you, my dear. Why don’t you put those gorgeous thighs around my ears and find out just how sweet these lips can be?”

Tav sighs airily. “You’re not quiet, you know.”

“Ha!” Astarion barks a laugh. “My love, there’s a reason we can’t have a room with shared walls any longer, and you can see her in a mirror.”

Tav grits her teeth. “Setting aside the fact that I hardly made that much noise from a solo endeavor--”

“Oh, the credit’s mine and the blame is yours.”

“Astarion--”

“My love,” he purrs, the roll of his tongue spurring a needy twitch between her legs. “Do you know what would be a dream come true? Truly?”

It’s hard to be anything but absolutely boneless when he growls that last word and she can practically feel the teeth in the promise of it. She could close her eyes now and feel the scrape of his fangs teasing her neck, and his lips soothing over their sharpness. She could cease all this teasing and be well and truly taken in an instant.

Tav eases back against his legs, not sure if the resulting whine comes from the creaking bedframe or her pleading lover. He wants her, too. Desperately so. But he also wants something he won’t allow himself to say. Not while he’s awake, anyway.

He trances most days; sleep is something Astarion resorted to for survival under Cazador, so he didn’t have to relive his tortures in reverie. He’s assured her that when he slips into it now, it’s only out of habit.

It’s not lost on her that perhaps he’s finding sanctuary in sleep once again. Albeit, of a different sort. In dreams, he can live in visions of what could be, instead of what’s already been. He can have his any and every unspoken desire for company.

Tav could hardly believe it, the first time she heard it. By chance, she caught snippets of his dream spilled from his lips. What a sweet way to wake at midday: with Astarion a bare, disheveled masterpiece beside her, the sheets tangled between his legs. What sweet, sweet music he made, rutting aimlessly into the bed, her name a semi-snarl in his throat.

“So good,” he gasped, breathless. “Such a good girl for me…”

“Mm,” Tav mumbled blearily. “I am, aren’t I?”

“You’ll look so beautiful,” Astarion panted back, breath taut. “So full of me…”

“Oh?” Tav hummed happily.

“So full with our child.”

“Oh.”

Tav stared agape at the ceiling for what could’ve been minutes or hours. Astarion simply rolled over, muttering intelligibly, and resettled in his sleep. When he later woke, he said nothing of filling her with anything but breakfast. He said nothing when she continued to take her nightly tincture, which keeps the possibility of pregnancy at bay.

A wayward, fleeting dream is all it was. Or so Tav thought. Until it happened again. And again. Nearly every night after, Astarion succumbed to sleep instead of trancing. So, instead of memorizing every knot in the wooden beams overhead, Tav began to read.

It’s the same method Tav takes with all of Astarion’s desires. She means to bring him the sun again, someday. Already, she has leads on Astarion’s path back into the light. Gale is assisting in that endeavor. Something this sensitive, though, she prefers to leave their friends out of. At least, at this tender stage.

She went by herself to Sorcerous Sundries, unsure if she sought a work of fact or fiction, unsure if a union such as theirs could bear a child at all, or if Astarion himself would know the answer. She felt her heart skip in her chest when she found the tome that told her what a child of theirs would be -- that they could be. Their baby would be a dhampir.

They could have a baby.

With Astarion’s curls. And gods, his eyes, in the shade he doesn’t remember. Her tears hit the page before she even felt the burn of them, wetting the paper like fat raindrops. Wiping her eyes did nothing at all; they pattered down relentlessly.

It was then, with the dam broken, that Tav realized Astarion wasn’t the only one holding something back.

Tav had paid only passing thoughts to motherhood before. The notion came to her here and there, like a stay ray of sunshine. Warm, fluttery, happy thoughts that wake when she sees younglings wield their wit to make mischief, or watches their eyes widen with wonder at the simplest things. The idea would come and go, leaving behind a hazy, semi-sweet afterthought of maybe someday.

She was never sure before, really, if she wanted a child herself. She’s certain she wants Astarion’s. Maybe more than she’s ever wanted anything.

She doesn’t know where this crack in her defenses came from -- where the root of this desire began. Maybe it started when she stumbled across Astarion teaching Mol knife tricks. Or hearing him turn his nose at anyone else’s puns, but dole them out by the dozen to make Arabella laugh. Or, maybe it was the way he fought to free Yenna from Orin’s clutches with a bared-teeth ferocity she’d never seen in him before. Not even when he faced Cazador.

It could’ve been the raw agony that ripped through his eyes when they fell upon the children he helped Cazador cage. The determination on his face when he decreed they should have the same second chance at life he did. Or the pride with which he declared their freedom to the Gur who came searching for their corpses.

She knows this: for all his bravado, Astarion rarely thinks himself worthy of what he wants. She remembers the glassy anguish, the yearning that swam in his gaze the night he came to her with his first confession. She can still hear the startled noise that snagged like thorns in the back of his throat as she embraced him earnestly for the first time. Slowly, gradually, his arms came to hold her, too. And then came the soft sigh of release and relief he puffed against her ear. Relief that she waited. That she cared enough to wait.

Tav knows when Astarion needs her to reach. And that, when he’s ready, he’ll reach back. She sucks in a breath for bravery, still saddled over his thighs, and whispers softly:

“What if I said ‘yes’?”

Astarion blinks back at her, his sultry smile faltering. “What do you--”

“What if I said ‘yes, please’?” Tav swallows the sudden thickness in her throat, fingertips feathering the ridge of his collar. “I could. If only I knew how badly you want me to.”

Astarion’s lips part wordlessly, searching her face as his brow knits in. His expression eases when her fingers circle his shaft again, stroking lazily. Her grip is firm with promise, and unhurried with patience. His eyelids flutter, gaze trailing after her other hand as it comes to caress her own stomach.

“I could be swollen with you. Here. And…”

--her hand drags across her ribs, coming to cup the plump curve of a breast--

“...here, too.”

She catches the faint scrape of his exhale as she toys with her supple tit. “I could be leaking with you here…”

--she pinches a pert nipple hard enough to draw a low gasp of her own--

“...and here.” Her breast quivers as she abandons it abruptly, her hand smoothing down her stomach to plunge between her legs.

Astarion watches with rapt attention, his hips jutting into the rhythmic wrap of her hand. It’s hard to say who’s slicker; Astarion, with pre-cum dripping down his throbbing cock, or Tav, her finger slipping inside herself as easily as slipping into a glove. Her cunt clings to her finger greedily, unsated, and aching with hunger. It’s not enough. Not nearly. Still, she stifles a shudder as she withdraws.

Tav forms a vee with her glistening fingers around the puffy, purplish head of his weeping cock, drawing them down and coating him with her. She relishes his eyes going slitted with the sensation. It’s electric, the feeling of putting his teeth in his bottom lip, arching his back off the bed, soaking the sheets with his want and sweat. He must hear it in her blood, how hot she burns for him when he’s all but begging.

“Even with my hips propped, some of you will seep out,” she muses. “But I’d spend all night bent over for you, if that’s what it takes. Or, maybe, all day. You’ll have to be fed better than normal, so you could hunt during the night. Come back and claim me when the sun rises. Keep your cock inside me until it sets again.”

He moves so quickly, a soft rush of air sends a shiver coursing down her spine.

Gooseflesh pebbles her skin, bringing with it a flurry of nerves. Astarion sits upright, propped with his arms behind his back, his legs still trapped beneath hers. But his sudden closeness, the dark intensity of his stare as he studies her with his head tilted, puts a hitch in her breath.

“Not that all of that doesn’t sound positively divine, my darling,” he murmurs softly, “but why exactly?”

He’s granted her room enough to carry on playing with his cock, but there’s no trace of teasing on his face. Nose to nose, she freezes. He stops short of sealing his question with the kiss that could soothe the doubt seeping into the corners of her mind. Her heartbeat quickens, as if to outrace her own uncertainties. What if it really was only a fantasy? Something he’s only fond of because it's fiction and meant to stay that way?

“T-to make sure it takes,” she says, mouse-like. “I’d have to stop taking my tincture, of course. I could stop tonight. I could stop all of this, if you want me to--”

Cool fingers catch her jaw and hold it still. Tav stutters off with a whimper against the barest brush of his lips.

“Don’t you dare,” he rasps, the words simmering on her tongue.

Her eyelashes graze his cheek as she peers up at him, fresh, heady hope turning her legs to jelly. But as soon as she dares to speak, he does, too.

“Star, I--”

“I want--

“Anything.”

“Hm,” he rumbles, drawing back by a breath. His fleeting smile is a fond one. When it fades, the light in his eyes remains.

His fingers leave her chin to sweep her hair away from her neck, wandering to the twin divots forever etched into the side of it.

“You put life in me every night,” he says, pensive, reverent as he marvels at the marks left from his prior feedings. “There is nothing more tender than your blood. Nothing more pure than the love you’ve poured into me. Except…”

His voice is silk; she feels it slink, sumptuous, across every inch of her skin.

“...except what I could do to you. What I want to do to you.”

When he says it, at last, it doesn’t sound like a confession. It carries the heat of an oath, her body waking with a warmth she’s never known.

“I want to make you a mother,” Astarion says, cradling her jaw with a wistful smile. “I want to watch you change. I want to be the reason. I want you marked with me, inside and out. Forever. For good.”

Tav blinks rapidly. Tears spring to her eyes unbidden, even as a wide, slap happy grin blooms across her cheeks.

“I want to put life in you, too,” he whispers, voice wavering. His forehead bumps hers gently as it comes to rest there, his fingers threading loose through her hair as if it’s the only purchase he has. “To cherish it with you. To care for you. Both of you.”

The tears that streak her cheeks aren’t hers. They’re salty on her tongue when she leans in, and kisses his wet lashes.

He’s reluctant to allow her to pull back as she does, but the ache is forgotten a moment later -- the moment Tav stretches past him, to the bedside table, and deliberately knocks over the vial sitting upon it. Glass shatters on the floorboards, tinkling like windchimes. The tincture held within no doubt floods the gaps between the planks. But all Tav sees is Astarion -- the sheen in his eyes shifting, his lips twitching towards an upward turn.

“I guess I’ll have to go without it,” Tav shrugs. “I guess I’ll have no choice but to be adored and cared for. And…” her voice drops conspiratorially, “...to be bedded and bred by the vampire with the raging erection.”

“Really?” The question falls faintly from his lips, even as the rest of him stays frozen.

It’s the same way he said it the night he found out exactly how much he was cared for, while wearing that same spellbound look with his heart bobbing in his throat. Tav smiles knowingly.

And she reaches.

Her lips crush to his like a head hitting a pillow -- like a weight lifted, a day’s trials shed. A respite, against all else. A place to rest, and to dream. Astarion kisses her just as ardently, a soft growl rumbling in the back of his throat.

“Yes,” she swears on every breath in between. “Astarion, a thousand times, yes.”

She gets a glimpse of his smile -- his real one, a wide pointed vee -- before the room sways in a sudden smear. Her back hits the bed. A pitchy giggle punches free of her ribs, the mattress whining irritably beneath her. Astarion hovers over her, beaming like the sun itself.

There’s no more trace of the anguish and uncertainty that consumed him the night they became something real. He looks at her the way he did in the graveyard, on the day he became free.

And he crawls across her naked body with the same fluid grace as he did that night, eyes brimming black with that same anticipation. She should’ve anticipated how his knee would come to hook behind hers and spread her so effortlessly. She gasps all the same, as she did the first time. With a soft smack, the bare weight of his cock settles warm against her cunt, rubbing heat over sweltering heat with delectable slowness.

It’s not lost on her that he’s taken the reins, wrested control out from under her with barely any effort. She simply can’t find the will to care, with her hands clawed in the sheets, her lover dragging kisses across her inner thighs, and her head soaring high above the clouds.

“I want you pregnant, darling,” Astarion croons, the hum of his words stoking a shiver across her sensitive skin. “I want you swelling and pampered and laid back with your legs wide so I can taste me all over you. So I can taste how coming inside you changed the flavor of your fertile little cunt.”

He shifts, and the heat of his breath warms her folds. Tav’s toes curl with the tingle of it. Just the tease of his fingertip circling her entrance winds her taut, has her at his mercy, sputtering his name like it’s the only word she knows. When he slips that same finger inside of her, she wraps right around it.

Astarion’s eyes flit to hers, heavy-lidded with longing. “I want to taste how you’re changed forever, from the second I sank into you. Your scent, your skin, your shape, your blood. I want it soaked in me. Is that what you want, dearest?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Tav moans, her neck bending back with the crook of his finger.

“Then you’ll need to say it, Sunlight,” he laughs darkly. “In a language we both know. Why don’t you try common instead?”

“B-bastard,” Tav stammers. But then, the tip of his tongue grazes her clit and she’s left no choice but to cry out his divinity. “Gods, Astarion!”

“It’ll feel so good to feel so full of me,” he sighs, finding no resistance as a second finger invades her cunt, “won’t it, love?”

She’s watched those same pale, elegant fingers -- works of art in their own right -- artfully work countless doors and chests free of their locks. Those hands have delivered death to so many. And now, they coax her expertly towards one not-so-small demise. Astarion knows her, inside and out, just as well as the creases in his palms.

He knows exactly what he’s doing when cushions her clit carefully between his lips and sucks. For a few searing moments, she can’t breathe, and doesn’t care if she ever does again. Air rushes back to her lungs as he releases. Tav’s chest heaves while he laps at her daintily. Every too-light touch is a lash of lightning pleasure.

She revels in the feel of his fingers stretching her, prepping her to play her part in his promise. Astarion’s words melt across her mind, leaving nothing but honey and heat in their stead. She’s stuck in them, with no sight of the surface, no will to be anywhere but caught beneath him.

“You’ll take all of it, won’t you, you perfect thing? You’ll take everything I have to give you.”

“Yes,” Tav pants eagerly, “yes.”

“I know you will. You’ll bloom with it, my darling. You’re already radiant. So…succulent,” he nearly snarls. “So very wet for me.”

“All for you,” Tav cries, her back arching from the bed. “Always for you.”

His purr paints her clit. “I can hear it, you know. The way your heartbeat pulses straight to your sweet cunt. Aching. Waiting. Like it’s begging me. And how could I deny you? I’d never be so cruel.”

Oh, but his fingers don’t promise the same. They curl inside her with a keen precision, tugging her just to the edge of something heavenly, but not one step over. Astarion’s free hand binds her to the bed as her hips buck with a mounting, desperate need.

“P-Please-- Astarion -- please--”

“I’ll fill you, my sweet,” he swears against her slit. “Until your beautiful body is brimming with me. With us.”

That mouth of his makes and unmakes her. It spills vows of what she’ll become at his behest. And it devastates her, when those lips latch around her clit once more and send her soaring.

Astarion’s name breaks from her throat, but still she feels drowned in it. Drowned in anything but him, his merciless mouth, his intoxicating scent, his smooth skin surrounding her, sending her to the deepest depths of her own pleasure. She never knew just how lost in it she could be before she laid beneath him.

And when she surfaces again, gasping, delirious, the only thought she has is that he has to know it. She’s his. She’s his.

“Take me,” she pleads in a fragile whisper.

No sooner has her demand left her lips than she feels her body dragged through the sheets to the edge of the bed. Astarion peers up at her from between her thighs, his curls in devilish disarray to match his glistening smirk. The sight of her own slickness on his mouth has her knees wilting to either side, even as they still tremble with the aftermath of the orgasm he wrung from her.

Astarion straightens, planting his feet on the floorboards. Every instinct in her body begs her to spread, urges her open. She yields to him eagerly when he folds her legs up and bends them back. A breath shreds between her teeth as he seats the head of his cock at her soaked slit, demanding entrance with a perfect pressure that has her cunt and her eyelids fluttering.

A part of her knew, when he first thrust inside her, when she first sprawled beneath him on the forest floor, that he’d wrecked her for anyone else. One roll of his hips and his cock is home inside her again. She's whole with it. The ruined noise he makes is nothing short of holy.

At first, his girth is blistering. Her body spasms with his intrusion. He chuckles darkly, unrepentant.

“That's my good girl,” he smirks, every drag of his cock electric and relentless.

Her neck arches, molded by the curve of him within her prodding her just so. So perfect. Every thrust is a velvet kiss that steals her senses.

Her cunt clenches around him for dear life, milking him for the seed that should be hers. It belongs in her body. The idea of it anywhere else is sacrilege when she’ll cherish it like no one else can.

She thinks of what he said before, how he wants to change her forever. How even if some of his seed drips out, some of it never will. Some piece of him will always be within her, for as long as she breathes. But perhaps that won't be long at all. Astarion’s thumb brushes her clit and she shudders hard, the air driven out of her by his bruising pace. There’s not a trace of pain in it. Only harsh, unyielding ecstasy.

“Such a good girl for me,” he groans approvingly. His praise is a balm to the brand of his thumb flicking hypnotically against her clit. “And I'll be so very good to you, my sweet. Even when you can't walk any longer, and all you can do is lie back and let yourself be bred again and again. Especially then.”

She could do that, she thinks deliriously. She could be his sleeve, his fuck-drunk slut, his every release. So long as he floods her with it, he can have her raw in every way a woman can be had.

He already has her mind remade into a single thought: his name, or the pieces of it she can still manage to stutter out. Why not her body, too? She could be shaped by him, by the smell of their sex, the moan of the bed, by the weight of his body killing any other want she could have.

The slam of his hips consumes her. Blinding pleasure snaps through her bones with every frantic flex of her cunt. Her whole body spasms as she succumbs to the most sacred release he could send her to. He’s exquisite when he comes apart after her, moments later, his face scrunched and pleading, his knuckles knotted in the sheets.

He cries out her name as he spurts inside of her. Tav relishes in the soak of his seed, his signature, spilled inside of her like fresh ink on her flesh. His. Forever. For good.

Astarion stills shortly after, and the room goes abruptly quiet, now devoid of ragged breath and creaking wood. He glistens with sweat, still sheathed and twitching within her. Beautiful, she thinks as she stares, awestruck. He’s so beautiful.

But all she can manage to say in her drifting, breathless state is: “Thank you.”

His laugh buffets her body. “You’re thanking me? I might remember that, darling, when our offspring decides it's time to see the world and you're both screaming about it.”

She feels a pang of loss as he withdraws, her walls fluttering faintly in protest. But he doesn’t go far; he kneels at the end of the bed, his hands shifting to prop her hips. She shivers at the feel of his contented sigh passing his lips and tingling against hers. His rosy gaze settles on the pearly leak of seed she can feel seeping warm between her folds.

“You know, you’re the prettiest thing that’s ever been,” he says with a certainty that harbors no alternative. And yet, his eyes dart away and he bites his lip a second later, looking nowhere near certain at all. “And I-- I wouldn't blame you if you reconsider, you know. Not that any child would be easy but…a dhampir especially--”

“Astarion,” she chides gently, “I want to have a baby with you. Our baby. Even if they come with pointy teeth.”

“Hm.” That noise sounds awfully like a whimper. He clears his throat pointedly, restoring his grip on his wit. “Hm. Well, I do hope they have your nose, darling. It’s cute as a button, after all.”

“My nose?” Tav wrinkles it skeptically.

“That’s right,” Astarion says, a warm smile unfurling on his face. He rests his chin at her navel, sandwiching his cheeks between her thighs. His touch is soothing in its coolness. “And your laugh. But my hair, of course.”

Absently, she reaches down to stroke that gorgeous silver hair away from his eyes, letting her nails scrape slightly along his ear. An aching sort of softness rounds her lover’s gaze.

“And your eyes,” she says quietly. She thinks she can see the whole world in them.

A/N: HUGE thanks to my beloved friend, @amoremagnificentbastard who cheered me on through every step of the way on this, and provided a final proofread before I posted. Please check out her fics, they're amazing!

Thanks as well to all of my fellow Discord freaks (affectionate) who were a constant source of support and encouragement.

And last but not least, thanks to all of you who read part one, or are reading this now, who were so very kind and patient to me while I took my time in cooking part two for you.

Thank you for taking the time to read. I hope life is being kind to you!

Divider credit: firefly-graphics. End banner credit: cafekitsune

#astarion #astarion ancunin #tavstarion #spawn astarion #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #bg3 #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #astarion breeding #my writing #astarion x f!tav #f!tav x astarion

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sanjisleggy · 4 months ago

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this love of mine (trafalgar law x reader) [pt2]

summary: Trafalgar Law’s sudden discovery of your past ties to Straw Hat Luffy and Fire Fist Ace leaves his emotions in shambles

a/n: the final part for my first ever Law req! :D i hope this is a satisfactory ending for those who enjoyed the first half :3c

contents: set during Sabaody Archipelago arc w/ spoilers (?) from Luffy’s childhood, Luffy’s older sister!reader, Law has to continue to deal with his feelings and is still a Mess, Ace is causing trouble without even being physically present, jealousy, insecurity, angst to fluff, hurt/comfort !!

wc. 1.7k

wanna be on my taglist?

part 1

“y’know he’s trying to show-off for you, right?” Shachi comments with a shit-eating grin on his face and you can’t even be mad because he’s right.

after Luffy had handed you Ace’s gift in the auction house, he’d scooped you up just like when you were kids and made a mad dash for the entrance.

“i gotta show you my new moves!! they look super cool i promise!” he’d proclaimed as he jostled your poor injured body with little regard for your comfort but you laughed anyway because it’s been almost 5 years since you last saw him.

Law and the other pirate captain who was present for the whole scuffle–Kid, you think his name was–followed closely after; and purely from the way they were three men with high bounties, you knew immediately that they were about to put on quite a show.

and now as you stand outside the auction house, surrounded by marines, the sight playing out before you has proven your hunch right. except… your beloved captain is perhaps putting on a bit too much of a performance.

you’d always known Trafalgar Law was a prideful man even if he likes to hide it under a stoic facade but this is the first time you’ve really seen him play up his Devil Fruit abilities. from the way he’s toying with the poor marines and their shambled bodies, you can’t help but feel a little bad for them in the way you would with a child abusing their toys.

“(Y/N)!! check this out!” Luffy demands your attention before throwing his head back several feet and launching it straight at some marines, knocking them over like bowling pins. he grins widely when you smile and clap in response. he really has come a long way since you’ve last seen him.

“yeah, he’s definitely showing off,” Penguin murmurs behind you and your attention is redirected back to your own captain. unexpectedly, your eyes meet and you catch a glimpse of his face flushing red before he looks away and returns to tormenting his enemies.

“no… surely not,” you reply in a manner so unconvincing it borders on sarcastic. right then, Law shambles five disembodied arms onto one panicked pair of legs and you can’t help but stifle a laugh at the ridiculous sight.

the moment the sound of your laughter reaches your captain, he can’t help but turn back to look at you again, as though wanting to confirm his ears weren’t playing tricks on him. upon seeing your smiling face, he feels a familiar fluttering in his stomach and for a second he’s almost breathless. then, his eyes trail down to your hand where it hovers near your chest and he catches your fingers playing with the ring strung on the necklace around your neck.

he didn’t realise you’d put it on so quickly and a bitter taste rises up the back of his throat as a tightness forms in his chest. reminded once more of the events that occurred just minutes ago inside the auction house, Law’s unable to stop his mind from wandering once again.

is there anything else you’ve been hiding from us? from me? what was the reason you’d kept your secrets?

he grits his teeth as a feeling of embarrassment washes over his entire body. what is he? some prepubescent child completely unable to manage his emotions? what ridiculous situation to be in especially during a battle–no matter how easy the fight is. if he wants so badly to know why you never told him about your past with Straw Hat and Fire Fist, surely he can just demand the answer from you later as your captain; and if he doesn’t like your answer, he can just kick you out–

his internal rambling is cut short by the sound of a gunshot and the smell of your shampoo.

as his back hits the dirt ground, he catches a glimpse of Shachi, Penguin and Bepo entering the fray to keep the remaining marines a safe distance away from him… and you.

the same you that had pushed him out of the way of a bullet aimed straight at his head. the same you that was currently glaring down at him as you laid on his chest with a deep frown on your face as your eyebrows furrow in pain. once Law’s brain connects the dots and expects the worst, he feels a rush of anger as fear clutches his heart.

“what’d you think you’re doing–”

“get a grip!” you shout, cutting him off. “what am i doing? what are you doing, Captain?! zoning out in the middle of a fight!” you slap at his chest and it’s then he notices the sliver of tears lining your eyes as he feels a warm liquid soaking into his clothes.

he realised he loved you when your life was in his hands.

months after officially joining the Heart Pirates, the crew was ambushed by a squad of marines and a careless mistake nearly cost Trafalgar Law his life–had you not intervened and taken the hit for him.

as you laid on his operating table, on the verge of death, he wondered if he could ever forgive himself if he failed to bring you back to the side of the living. though his heart raced and ached like never before, his hands were steadier than ever.

“i won’t let you die,” he’d promised your unconscious body. “i can’t let you die. no matter what… and when you wake up, i’ll bring you anywhere you want. i’ll let you do whatever you want. okay? so don’t go.”

a few weeks later, you woke up greeted by the angry and tired face of your captain.

“what’s wrong with you?” was the first thing he said, in a tone sharper than the scalpels he used. “how could you do such a reckless thing? you nearly died, do you understand–”

“i knew i wouldn’t die,” you replied, voice hoarse from the dryness of your throat. “i trusted that you’d take care of me and i was right, wasn’t i?” you smiled up at him.

although the furious expression remained on his face, he could do nothing to stop the way his cheeks began to blush as he felt a warmth rising up his neck. he knew you saw it, too, when your grin grew wider.

“you mean it?” Law asked in a voice so soft you nearly missed it. “that you trust me?”

“of course i do.” you tilted your head as you replied and before he knew it, he’d leaned forward and captured your lips with his.

ii.

back in your shared hotel room on Sabaody, Law changes the dressing on your torso after finishing the stitches. thankfully, you weren’t hit by the second bullet outside of the auction house. you’d simply torn the first bandage after tackling Law to the ground and ended up aggravating the earlier wound.

you can’t help but notice how quiet he’s been, though. he’s usually so quick to scold you for acting recklessly so you’d learned to be more cautious over the years, just to spare his poor heart. right now, however, as you sit cross-legged across from Law on the hotel bed, surrounded by medical supplies, he’s totally silent.

you wonder if he’s more affected by nearly being shot than you think he is but before you can ask what’s wrong, he speaks up just a little bit quicker.

“i’m sorry i doubted you.”

“huh?” you tilt your head, genuinely unsure what he means.

“i’ll admit i had some… childish feelings earlier about your past with Straw Hat and Fire Fist Ace.” Law stares down at his fingers, physically unable to look you in the eye. it’s one thing to be vulnerable with his feelings, it’s a whole other deal looking at you staring at him as he speaks–he isn’t quite ready for that yet. “i second-guessed the trust between us because i thought you were keeping it a secret for a reason.”

“i’m sorry i never told you or the crew, i just–” he cuts you off by grabbing one of your hands and clasping it gently between his two larger ones.

“no, you don’t have to apologise.” he smiles softly, finally tilting his head up to look at you. “i know now i shouldn’t have jumped to any conclusions without talking to you first… it was silly of me to think you owe me something like that, especially if you don’t see a reason in sharing it.”

Law idly rubs your hand in between his palms before bringing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back of it. your mouth curls into a smile as you feel a light fluttering in your chest at his rare show of affection.

“i trust you,” he says, “wholeheartedly.”

he lets out a satisfied hum when you respond by pulling him into a hug. wrapping his arms around you, he hugs you back a little tighter than usual.

“if you’re still worried about something,” you murmur into his ear while rubbing your hands up and down his back soothingly, “you should tell me. don’t keep it in.” you brush your lips against his jawline and his hold on you tightens even further.

“was… was Fire Fist your boyfriend?” Law asks sheepishly and you can almost imagine the flustered look on his silly face as you bite back the urge to laugh.

“no, he’s also my younger brother.”

“what?” he responds incredulously before peppering your collarbone with small kisses, relieved that his guess had been wrong all along.

“i had a third brother, too, but he died at sea when we were young.” you feel him nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck in response, tickling your skin. “i like to think he survived though and that he’s out there somewhere.”

“can i ask you one more thing?”

“mhm.”

“if Straw Hat or Fire Fist ever ask you to join their crews, would you?” his voice sounds the meekest you’ve ever heard it, it’s such a rare occurrence that a part of you wonders if all of this is just one weird dream. but you know you’re awake because being hugged in his arms is so warm and soft, it can only be the real thing.

“never,” you reply, pulling your head away to look at his flushed face. “you’re my captain and my partner and nothing will ever change that.”

letting out a quiet chuckle, Law reacts simply by capturing your lips in a kiss.

gen taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots @appalost @hyper-fic-ation @dressycobra7 @38lyra38 @chaseyui @paraparakiss @krooschl @teewon @olliesoxenfree @misstraffy @riftmage27 @aletch @somatchajade @Kitsunechan707 @thesmolestsage

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x yn #op #op x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #fanfic #imagine

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anantaru · 2 years ago

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Hear me out, your Genshin faves when you hold back your moans✨🧚🏽‍♀️

including. heizou & lyney

cw. teasing, you're a lil bratty, fem! reader

— heizou

"hey!" a subdued, hushed yelp sharply cuts across your ear shells when heizou suddenly stills his hips on you, cock throbbing inside your silky warmth grabbing him all at once— and notably enough, you're quite aware as to why he's doing it, knowing full on well that he has already recognized that you're again, playing filthy little tricks and hiding your delicious, soft moans only for him to become all bewildered by it, yet twisted right afterwards when seeing a new challenge turning his direct way.

he swiftly adds onto his previous words, cupping your cheek with his palm before pushing his hips into you closer, deeper and more ruthless, this time adding small, little hits against your puffy cunt, placing you in another hard situation, one that made it all the more difficult for you to hide your precious moans.

"don‘t do that." he kisses your nose, stumbling a bit over his own words when he feels how you're clamping down on his shaft, your lips puckered back into a smile which you weren't able to conceal, not when he's becoming this cute and eager to have you scream his name at the top of your lungs, "don‘t hide yourself from me."

and you're liking his ways of watching you close, his gaze softly flickering down to your exposed, of his saliva damped, tits and heizou lingers back to your collarbones right after, adding a kiss on the quivering skin, until reaching the shape of your beautiful mouth with his bewitching eyes never leaving you once.

"i'm not." you claim and suck in a breath through your teeth when he fastens his hips again, drilling himself all the way into your cunt before keeping his shaft buried there, salivating over the feeling of your hole cockwarming and milking him dry— if anything should go noticed, it's his huge self control showing itself to you, that no matter what, he'll always triumph over whatever innocent scheme you had planned.

albeit, heizou does it again, quickly wiggling his hips before pressing his cock in small, toe curling pushes, traveling waves of him targeting your pulsing spots vibrating through your skin, digging into your most desired places that your palms began to aimlessly scratch at his shoulders, once, twice— having a groan rumble in his throat, when you too, gasp out a wet moan, already forgetting about what you had planned to do this entire night.

"there it is.." he smirks, and how dearly you wanted to wipe that expression off his face, his breath hot against your wet lips only adding to the twitching in your core when he's easing his cock back before making you take him again. the burning stretch on your cunt a lovely one, one you're eager to feel inside, your body reacting as if you're floating by the indulgence of being pleasured so fucking fine, so fucking delirious.

"that's how i like it."

— lyney

who would've possibly thought that lyney‘s beautiful princess would turn out to be such a little, teasing devil sometimes, of course, he taught you well, most likely too well— especially when he craved to hear your moans and hiccuped whines, the man just had to catch them, witness them with his own senses as he's twitching inside your pussy.

when you cry out his name, he's done for, it makes him even hornier to begin with, thirstier to drill his fat cock faster into you while he's sucking on your nipples like a mad man.

"oh?" chasteness, or the simulation of innocence, but lyney leans his body down to brush his lips over your own puckered up ones, the raging knot in your tensed stomach although gradually tightening— you were still determined enough to have your boyfriend fooled, only for a bit and on how much was possible.

"you‘re doing it again, my love." at the current state of now, lyney cocks a brow at you and gathers your breasts in his palms, closing two fingers against your erected nipples. you know you're not going to break him, have him fooled, but the dwindling idea of making it just a little bit harder was good enough for you to proceed in your scheme.

"i'm doing what baby?" you bite back your lips at him in flawless fashion, your thighs squeezing against his hips as you indulge in the lewd sounds of lyney whining out right above you— you're so unbelievably tight and there's nothing he wanted to do more than have himself engulfed in you, maybe cum inside you too, only to mark his territory further on. but your eyes widen when his fingers promptly explore down the curves of your frame, right above your sensitive clit, smoothly tugging and twisting the reactive flesh in combination with the weight of his cock swelling in you.

"fuck." gently, he prods his shaft further— in and out, in and out, "you know exactly what i mean." and you could notice the rush of his blood thickening in his shaft more alertly, it's so impossibly heavy inside your cunt you fear you're about to cry out from the pressure, and how deliciously it was sheathed in your body, his thumbs still pressed on your clit, digging into the muscle as he lightly nibbles on your bottom lip.

"ah, no matter." he speaks in unhurried tunes, your liquids slicked around his erection as he fucks into your little hole, " you know i won't stop, right? not before i can hear you."

#genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #lyney x reader #heizou x reader #heizou smut #lyney smut

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sc0tters · 1 year ago

Text

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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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 6 months ago

Note

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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deanbrainrotwritings · 1 year 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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do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

#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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curiositydooropened · 11 months ago

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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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