#my wriitng

[whereserpentswalk]

Hermit crabs are weird animals. They don't make their own shells, they steal them. If you live in a coastal city like I do you'll be somewhat familiar with weird creatures that live in the ocean but aren't fish. And sea snails don't shed shells, they only leave behind shells when they die. Hermit crabs are living in corpses basically, sometimes long dead corpses.

So when you did. Mabye something will want your bones. The hard parts of your body you leave behind after the soft parts are all gone. Something that doesn't have bones of it's own to enjoy and to keep it steady.

And whatever takes your bones won't do it out of disrespect. It needs those bones just like you once needed them. Those bones will keep it safe and alive just like they once kept you safe and alive. It's not a human taking them, but it's still something that will use and love those bones just like a human would. And you don't need them anymore.

So mabye, if you're ever near an empty beach in the winter, or a forgotten bit of rock under a bridge, or a mostly empty subway station in a coastal neighborhood, leave some human remains out. There's something that might be living there that could use them. Not as a sacrifice, but as a gift to a neighbor.

#196 #my thougts #my wriitng #my writing #short fiction #flash fiction #horror #my worldbuilding #worldbuilding #creatures #cryptid creature #cryptidcore #cryptids #eldrich horror #eldrich horrors #monster #sympathetic monster #urban fantasy

[apuckishwit]

Making Room

Steve never gets into DnD.

Not even after Eddie convinces him to join a one-shot over one Christmas when the kids are all back from college and jobs and far-flung adventures. He's not a jerk about it or anything. He sits and makes a character with his boyfriend and he does his best with the role-playing and he only asks Dustin for help with the dice seven or eight times (and everyone had promised to give him an even dozen before they gave him shit about it, so it was fine). It's fine. He's not mad that he spent the time doing it with Eddie and the kids (some of them taller than him now, in spitting distance of college degrees and first apartments and jobs and spouses and lives, but they'll always be kids to him).

But afterwards he kisses Eddie and says it really and truly isn't for him, sorry babe.

And that's okay.

When he and Robin are scavenging through yet another thrift store for furniture and dishes and lamps for the apartment she and Nancy are getting in Indianapolis (he's so sad that her room in the little house he shares with Eddie is going back to being a guest room, but he's so damn happy that she and Nance have stopped dancing around each other...and they're only moving about half an hour away, he'll still see her all the time), and he spots an impractically long desk/table, onviously custom-built, with an absurd number of drawers and compartments built into it, he buys it immediately. He wrestles it into Eddie's van that they borrowed for the day, and smiles apologetically when Robin has to hold like three boxes on her lap. He gets it into their dining room while Eddie's at work, graciously gifting their own table to Robin and Nancy, and it's worth all the hassle (and the fact that one end of the table pokes about a foot into the living room space) when Eddie comes home to something big enough for even his most complicated campaign maps and with plenty of storage for all his dice and miniatures and source books.

And sturdy enough for Eddie's most...enthusiastic...thanks, they find out that night.

Steve never gets into DnD.

But every time Hellfire (whatever incarnation of Hellfire it is, be it the Hawkins crew or some of the guys from the little record shop Eddie works at in town, or some combination) meets up for a game, they get used to Eddie yelling, "Stevie! Evens or odds?" everytime a situation calls for a luck die. They learn that complimenting the snacks Steve sets out will sometimes get them advantage on a roll. They watch Eddie snag Steve's wrist as he passes in or out of the dining room and get him to roll a D20 for various and random reasons. Steve always obliges, before drifting back to the couch with a beer or a slice of pizza and whatever basketball or baseball game is on.

Steve never gets into DnD.

But sometimes Eddie spreads newspapers over the Campaign Table (TM) and sets pots of paint and rows of miniatures out, and he and Steve sit together for a few hours, Steve slapping on the basecoats with a single pot of white, gray, or black and Eddie going to town on the details while they chat about their day, playing footsie under the table or stealing kisses while they wait for something to dry.

"Babe! I need a name for the friendly barkeep who knows more than he seems!"

"Carl."

"He's a half-orc!"

"Those are the big green guys, right?"

"Yeah!"

"Hmmm. Big Carl."

"Perfect!"

Steve never gets into DnD. But he loves Eddie, and he loves how into DnD Eddie is. So he makes room in his life for this thing that Eddie loves.

***

Eddie never gets into sports.

Like, objectively he understands that some people enjoy running around getting all sweaty, trying to keep some kind of ball away from other people and make it go into some kind of receptacle. And he certainly appreciates the view of some of those people in tight little shorts.

Particularly Steve.

Like honestly? If it wouldn't get him labeled a total creep (and they weren't so careful about giving anyone a reason to question the assumption that they're just two young friends living together to save money until they find respectable women to marry)...he'd park his van out by the little middle school where Steve teaches gym and coaches basketball and baseball every day during his lunch break, just to watch his boyfriend run the mile with his students in those shorts that hug the muscles of his thighs just right.

But he doesn't like sports apart from the strictly prurient interest he has in watching Steve wear sports-appropriate clothes.

He tries. He wants to know just what it is that keeps Steve glued to the TV when his favorite teams are playing, wants to understand why Steve yells and groans and jumps up with wild cheers, spilling popcorn all over the living room floor. He just...doesn't get it. Steve tries to explain March Madness to him one year and it makes no more sense than when Wayne tried to when Eddie was a kid. Eventually he just shrugs, kisses Steve's nose, and goes back to petting through his boyfriend's hair with a, sorry, baby, it's not for me.

And that's okay.

He gets up early the week Steve is overseeing baseball tryouts, to make sure his boyfriend has a travel mug of coffee fixed just the way he likes it, and a good breakfast waiting for him when he gets out of the shower. Steve is unquestionably the cook in their relationship, but Young Eddie ate a lot of breakfast for dinner over the years and Adult Eddie makes damn good pancakes, omelettes, and French toast.

Eddie never gets into sports.

But he gets Lucas to break down exactly what kind of notes and stats Steve will be keeping track of and draws up a template "character sheet" for baseball players, spending an hour at the local library laboriously making copies with their cantankerous mimeograph machine.

He sure as shit never gets up at the crack of dawn to go running around the neighborhood the way Steve does...but on days when it starts raining or snowing halfway through Steve's run, he'll drag himself out of bed and throw some towels in the dryer, so they're nice and warm when Steve comes back inside.

Eddie never gets into sports.

But he takes every overtime shift he can for a month, so he can take Steve to Chicago for his twenty-fifth birthday to see the Bulls play. The seats aren't great or anything, and it's noisy as fuck, crowded as fuck, and he has no idea why his boyfriend is losing his mind every time that Jordan guy so much as touches the ball...but Steve's eyes are sparkling, the color is high in his cheeks, and when they get back to their hotel that night, they've barely closed the door before Steve is shoving him against it, devouring his mouth.

"Hey Eds, Ohio State or Georgia Tech?"

"For what?"

"I'm doing my brackets for the pool I've got with Hopper and Lucas!"

"Um, whoever's in red!"

"Ohio State it is, thanks babe!"

Eddie never gets into sports. But that's okay. He loves Steve, and he loves how happy Steve is when he's playing, or coaching, or running (God help him, he fell in love with someone who gets up at six am to run. Without anything chasing him.) So he makes room in his life for this thing that Steve loves.

Because certainly, love grows in shared passions and matching interests. But it also flourishes in the carefully tended space you make just for the things that make your person happy...even if it's just not for you.

#steddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #my wriitng #I dunno i was just feeling soft

[loveshotzz]

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap seven/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

Bad Idea

summary: After a week of avoiding, you find Steve at your front steps.

wc: 4.3k

warnings: 18+ series for future chapters. Steve and Reader have THE talk, we learn Steve & Emma’s story. There will be discussions of feelings about watching a loved one struggle with terminal illness and death in this chapter. There’s not a ton of details about her struggles but it is touched on. Angsty beginning and a very, very fluffy end 🧡

author’s note: it’s all up hill from here guys, just a little growing pains. i can’t believe there’s only three chapters left after this 🥺 thank you for reading and all of the sweet reblogs and messages through out this whole series. you have made this so special for me and it’s been such a comfort to write as I navigate my own life changes right now.

🌇 <- chapter six -> chapter eight

The Masterlist / The Playlist / The tune:

End of June -

It had been a week since Steve came back from his camping trip. A week of good morning texts left unanswered, of making sure not to look out your window when you knew he was home - even when you could hear him play with Bandit. He was doing that outside more than usual, a tactic to try and get you to come out and talk to him or hell, even just look at him. 

He doesn’t know that a few times it almost worked. 

Always & Forever

The words engraved into silver also stay carved deep and fresh in your mind, not letting you forget. You couldn’t, even if you tried. Especially not her beautiful eyes. Does she hate you? Part of you feels like you would hate you. The guilt threatens to punch the air out of your lungs.

The days go on like this with you doing everything in your power to avoid him while he did everything he could to run into you. The last ditch effort was after you caught him getting out of his car, your eyes meeting for a split second before you cut through the alley walking in through the back gate instead. Your resolve to stay away grows weaker when Steve’s good morning texts finally stop after that. 

So when Brad, the new server, gets the courage to ask you out, you say yes. It was a bad idea, anyone could’ve told you that, you didn’t really want him. He was just a distraction from facing the consequences of your own actions.  

He takes you to RPM Steakhouse in the heart of downtown and surprisingly he actually makes you laugh. He’s full of food industry horror stories he’s collected over the years. He’s not boring and he’s attentive when you talk, asking questions like he’s really interested. The butterflies that have built a home in your rib cage don’t flutter and fly for him though. The nerves that make your heart beat faster, the ones that feel like they vibrate from your fingertips, like your skin is on fire, are stagnant. 

He’s not Steve. 

You skip out on dessert when it’s offered to you, but you let him hug you before you get in your separate Uber’s home. It worked for a few hours at least. Looking out the window when your car hits the expressway, the skyline shines gleaming like the stars in the clear night sky.

It’s not very long until your phone fights for your attention, the screen illuminating the backseat. It pulls you back to reality, your breath catching when it’s not Brad’s name that flashes across your screen.

Steve

Can we please just talk? 

You aren’t expecting to see him at your front steps when the Uber drops you off at your gate. His hair sticks out wild at the ends, like he’s been pulling it all night, scratch that, all week and it makes more guilt settle deep in your gut. The scruff on his jaw is almost dark enough to be a beard now. His legs are covered in gray sweats and the white undershirt he wears fits tight over his shoulders. You hate how handsome he still is, even with his slides and socks.

He’s talking to himself, moving his hands like he’s trying to explain something, reciting a speech you can’t quite hear from as far as you are. The leftovers shift in your bag when you take your first step making the styrofoam squeak and plastic crinkle, his eyes shoot up instantly at the noise.

“Honey?”

Those wings start to stretch and flutter even after just one word. You wish you could be mad at how much power one word from him has, but all you feel is the weight of how much you missed him when his face softens.

“Hi Steve.” You catch the way his lips twitch at the sound of his name coming from your mouth when you open the gate. It had been too long for him, he’d become addicted to it without even knowing it.

He stands up, his eyes can’t help but roam your bare legs that sit exposed in your black cocktail dress, or the way the middle sinches into your waist, before fluttering out over the tops of your thighs. His own jealousy threatens to bubble over at the thought of you wearing this for someone else. He needs you to understand him.

“Is this a bad time?” He asks, scratching the back of his neck while he reads the restaurant name on your bag. He hopes whoever took you there isn’t coming back. “If it is sweetheart, I can give you more space. I just, I just wanted to see you.”

You stop in front of him, further away than normal but close enough to smell the cigar smoke that still clings to the cotton of his shirt. It mixes with the spice of his cologne from earlier this morning. His eyes find yours without hesitation, glazed over from the glass of whiskey you’re sure he nursed before finding himself on your front steps. They shimmer under the moon like emeralds and you just want to get lost in them.

The answer you want to give and the answer that you think will protect you are at each other’s throats, constricting yours from giving him anything right away. His face crumbles a little when his question is met with silence. You don’t want him to go.

“No, it’s not a bad time.” It comes out before you can fight it.

The smile that tugs at Steve’s lips warms your face like the summer sun, his hand reaching out for you before pulling back and finding a new home deep in his pocket instead. Baby steps. Your arm brushes against his when you walk past him, the smallest touch lighting the match.

“I just need to get out of this dress.” You can’t look at him when you pull at the fabric as if to show him how uncomfortable it is.

“Should I wait down here?” He clears his throat a little unsure of himself as he watches you dig through your purse. He didn’t think he’d get this far.

Cicadas buzz loud against the jingle of your keys in the beat of silence it takes you to unlock the front door. The stale air of the walkway hits you like an oven when you push it open, the heat making your skin stick more than it did outside.

“You can come up. I promise my dishes are done this time.” You flash him a smirk from over your shoulder watching the way your gesture makes him relax like you’d intended, secretly enjoying the blush you still can get to flush his cheeks so easily. 

Steve hadn’t been inside your apartment since the day he fixed your sink, and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to seeing him here. He’s handsome in a timeless way, still somehow put together even in his disheveled state. You watch the way he takes in his surroundings like he wants to commit it all to memory not knowing that he actually is, just in case this all blows up in his face and you never let him come back here again. 

The only noise that fills the room is the loud whirr of your A/C and it’s your turn to clear your throat.

“Umm, feel free to take a seat. I’ll be really quick.” You awkwardly gesture towards your green couch, grimacing when your mind goes back to the beautiful leather one at his place. 

He just nods, rubbing his palms against his thighs while taking one last look around before sitting. Your nose scrunches when you see how deep he sinks down, maybe a used couch wasn’t the best idea you’d ever had.

You wait till your door is shut to let out the long breath you feel like you’ve been holding this whole time. The familiar thumping in your chest returns ten fold. He’s in your living room.  

You try not to think too much about the yoga shorts and oversized shirt you change into, especially when your muscles relax, no longer strained by the tight nylon material dress. Allowing a single once over in your long mirror, you force yourself back out, the creak of your door alerting him of your return. His stare makes goosebumps dance across sticky skin in a battle with the air conditioning.

“Do you want some water?” You try to sound casual when you ask, keeping your back to him so he can’t see the way you’re still buying time.

“S- sure,” he stutters out, a cough following and you hear the way the cushions respond to his weight as he tries leaning forward. 

Now it's the whirr of your a/c and the grumbling of the ice machine that silences the unspoken feelings that are begging to come out. Scratching and clawing their way to the surface, the cracks in your facade start getting deeper the longer you stay quiet.

Steve breaks first.

“I think there’s a conversation we should have.” He pauses before starting over, “There’s a conversation I want to have.”

You freeze when the realization of where you left the watering can smacks you right in the face.

“Steve-“ you start, unable to meet his eyes and he’s quick to cut you off.

“Listen, I have some things I need to say and you should at least let me get it off my chest if you’re just going to pretend I don’t exist now.” His words make you realize the selfishness that hides under your insecurities of not being good enough for someone like him. 

He stands up when you turn around, both of you staying on opposite sides of the room. He takes a shaky breath before dragging his fingers through his hair.

“I didn’t think I’d ever feel these things again with anyone else, I was sure of it actually and then you showed up in your horribly packed moving truck.” He laughs a little like he’s still wrapping his head around all of it, and he knows if the situation was any different you’d roll your eyes at him for the teasing jab.

“You brought all of these things out of me that I thought I’d lost for good. Like, I can’t remember the last time I cared about what I was wearing when I left the house, but the past month I’ve been obsessed about it. Like what if she’s outside? What if she’s looking out her window? What if she wants to talk to me?” The veins in his neck show themselves as he gets more worked up but he’s not done yet.

“Then last week when you showed up at my front gate, looking even prettier than the last time I saw you, because you do that somehow, I couldn’t help myself around you anymore. The fact that you were actually going to kiss me back after I put the worst moves on you made me feel like I won the lottery or something.” His gaze meets yours to make sure he isn’t scaring you off before taking a deep breath.

“And then, and then you just - you just left without so much as a reason why. It was pretty clear though when I got home, and maybe that’s my fault because I feel like I’m doing this all backwards but you didn’t give us a chance to even talk about it.”

Steve looks like his world is falling apart, and the things he’s saying make you feel like anything but a second choice. You wish you could go back to that rainy day at his house and do things over again.

“I wasn’t given the shot at a fair fight the first time something special was taken from me, but I have one now and I’m not walking away unless you kick me out.” He straightens his shoulders a little before another anxious hand runs through his wild hair. His chest heaves as he finally gets out what’s been sitting just below the surface the whole time, his fears revealing themselves behind flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. 

The feeling like you’re slighting another woman who isn’t here is hard to navigate. It makes your own eyes sting but you don’t let the tears fall. Not when he’s handing his heart to you like he means it.

“I’d never kick you out,” your words come out quiet - soft, a stark contrast to the way his boomed loud with conviction, but he doesn’t miss them.

Hope starts to sprout deep in his chest for the first time in years.

“Never?” He breathes, relief relaxing the hard lines on his face while he looks at you from under his lashes.

His feet take him those few steps closer and when you make no moves to tell him to stop he keeps going. The sadness that plagues his handsome features slowly starts to fade and the bags under his eyes become more obvious. You want to kiss them.

Your hand extends, fingers reaching out for his. His eyes follow your movements, taking in what you’re offering and he doesn’t hesitate anymore, interlocking them like when he walked you to your front door. You watch the way his shoulders give the moment they touch and his eyes close as he relishes in the feel of it. Of you. 

Your back hits the edge of your kitchen sink when he crowds your space a little more, your fingers playing songs on imaginary strings together. Memorizing he dips between each one. His nose skims across your forehead making your own eyes close. How could you ever stay away from him?

“Never.” 

He hums at your confession, squeezing your hand gently before pulling back. He takes his time admiring your face from this close. He missed you so much, he actually thinks it’s kind of crazy. His other hand reaches up to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing the high bone. He loves the way you lean into it. You missed him too.

“Can we have that conversation now?” 

All you can do is nod, tears still threatening to spill out but now a different kind.

The two of you sit on your couch for hours, worn in cushions pushing you close together. Your head rests on his arm that’s draped along the back of it, your socked feet in his lap. He tells you how he met Emma through his high school sweetheart Nancy. The ex that turned him into a man as he put it, the one that made him really think about the kind of person he wanted to be. Even going as far to say Emma would have never given him the time of day if it wasn’t for her. Nancy was the Managing Editor of The Chicago Tribune and Emma was her Editor in Chief.

After being introduced by Nancy at a sports gala, Steve pursued her hard, especially because she said no the first three times he asked her out. It makes you giggle when he laughs about it. He said he knew he wanted to marry her after the first date and a year later he proposed to her on a group vacation with Eddie, Robin, Nancy and a few other friends in Mexico. The picture you saw was taken right after she said yes.

The wedding was small, just a few of their closest friends at The Chicago Botanical Gardens, and a dinner at Smith & Wollensky next to the river after. He told you how Eddie pretended to be mad the whole night becauseSteve made Robin his best man instead. They both moved into Steve’s apartment near Wrigley Field after a honeymoon in Italy. He said it was some of the best years of his life with her there, young and in love in one of the liveliest neighborhoods in the city. Then a few years passed and both their careers started taking off and they started wanting more as they got older. A family.

That’s when they started to invest in renovating this fixer upper of a house in a less nightlife oriented neighborhood. The house you live next door to. Between busy work schedules and dealing with contractors when the symptoms first started, they didn’t think anything of it. They chalked it up to exhaustion until she fainted in her office a few months later, then they finally saw a doctor. Another month later after multiple tests and hospital visits Emma was diagnosed with ALS.

“I’ve never seen something debilitate someone so fast, and Emma, god Emma was so strong. Seeing her like that at the end, it fucking broke me.” Steve’s voice cracks, a silent stream of tears falling down his cheeks now.

Your heart breaks for them, the tragedy of watching the person you love fall apart with nothing to do to stop it. An entire life you had planned ripped out from under you with zero warning or mercy. A cruel joke.

You reach up, using the back of your knuckles to wipe away his tears.  He leans in your touch, his gaze meeting yours with so many emotions inside of them, you think you might drown.

“We decided to stay in our apartment when she couldn’t walk anymore, with the rate it was moving she didn’t want me to live in this big new house meant for our new beginning and have her…have her die in it,” the last part comes out in just above a whisper, stopping to collect his thoughts. His brows furrow together and his fingers search for yours again. You give them to him without question. 

“We checked her into hospice a month after that, Eddie flew in the day she chose to get off assistance. She was surrounded by the people she loved the most those last days.” He takes another deep breath before he continues, it shakes just like his hands.

“That was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I don’t know how someone is supposed to go through that kind of pain and move on from it. Be a person again after it.” He takes another pause and he pulls you closer. His anchor.

“I don’t know if I’d still be here if it wasn’t for Eddie moving into the house with me those first three months, if I’m being totally honest with you.” He sniffs, his gaze falls to his lap to try and hide the shame at the thought, and you squeeze his hand a little bit harder.

“I’m so sorry Steve.” Your voice cracks at the weight of everything he’s been carrying around. The gravity of the way you left him tightens in your throat.

The tears you’d been holding back break free, making his eyes snap to yours. He lets your hand go to wipe your cheeks with gentle fingers like you did to his just moments before. He knows you're apologizing for more than just his bad luck.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m okay now,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. The tips of your noses touch, tears mixing and dripping down the ends of them. You keep your eyes closed in hopes that if you focus hard enough, maybe you could take away some of his pain. Even if it’s just a little bit. “We’re okay now.”

You don’t know how long the two of you sit like this together, not speaking, letting wandering hands memorize faces and fingertips. Your breathing falls in time while your cheeks start to dry. Puffy red eyes stay closed while your muscles finally relax. His nose rubs small circles against yours that make smiles neither of you can see stretch across tear streaked faces.

When you finally open your eyes, he’s already looking at you, something brighter inside of his now like he just let go of a big secret. He doesn’t have to hide anymore.

It’s you that finally works up the strength to pull away enough to really see his whole face after depriving yourself of it for so long.

“I actually kinda feel like she sent you here, despite me,” he admits, laughing nervously, breaking the silence, “She made me promise her that I’d try and find love again when the time was right, I eventually said yes after she asked me at least a dozen times, but I never actually intended on it.” 

Steve stops for a second to brush some of your mascara that smudged, holding your eyes in the forest of his.

“Then five years later, this tough girl tries moving an entire apartment’s worth of stuff by herself next door. I mean, you practically did.” He smiles at how proud you look of yourself, “I knew I was screwed when Bandit sniffed you out.”

You giggle like you're just as love sick as him and he wishes he could play it on a loop whenever he’s sad. 

“She was probably laughing at how bad I was at trying to flirt with you.” His ears turn cherry red while he tries to hide his very real embarrassment.

“You did run away from me for like a solid week after we met the first time if you remember,” you tease, making his eyebrows raise in challenge. You weren’t supposed to roast him too.

“I guess we’re even then aren’t we?” He counters, smirking when you scoff, wrapping his arm around you so you can’t move away like you try to in fake protest.

Your legs end up draped over the tops of his thighs, fitting snug into his side. The warmth of his body makes your eyelids droopy. The cedar undertones he always carries calms all of your nerves.

“She was beautiful Steve,” you whisper, playing with the chain that dangles off his neck before looking up at him with a smile, “And maybe even a little too cool for you if I dare say.” It’s genuine when it comes out of your mouth, no hidden insecurities, an understanding that he wasn’t settling for you and it makes Steve want to kiss you even more. 

“She would have thought you were way too cool for me too.” He laughs, tracing the side of your face with his fingertips. You want to look away from the intensity of it all but you force yourself to hold his stare, keeping yourself open for him. It’s quiet for a few minutes, letting everything that was shared tonight really sink in. That stray you missed so much makes an appearance and you finally get to be the one that pushes it back, and his hair is just as soft as you imagined.

“What are you doing on the fourth, pretty girl?” The new nickname makes you shift in your seat, the hint of a smug smirk begs to break across his face when he catches it. Maybe he’s still got it.

“Nothing, I got the day off.” You hate that his question is enough to make you shy.

It’s too hard to hold his gaze this time, but he doesn’t let that slide. His fingers hook under your chin to tilt your eyes back up to his. Noses brushing, your lips just inches apart like this.

“Be my date to the block party?” He whispers, whiskey and tobacco still lingering on his breath. 

You smile, nudging your nose against his in a dare.

“I’d love to Steve.” His name comes out around strawberry chapstick lips, they brush with his feeling like velvet and it makes his nostrils flare.

He dips his head with a groan kissing the corner of mouth instead, before placing one on both your cheeks and another, a lingering one, against your forehead. 

“In honor of not doing things backwards, I’m going to wait until I’ve taken you out. The way it should happen. The way someone like you deserves.”

Steve wants to make you feel special too.

It's hard for you to feel rejected with his reasoning and seeing the clock on your stove read in bright red numbers - 2:46am. The fourth was only three days away now.

You play it off with a roll of your eyes and a dramatic “fine” that makes him really laugh for the first time all night, giving you another kiss on the cheek. This one a little wet. He can’t get enough of the way you can’t look at him after.

It’s another thirty minutes before he decides it’s time to go home when your yawn is too loud to hide and your head presses harder into his chest. He wishes he could stay, and one night he knows he will.

You both linger in the doorway with fingers wrapped up tight, neither one of you ready to let go. He just wants to stare at you, but he knows the alarm stuffed in his pocket is going to make his life miserable in three hours.

Instead, he gives you another kiss on the forehead telling you he’ll text in the morning, and he wishes he could have a picture of the smile you give him when you promise to text back.

beta’d by @superblysubpar

dividers by @newlips

older!steve edit by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

🌇 -> chapter eight

#my wriitng #all i really want is you series #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington slow burn #steve harrington series #steve harrington fanfiction #older!steve #older!steve harrington

[smart-academic-solutions]

How does it truly end🥲🥲🫠

#college #college life #student #study #studying #university #student life #study space #study hard #exam stress #my wriitng #writer problems #essay writing #writers on tumblr #writing #final exams #funny jokes #funny pics #funny videos

[cixteenyne]

Diluc is Daddy

In honor of this, I turned it into a short little brainrot despite it not even being a request.

Enjoy

Content warning(s): use of daddy/mommy (parental role terms)! Diluc and reader are married, reader is female, breeding kink, vulgar wording (cock, pussy, the usual)!

Diluc wasn't a rough guy, well he was- but not with those he loved to his very core.

If that was as true as you wanted it to be, then you wouldn't be bent over the counter of ‘Angels Share’, a hair's breadth away from the view of prying eyes, all of them just drunk enough to pass off the creaking, slapping and groaning as roughhousing and a “bard's bad ballad” with a dry throat, because of course, what else could it be in their minds?

Diluc had a particularly meticulous day, drunkards all over the place, Charles seemingly nowhere to be found until just 3 minutes ago, 7 orders per person on a celebratory night he suddenly has to supply for? Ridiculous is his mind, and it would be just as ridiculous in yours if you were able to use it at the moment, but your brains were currently being fucked out of your eyes in the form of hushed tears and hurried breaths only faintly heard.

It was like you couldn't think straight, and you wouldn't be able to even after all of this, you never were. His cock was able to ruin you like that.

Diluc seems to make it his mission to get you both noticed, teetering on the edge of public indecency, just for the scare factor, that factor that made your pussy clench impossibly tight around him when he whispers how close you both could be to getting caught, or when you think you hear someone getting a bit too close, only for him to speed up- daring you to break your cover.

you could never tell what went on in his head in these moments. He was a man of privacy, but when he got like this? All frustrated, annoyed and overworked, he seemed to toss all of those privacy ideals out the window just to enjoy you to your fullest, never caring about who interrupted, he knew he'd just keep going, and possibly go even harder, faster- deeper. 

It was a miracle the counter wasn't shaking from the sheer force of his cock hitting the deepest parts it could, He would always apologize when he was like this,

you didn't know what he was apologizing for really, for not being able to fit all of himself inside your needy cunt? For being so rough? For not being able to help himself when you did your best to get away from prying ignorant eyes.

He always had some body part on you, his cock was already impossibly filling you, but that wasn’t enough, he needed to be closer, melt into you, merge with you until your body was able to know him and react to him as well as his did yours.

His chest always pressed into your back, a hand on your hips, keeping you in place, making sure you'd never want to leave him. Trying to quell the slight shivers of the counter, placing a steady hand on the edge he had you placed on.Kisses everywhere you could think of, he wanted you to know he was remorseful for his roughness, but that didn't mean he was sorry enough to stop the relentlessly delicious pace of his hips slamming back and forth, seemingly trying to push something that isn't there inside of you.

And he was.

Ever since he'd put a ring on it, you were his, he'd claimed you in body, soul, and mind, everything else had been checked off, but until you were full of his children? That could never be crossed off the list.

you were going to make him a daddy, you would be such a pretty little wife, a mommy to his child, that he put inside you, something no one else can do.He repeated his mission as if it would speed it up, and maybe it would “F-…..uck, make me a’daddy baby” 

A whisper of a mantra he didn't dare break, his breath mixing with his voice as it cracked and broke under the intense load he was holding back. he would make you a mommy and he would be daddy.

Diluc is indeed daddy Anon.

(Please do not copy!! Inspiration I will let slide…just let me know! Yea you can still reblog bbg ahaaa😜.)

#diluc ragnvindr #smut #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #diluc x reader smut #diluc smut #wife reader #wife!reader #married au #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #my wriitng #asks

[1800rue]

cuddling: TBHK X READER

gender: gender neutral

type: headcanons

characters: hanako-kun, yashiro nene, minamoto kou, minamoto teru, akane aoi, mitsuba sousuke, & yugi tsukasa

warnings:

word count (minus intro): 628 

;; hanako ! 👻

· "hey y/n~ do you know what time it is?~ i'll give you a hint: iiiit's cuddle tiiiime!!"

· this ghost boy loves to hold you close. 

· he likes to hold you close when cuddling.

· the both of you cuddle in the bathroom for most of the time, LMAO- well i mean, theres no where else to cuddle- 

· imagine walking down the hall way and you see someone cuddling air ☠

· circles his finger on your arm as a way to calm himself down. He likes to cuddle you when he's in distress, or if he's feeling cheeky.

 

;; yashiro ! 

· "can you carry me to class, y/n? i can't just let you go, you're so warm! i don't want to lose this heat source i have found!"

· likes to hug you when she can.

· doesn't hate hugging you in public, in fact she'll wrap her arms around her arms around your neck and squeeze cheeks together.

· if she hears people gossiping/hating on her affection towards you and her, she'll whack them in the head, telling them to mind their own business. 

· little spoon yashiro>>

· feels protected in your touch.

;; kou 🗡

· "i don't want to let you go. ah, do i have too?"

· will never say no to cuddling you

· gets all whiny when you pull away, but keeps it to himself so you dont tease him.

· loves to be big spoon and refuses to let you spoon him. 

· kisses your cheeks every 10 seconds to know this isnt a dream/.

· he brother walked in on him once and he cried soild tears as he slowly backs away, apologizing sincerely. 

· refuses to let you go, but finally lets you go when you gotta use the bathroom :/

;; teru !! 🪐

· "don't lie to me, y/n- i know you like it when i hold you like this. don't worry, i like it too."

· like his younger brother, he'll never say no to cuddling you.

· he's a swtich. he can be a big or little spoon. he doesn't care. 

· strokes your cheek/hair/back whenever he can, soothing you.

· he sometimes puts you to sleep without even trying to.

· he's warm, and you cuddled up close to him does not help. 

· gets flustered when you play with his ear, but other then that he's not making a face. 

;; aoi !! 💐

· "cuddle time? y/n, we're in the middle of class, hehe."

· somewhat like yashiro.

· she doesn't hate cuddle time with you, but she likes to be byherself once in a while.

· other then that, she's all yours. 

· rubs your back while hugging.

· kisses your temple time to time.

· pokes your nose and giggles.  

;; mitsuba !! 🌷

· "cuddle? the hell does that- what are you doing? l-let me go!"

· pouts right after and buries his face into your neck.

· he likes to be held by you. 

· will hug back, but like to be on the receiving end. 

· mightact like hating it, but in private he;ll beg to be held by you.

· he's face turns a hot pink when you rub his back through his uniform. 

· he's back is ticklish, so don't be shocked if he squrims a little. 

;; tsukasa !! 🕸

· "y/n!!!! hi~ what am i doing? cuddling you of course- oh there goes gravity."

· laughs as you and him collide to the floor.

· he's on your back with his limbs wrapped around you.

· you cannot escape. 

· pokes your sides to hear your giggles, making him smile wide. 

· like teru, he can be a big or little spoon but prefers being little spoon. 

· kisses you every 2 seconds. lips. cheeks. neck, temple, and chin. all over your face. 

@1800rue  · 2023

#my wriitng #rue writes ✏ #tbhk #jshk #toilet bound x reader #toilet bound hanako kun x reader #toilet bound hanako kun #tbhk x reader #jshk x reader #jibaku shounen hanako kun #jibaku shonen hanako kun #hanako x reader #yashiro nene #yashiro nene x reader #kou minamoto #kou minamoto x reader #minamoto teru #minamoto teru x reader #akane aoi #akane aoi x reader #sousuke mitsuba #mitsuba sousuke x reader #yugi tsukasa #tsukasa yugi x reader #x reader #headcanons #cuddles

[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

Les Petits Morts (Marquis de Gramont x Assassin! F! Reader)

(Cat and mouse, do-they-want-to-kill-each-other-or-fuck-each-other, enemies to lovers, two psychotic mfers flirt)

taglist: @the-ice-frozen-ground-red-rose

warnings: freaky behavior, blood k!nk, knife play, violence, what y’all came for (🤨), reader is lowkey a brat hehe, marquis doms ofc bless up, mentions and brief moments of violence, build-up, more story than necessary probably. Romance⁉️

Part Two is here!

Vincent de Gramont had made a grave miscalculation when it came to her. He knew the moment he’d laid eyes on her that he was in danger: her wide, brown eyes shining golden in the rising sun, her fragrant hair swooping over one shoulder, letting the skin of her neck catch the light, and, as she’d finally stepped before him, that haunting scent of jasmine and gardenias, the radiance and bohemian ease she exuded; he was immediately disarmed from the knowledge that she was a killer. She was a slippery figure, shrouded in mystery, in fear. No one knew where she came from, but everybody knew of the story of how she earned her freedom. A young girl, bloodthirsty, filled with fire, tearing open the throat of the Marquis to whom she had been promised, her bloody mouth pulled back to bare a glimmering smile in the face of her freedom. Still, she remained in her former line of work, even more dangerous with her years of being outside of The Table’s shadow.

La Belladonna is what they called her, and she gave no name. She smiled at him, gaze twinkling something wicked. He maintained composure, of course, but he couldn’t break away from that haunting, doe-eyed gaze of hers. He’d expected a woman, but not one like this. He’d imagined a savage before him based on the story that had always been told. Not someone so beautiful, so graceful…so enchanting.

“Bonjour, Marquis,” she greeted, “I do hope you didn’t mind the early morning.”

“I did.”

She laughed, turning away and taking a seat against the wall.

“Well, that’s just too bad.”

She checked her nails; a crimson manicure. Her eyes flitted from it to him. He was confused by the expectation in her gaze. He’d never once seen that look in anyone’s eyes before (except, perhaps, from one of The Table).

“Won’t you have a seat,” she questioned.

He cleared his throat, glancing over to one of his men then slowly moving over to the barrel next to her. She admired the horses with a small subdued smile, then turned to him with a sigh. He surveyed her, unsure what to make of this so-called dangerous killer. He was quite sure he’d met worse. He moved to speak, but she cut him off.

“So, Marquis, why exactly do you require my services?”

“They say you’re the best,” he responded cooly.

Her lips curved into a bemused smile. “They say we’re all the best. Why me specifically?”

He gave a slight smile. “You are able to go unnoticed. Become invisible. I want someone invisible.”

“And why is that? Don’t you have Caine? He’s the best.”

His smile fell. Her eyes widened slightly with the thrill of his upset.

“What? That’s practically public information.”

“In that case, I suppose you already know the answer to your own question.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, my friend,” she corrected, tapping his nose with a slender cigarette holder and a bright smile, “I know you want John Wick dead, I know you want those aligned with him dead. But I know you not only have Caine, but the entirety of The Table’s resources at your disposal. You don’t need someone like me; you don’t require someone so subtle, it’s certainly not your style. You are fortunate enough to have to ability of using sheer force to achieve your goals.”

She took out a cigarette, placed it in the holder, then put in between her lips. Despite himself, he stole a glance at her mouth, taking in the slight purse of her lips as she lit her cigarette. He watched smoke puff from between them.

“So…what is it you want with me?”

He met her eyes, sitting back. “You’re very observant. Good job.”

Her eyebrow twitched in annoyance, creating a tiny crack in her mask. She gave a slight smile, blowing some of her cigarette smoke at his face.

“Hm.”

He stood, brushing his nose off. “You’re right. If we were looking at this in the short term, I don’t need someone like you. But I am not thinking of the short term.”

Her eyebrows rose in interest. “I’m not a kept puppy, Monsieur de Gramont. I’m sure you recall my exit from the Table. I wouldn’t recommend becoming my boss.”

His eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“For my price, I think you are.”

She held his gaze for a moment, finishing her cigarette. She tossed the butt onto the barrel, then gave a light chuckle, shaking her head in amusement.

“Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear.”

She stood, raking her fingers through her hair.

“I apologize, but I’m afraid I’ve wasted our time. I suggest getting some extra sleep while you can.”

Vincent watched her turn away with unease, swallowing as she started to leave. He shot a look to the men at the door, then walked after her. He moved to place a hand on her shoulder but she turned swiftly, pressing her cigarette holder into his chest, pushing him backward.

“Do not grab me, Monsieur. I cannot be bought. Only hired. I do not make deals, especially not with men like you. There is not a price you can name that would change my mind.”

“I’m quite sure the prices I can name are beyond anything you’ve heard before.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re quite arrogant, Gramont. It’s endearing, but not enough to hold my attention. Goodbye.”

Vincent watched as she turned to leave, but soon slowed down, then halted to a stop. A pressure lifted on his chest. She tilted her head, twirling the cigarette holder between her fingers.

“Do you really want to offer up two perfectly fine men for the slaughter? Just for a silly little price?”

“I would prefer to avoid bloodshed altogether, mademoiselle.”

She was silent for a moment.

“Whoever told you I am a patient woman was misled you, Gramont.”

He smiled. “Whoever told you I am a relenting man did the same.”

***

Milan, Italy.

Belladonna sat back in her chair, taking a long drag from her cigarette in its holder, crossing her legs with a smile. After several months of hide-and-seek with that pesky Marquis, she’d finally shaken off some the men he had tracking her, and killed the rest. Now, she finally felt like she could just breathe, sit back, relax, enjoy her espressos and afternoons by the sea, and then, when she fancied, a night at the opera. As luck would have it, they were performing her favorite; Madama Butterfly.

She poured herself a glass of champagne as the lights dimmed, and as she took a sip her phone buzzed. Her eyebrows drew together in annoyance; she made it clear to her team not to contact her, lest they risk her being tracked again by one of the…

She frowned, reading the text. It was in french, from a sender with no number.

The Italian sun has treated you well, Mademoiselle.

Her shoulders tensed, but she kept her cool. How did he find her? And why the hell did he follow her here? She was quite sure she’d made herself clear with the last two men she got rid of: do not bother me again, or you’ll end up looking just an mangled as them.

Darkness swallowed the theater as the curtains rose, and Belladonna felt a pit form in her stomach. She’d never felt so troubled by anyone as much as she had by this man. He was bull-headed and inescapable—with all of the ability in the world to keep her in his sights. Discretely, she glanced around the balconies in her view, but only saw strangers. Where was he? Where was the son of a bitch this time?

She put out her cigarette harshly, trying to keep her composure. After finishing her glass of champagne, she sent a message in response.

You’re toying with your life, Gramont.

I could say the same for you.

She rose an unimpressed eyebrow, twirling her cigarette holder between her fingers. She set her phone down with a heavy sigh. He just had to ruin everything, didn’t he? Bothering her during her jobs, and now during her time off. Her phone buzzed again. With a clench of her fist, she ignored it.

As she paid more attention to the opera, her mind wandered. Her six-foot-four shadow quickly evaporated into a tiny shadow in the back of her thoughts, and she admired the gorgeous costumes of the singers, the swelling and rhythm of the orchestra, and rested her cheek on her fist in awe as the soprano playing Madama Butterfly began her aria Un Bel di Vedremo.

She could remember the first time she’d heard it; she’d gotten it as a gift from a lover in a period of innocent youth that had become alien to her. The lover she lost as a sacrifice of that innocence. Despite herself, her eyes grew misty from the memory. She watched the soprano’s wistful gaze, the ghost of a smile on her lips, and as she reached the peak of the aria and the orchestra swelled, Belladonna could’ve sworn she could see the singer’s eye’s glistening along with hers.

The music of the aria faded out, and she quickly wiped her eyes as the lights of the house rose. She rose to her feet, glancing around again. Her heart jumped at the sight of a tall, brown haired man in a three-piece suit leaving one of the booths. She hesitated to get worked up—every man she’d laid her eyes on had a three-piece suit on, it didn’t have to be him. Maybe she was just in denial. Although she’d never want to say it, the Marquis was successfully beginning to wear her down.

She dialed a number on her phone. The call was answered before it could ring.

“Yes?”

“The Marquis is here in Milan. There may be some of his men at the opera house. Kill them, would you? Be thorough with it. Wherever they may be crawling about. And leave me a change.”

“Of course, right away, ma’am.”

She hung up, scanning the audience again before leaving her booth. She slipped into a women’s restroom, entering an out-of-service handicapped stall and quickly removing her dress and opening the duffel bag tucked between the toilet and the wall. It was a pity she wouldn’t get the pleasure of enjoying it, it was a lovely piece. She admired it on the hanger with a sigh, tugging on a bulletproof jumpsuit and zipping it up, adding elbow and knee pads. She laced up her black military boots, then unzipped the duffel bag, placed the dress and heels inside, and pulled out the pair of pistols under the false bottom, placing the magazines in the sides of her boots. She slid a pair of blade into hidden pockets in the lower back of the jumpsuit, then tugged on a beanie and a black face mask.

She pushed the duffel bag back in its spot, then stepped onto the toilet, opened the air vent, and with a hop, grabbed onto the ceiling and pulled her way up inside. Her knee and foot made dull impacts with the metallic interior of the vents as she pulled the door up.

She pulled out her phone, going through her messages to find the blueprints one of her navigators had sent. She stalled on a message from that numberless contact, the one she’d ignored before.

You look beautiful in that dress, Bella.

A frown formed on her face at the message. It wasn’t the first of these messages she’d read in these days. Messages occasionally complimented her ways of eluding him, how a pair of earrings complimented her honey brown complexion, how bloody a mess she’d left behind. Still, none were as direct as this one.

Beautiful, she thought. It conjured up an odd feeling, imagining him saying such a compliment. Perhaps if he wasn’t such a foolish nuisance, it might’ve even excited her a touch. She quickly went to the blueprint of the vents and started to crawl towards her escape.

After a sweaty fifteen minute excursion through the vents, Belladonna finally jumped down from a window and landed on a cushy pile of discarded wood. She didn’t allow even a grunt as she got to her feet and rounded the corner, finding a grey-suited body lying in a pool of her own blood a few feet away from her bike. Her cushy hotel was no longer an option, so she had to relent for the secondary location she’d had set up. The only bother would be the chilly night ride.

///

Montemarciano

She’d made it the country house by dawn, and the sun was preparing to break through the horizon. Exhaustion pulled on her limbs, demanding she collapse directly into the earth as she made her way to the door. She let her shoulders slump as she rested a hand on the door. This place was quite literally in the middle of nowhere. She’d made sure it was no registry or map. Yanking her beanie and mask off and taking a deep inhale of fresh, crisp air, she went for her key behind the false brick when a creak sounded inside the house. Belladonna froze, gripping the brick in her hand.

It couldn’t have been the Marquis, but it could’ve been someone else even more dangerous. She stayed in a crouch, crawling towards the back door and seeing it ajar. Her eyes widened, and she pulled out a pistol. Gently, she pushed the door open and slid inside, crouching against the wall like a statue, eyes scanning the living room. There weren’t many places for an intruder to hide.

In the blue light against the curtains, she watched a large figure pass through the room and right by her. The figure entered the bedroom, and Belladonna placed the brick down silently, getting onto her feet.

She slid through the door, watching the figure in the darkness. They sat at her desk, staring out of the modestly sized window as more blue light filtered through the linen curtains of the dark room. She flicked on the lamp. The figure turned and she fired without hesitation, watching as they tumbled to the floor. She leapt over the bed, planting a foot by the stranger’s head and placing her weight into the knee that she dug into their shoulder. The figure had covered their face with their arm and swiped it blindly at her, but she easily knocked it to the ground and trapped their wrist under the heel of her boot.

Cooly, she held the gun to their face, pressing harder on their wrist. A familiar voice swore, letting out a grunt. Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Gramont,” she remarked quietly, making out the face beneath her.

He was breathing heavily, eyes darting between the gun and her face. She turned off the safety.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you now,” she said.

“Many will come after you. Worse than me,” he said breathlessly.

She smirked, shaking her head. “I said a good reason, Monsieur. Don’t waste your breath.”

He looked at the gun, then to her surprise, smiled a bit. He rose his eyebrows.

“Come now, Bella. Haven’t we had fun these past months?”

“I thought you’d be better at bargaining.”

“If you really intended to kill me, I would be dead by now.”

She paused and tilted her head.

He made a good point.

With a grin, she added. “I really intended to kill you, Monsieur, I would’ve killed you the morning we met.”

She moved the gun away from his face.

“You came here alone.”

“I came to deliver something to you.”

He tried to sit up, but she doubled down her weight onto him.

“Certainly you don’t think I intend to harm you?”

She studied his face, then chuckled. “Not alone, no.”

He let out a breath as she rose to her feet, stepping away from him. He sat up, watching as she trained her gun onto him as he stood. Vincent fixed his hair and his suit, gesturing to the door.

“It’s in the living room.”

“Mhm. Ladies first.”

With his trained on her gun, he passed through the door and she followed silently, pointing it at his head. She flicked the light switch on as they rounded the corner, and lamps lit up, revealing a spare but cozy living room. He chuckled, turning to her.

“Very cute, Bella.”

She didn’t answer, only held the gun to his face. He turned back around, going to the coffee table. There was a large black box, along with two other boxes. One appeared to be a shoebox, the other a mystery. Caught off guard, by gifts, Belladonna’s grip loosened on the gun. She squinted in confusion, almost wanting to laugh.

“What…”

“Your gown tonight was lovely, but it can’t be worn again after you left it in that filthy bathroom. I thought I would replace it for you.”

“…the fuck…”

He stepped towards her, and her gun returned to its leveled aim reflexively.

“…Is wrong with you?”

He smiled, pleased at her bewilderment, although she seemed a bit amused as well.

“What is wrong with a gift?”

“Oh, when it comes from you, several things.”

He chuckled, placing his hands in his pockets.

“We’ve been playing this game for a little while now, and I must admit that I see no end to it. So why don’t we talk it over dinner?”

“It took fourteen bodies to get to dinner, huh?”

He looked away almost bashfully, if his eyes could express such an emotion.

“I thought you’d be easier to kill, I’ll admit that too. And I believe tonight makes twenty.”

His callousness uneased her, but not as much as the glimmer that formed in his eyes when he fixed his gaze on her.

“Come now, is dinner so bad compared to these last few months?”

She narrowed her eyes. He smiled again.

“Think of it as a celebration if you want. Perhaps for your birthday? It’s this weekend, isn’t it?”

In an immediate shift, her eyes darkened, and without warning she flung a knife at his face that he barely evaded being mortally wounded by. Blood poured down his cheek as she lunged at him, knocking him against the wall, but this time he had his footing. He grabbed the fabric of her jumpsuit and whirled around to slam her into the wall with a grunt, but she quickly drove her knee into his stomach once, twice, then kicked him back with both legs, sending him crashing against the kitchen counter. The photos on the wall shook on impact. Before he could even recover she had him on the floor, and his mind quickly went back to the position she’d had him in before and he shot into action, overpowering her just enough to have her beneath him. Still, she was fast, and limber. It seemed like only a moment had passed when she’d locked her thighs around his neck and held his arm at a seemingly impossible angle. He gasped and coughed, feeling the blood pumping in his head.

“You haven’t really gotten your hands dirty like this before, have you Marquis?”

He felt around desperately, and found a saving grace sheathed in her boot.

“You’ve never had your heart race like this, feeling your life threatening to slip through your fingers.”

She twisted his arm further, and he snatched whatever he’d found out of her boot. Her laugh rung in his ears like a funeral bell.

“It’s unfortunate your first real fight turned out to be your last.”

He stabbed her in the upper thigh, and she growled lowly, her hold weakening. He moved in a flash, snatching the blade out of her leg and trying to force her onto the ground, but she began to shimmy backwards despite her injury. He grunted, grabbing at her until he’d finally pinned her down, when he saw her arm go out of his line of sight and something hard slammed into the side of his head. Despite his delirium he grabbed her arm as she hit him again, and forced it to the ground, getting frustrated grunt out of her as she struggled, but he had her.

He caught his breath, his muscles straining to keep her in place. Adrenaline was coursing through his body faster than blood as his sight cleared, and his eyes fixed onto her searing gaze. Slowly, he pressed the blade—a small one, to his surprise—against her neck, watching her swallow. Their eyes locked onto each other. Their blood rushed violently as their chests heaved. Vincent pressed his hand into her chest harder, keeping her firmly on the ground. Her eyes scanned his face with a curious glint.

“I’m not afraid to cut,” he said through puffs of labored breath.

She grinned. “I’m not afraid of cuts, rich boy.”

He dug in the blade, dragging it slowly through her skin. Her fists clenched but she gave no reaction this time. Her eyes only bored into his as the living room filled with warm sunlight. Crimson trickled from the cut, and he smeared it with his thumb as they fell still. He could feel her blood humming through her thundering pulse. Her skin was hot, alive. She watched him, then grabbed his arm, pulling him down with sheer strength. He tensed, preparing for an attack but she just held him by the lapel, a smile dancing on her lips as she leaned up slightly.

“Tell me,” she said quietly, “Has this become business, or pleasure, Vincent?”

His eyes seemed distant as his name left her lips. They drifted to her curved, full mouth, and then fixed onto her eyes. Wordlessly, he took his thumb from her neck and placed it against his tongue, watching for her reaction. She gave none. A challenge.

“Are you pleased?”

To his surprise, she giggled. Her body relaxed under his and Vincent’s head swam with confusing desires. What was this, now that he thought about it, what the hell had gotten into him to chase this girl for months? He looked at her face for answers, finding that same smile he’d seen the first time they’d met. What did it mean?

“Come here,” she encouraged, watching his eyes scan over her in a daze.

He looked at her. Her smile widened, and she beckoned him closer. But with what, he wondered, how could she command him so swiftly without words? Her eyes trailed down to his lips with what part him hoped was the same mysterious hunger that was bubbling up inside him. He leaned closer, breath fanning against her face.

“That’s right,” she said softly, reclining.

He leaned down over her, and for a moment there was stillness between them, a pull that seemed to magnetize them closer. Belladonna’s eyes widened a fraction as the feeling of it came over her, and she quickly head butted him with all the force she could muster. He groaned, clutching his head, leaving him completely vulnerable to her attacks. She managed to twist her way from beneath him, hopping to her feet and grabbing the knife that had lodged into the wall. She sniffed harshly, grabbing his hair and tilting his head up, pressing the point of the blade just below his chin. He stared up at her, eyes half blazing with unspoken fury, the rest uncertainty of what to expect next.

“You surprise me, Marquis.”

He tried to move but her grip tightened onto his scalp painfully. “Ah-ah-ah. I don’t think so. Unless you want me to drain your neck.”

With an even more furious stare, he relented. She grinned at his expression.

“I gotta admit, I didn’t expect you to put up such a good fight. The last one I dealt with wasn’t half as good a match as you. I’m impressed.”

A strange swell of pride bloomed in Vincent’s chest despite his indignation. She hummed thoughtfully.

“Dinner does sound nice, doesn’t it?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, struggled to swallow in her hold.

“I haven’t been on a date in a while,” she remarked, “Maybe you’ll show me a good time, eh, chéri?”

She let him go, stepping back. Before he could respond, her knee collided with his head. The world went dark.

He came to in the afternoon with the sun beaming down on his face. The back door was wide open, leaving only the sound of birds and the breeze flowing through the golden-yellow grass. He popped his jaw and sat up with a groan. She was gone. If it weren’t for the blood and the dents in the wall he’d have thought it were nothing more than a dream. But he could smell gardenias, he could still taste her on his tongue. He could still feel her racing pulse beneath his thumb, hear her voice. He inhaled deeply, unsure what to think of the feeling passing through him. He couldn’t come to a conclusion, but he recalled something that caused him to smile.

She’d called it a date.

***

Paris, France. Two days later.

She was reclined on a park bench, eyes shut, taking in the sun while her black dress sparkled. He watched her a couple yards away, finding himself rather daunted. She’d told him over the phone he’d know where to find her, and it had taken barely twenty minutes for her to be tracked down. Despite their fight, she looked radiant. Completely unscathed. It was inhuman.

His phone buzzed, and he frowned as he answered. It was her. He glanced up curiously, seeing she had disappeared. He held the phone to his ear.

“Dragging our feet? I’m not a patient lady.”

His searched around for her, but she’d vanished into thin air.

“Go ahead, you can ask…how the hell did I do that?”

He listened to her soft chuckle through the phone with surprising pleasure.

“Come to me, and I won’t make you wait any longer.”

“Awe, listen to that. You’ve been so good at finding me, this shouldn’t be any trouble.”

“You are impossible,” he sighed, turning to scan the park.

“Impossible? This just part of the fun.”

The call ended, and he stared at the phone with slightly furrowed eyebrows. He looked to the bench, noticing something fluttering and went over to examine it. It was a note. He unfolded it, reading sweeping cursive. It was in french, but he knew she’d written it.

Come and get me, chéri. I am a ghost with many faces.

Vincent smiled, eyes crinkling. He pulled out his phone, making a call that was quickly answered.

“Where is she now,” he questioned.

There was a pause. “Well…sir…”

“Mm?”

“It seems like she’s at a cafe.”

“Alright—“

“She’s also at the Notre Dame.”

He hesitated to answer, but kept his cool. “I…see.”

“And the Louvre.”

He moved the phone away, smiling to himself. “A ghost with many faces.”

“Go get her,” he instructed, “Each one.”

Belladonna’s game led him across the entire city. Well, his men, but still. They called him reporting of notes that read ‘warmer’, ‘colder’, or ‘come on, you can do better than that’. Each of her clones proved to be as slippery as the original, and it gave him a thrill and a more subtle concern. He was aware what she was telling him, their game aside. She was showcasing her manpower—how perfectly coordinated her operation was. She wasn’t just a mere assassin, she had built her own network. He’d suspected help, although not to this scale of control. It was clear to him, though, why she’s wouldn’t accept any price. Leaders can’t be bought. She’d left The Table and had somehow managed to build one of her own.

When the evening had rolled in, he simply relented trying to track her down. It was impossible, he’d accepted it. Standing outside the restaurant he’d reserved, he called her.

“Alright, you win. I give up. Where are you, I’ll send a car.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “No need. Just come in.”

“Have you been inside this entire time?”

“God, no. How boring would that be?”

She hung up. He shook his head, going inside. “Mon dieu.”

When he’d entered, she was there waiting, smoking with her legs crossed. Her lips were crimson red like her nails and her hair was curled to a dazzling perfection. Still, as he approached from behind, he could see the bruises on her back and shoulders. He stopped next to her, brushing her hair away from her neck, revealing the bandage over his cut. She turned her head, met his eyes. They glittered as she looked over his face.

“You know, if a date was all you wanted, a whole lot more of your men would be alive right now,” she said.

“Hello to you too, Bella.”

He brushed the bandage with his finger, earning a stare from her. She was smiling at him.

“Why are you here?”

She looked away as if to think, then locked her gaze onto him. “Why are you?”

He smiled in return. “I imagine we’re here for the same reason.”

His fingertips brushed down her neck and over her shoulder as he moved to take the seat across from her. Her eyes followed him, smoke passing through her rouge mouth.

“Well, then.”

She leaned onto the table, eyeing him.

“Do we really need to have dinner, or should we just get out of here and get straight to it?”

A wicked grin spread across her mouth as she surveyed him. He cleared his throat, but smiled.

“I went through so much trouble to get you that dress, I’d hate to ruin it so soon.”

She laughed. “Oh, you’ll ruin it, will you?”

He pressed his stare onto her. “I’ll rip it right off of your body and devour you.”

Belladonna took in his words, absorbing his stare in her deep brown eyes. Her teeth bared in a wide, shimmering smile.

“Not if I eat you first.”

Her cigarette burned out as they were served the first course.

She ignored the food, her eyes fixed onto him. Something about being under her stare made him feel stiff in his bones. The closer he brought her, the more it felt like reaching into a fire. Her gaze was always so predatory. It gave him a thrill of familiarity, and the chill of it, too.

“Eat,” he told her, gesturing to her plate.

She glided her finger over her wine glass, then shook her head slowly, eyes daring him.

“I don’t think I will.”

He paused in annoyance, but couldn’t help how pleased the resistance made him feel. It was plain on her face, she was playing with him.

“Don’t be difficult, now. We’re just starting to get along.”

Her teeth gleamed again. “Or what?”

The response made him pause. He set down his fork, processing what the woman who’d nearly killed him two days ago had just said to him. He leaned towards her slightly, a smile playing on his lips.

“Is that what you want, yeah? You want to be in trouble?”

A soft laugh made her shoulders bounce as she sat back. The toe of her heel nudged his leg underneath the table.

“That depends. What happens when I’m in trouble, Monsieur?”

“You don’t want to be in trouble with me, Bella.”

The warning only spurred her further. “Oh, but I love a little trouble.”

“All you American girls love trouble, don’t you?”

“It’s our middle name,” she teased, “So you’d better be as bad as you say.”

Her eyes flitted from her eyes to his face, zeroing in on his cheek. He was surprised by the warmth that seemed to emerge in her eyes as she leaned forward, tracing the cut in his cheek with her cigarette holder. A soft smile spread across her face. She almost seemed gentle.

“Such a pretty cut,” she muttered, “don’t you like it? A pretty cut for a pretty face.”

“You think my face is pretty?”

She chuckled softly at him, leaning further and caressing the slice with her thumb.

“Of course it’s pretty, chéri,” she murmured, “That’s why I made it mine.”

Wordlessly, Vincent took her hand. He could feel the slight callouses on her knuckles and the bases of her fingers that had been softened by manicures. He turned her hand, pressing his lips against her fingers and kissing her knuckles.

“Si tu me fais tienne, je te ferai tenir.” If you make me yours, I’ll make you mine.”

She turned her hand, brushing her fingertips against his lips, trailing a finger down to his chest. Her fingers wrapped around his tie, and she tugged it out of his vest, carefully pulling him over the table and leaning in for a kiss. His breath caught in his chest and his eyes fell shut from the feeling of her lips against his. With a rotation of her hand she tightened her grip and pulled him closer. He kissed her deeper, tasting a hint of champagne in her mouth and feeling her shuddering breath against his when she broke the kiss for air. She took in his intense green eyes and caught her lower lip in her teeth.

“Alors fais-moi tienne, Vincent.” Then make me yours, Vincent.

“Ah, I thought you were not kept puppy,” he said, a grin threatening to form on his face.

She yanked him, raising a brow. “I am not.”

He gingerly held onto the table with a laugh. “Then what are you doing here?”

Belladonna loosened her hold, dropping the tie and considering him for a moment.

“You may not be able to make me your puppy, but you’re in danger of making me your woman.”

His eyes flashed, and a grin spread across his face. “It’s dangerous, is it?”

“There would be many who would start ringing a funeral bell for you if they heard the news.”

His gaze lowered to her lips. Vincent took her chin in his hand.

“Is that the price to make you mine? My life?”

“It would certainly be one I’d consider.”

“Then it’s the one I’m offering.”

She laughed, looking away. He turned her face to make her hold his burning stare. For a moment, her eyes softened. She seemed to hesitate despite how far she’d escalated the entire situation. But, soon after, she closed her eyes and placed another kiss on his lips.

“Then I’ll tell you again,” she whispered, “Fais-moi tienne, chéri.”

He kissed her firmly, letting out a sigh. “Come with me, Bella—now.”

The minute he’d gotten her in the back of his limousine he tore the slit in her dress up to her torso and pinned her to the ground, undoing his tie and holding her wrists together firmly.

“You’re not getting away this time,” his voice rumbled lowly, “I won’t let you get away.”

He bound her wrists together tightly, watching her skin chafe against its luxurious material. Her breath was trembling. Her skin was already hot for him.

His cock was already hard against her inner thigh—the string of desire had been tugging at him the moment he’d read that note. She let out a heavy sigh, pushing her hips up against him and lifting her arms over her head to drape them over his neck and pull him down to her. Their lips crashed together while her hips ground against him, and a soft moan spilled from her mouth into his as her body started to wrap around him. He kissed harshly down her neck, digging his fingers into her hips and pressing it back down onto the floor.

“Stay still—stay fucking still.”

A laugh bubbled in her chest. “Oh, you’re going to have to work much harder to keep me still, baby.”

He quickly removed his jacket and grabbed his butterfly knife from his waistband. He grazed her leg with the cool blade, admiring the flames of desire that sparked in her eyes from the mere contact. Delicately, he dragged the point down her inner thigh, stopping to watch how her chest rose and fell erratically. He guided the blade lower and lower over her hips, grinning at how they slightly bucked.

“Ah, you want it?”

Her fingers tangled in his hair as she gently pulled him back up to her lips. She opened her mouth against his with a moan, running her foot up the back of his leg.

“Just take me,” she whispered.

“Fuck, stop ordering me around,” he said, lips trembling against her collarbone as he laughed, “I might start to like it from you.”

“Then make me beg.”

He nicked the cut he’d made in her upper thigh, shuddering at the gasp she let out into his mouth. Without wasting even a millisecond he dragged his mouth down over her stomach—and ghosted over her cunt—to run his tongue along the weeping slice. He grabbed onto her as he made his way from the cut to between her legs. His lips brushed her clit and her body seemed to jump a little at the feeling. Vincent couldn’t control himself. He placed a kiss close to her aching core and relished in how her body seemed to quiver at the slightest touch.

“Look at you, so wet…”

He hesitated to leave her cunt alone, but planted a kiss on her hip and then sank his teeth into her, earning a yelp and a soft, lighter moan when he didn’t let up.

“Vincent,” she whispered.

He was close to getting what he wanted, he could tell.

“Yes, chérie?”

His fingers teased through the fabric of her lace underwear—she let out a soft mewl, making his eyes widen.

“You wear these lace panties for me, chérie? You were going to give it up to me that easy, like I already owned your little cunt?”

“Vincent…”

“Est-ce que c'est ça qui te fait mouiller, mon coeur, quand tu es en dessous de moi comme ci ? Quand tu sais que je peux faire ce que je veux de toi ?” Is that what makes you wet, my darling, when you’re beneath me like this? When you know I can do whatever I want to you?

She sounded almost anguished. “S’il te plaît, Vincent.”

“Ah, now I can get a please and a thank you? Is this why you’re so fucking disrespectful to me, Bella? You want to be punished like a filthy whore, then?”

“Oh,” she managed through weak laugh, “I’m definitely disrespectful because I’m a pompous bitch. Why do you think I’m the one that can’t be bought?”

“Mm, but you can be fucked, huh?”

She smiled widely, eyes falling shut.

“Only if they’re as pompous a bitch as me, monsieur.”

He moved away from her hip and went back to her cut, sucking on it hard enough to make a hickey. Her body arched at the sting of it and Vincent could feel her getting slick in her underwear.

“Beg,” he said, taking off the heels he’d bought for her, “Beg for me.”

The words left her mouth in a whisper. “Please, please, just fuck me.”

“Je ne t’entends pas, chérie.”

He closed his teeth around her waistband, pulling it taut and slicing the underwear open.

“C’mon, baby, please?”

“Don’t ask,” he instructed, “Beg.”

In his fervency he nearly pressed his mouth onto her as he tore the rest of the fabric off and laid eyes on her pussy. His teeth sank into his lower lip—this woman was going to be the death of him.

No. No. He had to take his time.

There was nothing guaranteed with La Belladonna, it was what they all said. He couldn’t waste the moment she was wide open and willing for him. He returned to her sweet lips, kissing her slowly, inhaling her scent. He kissed down her neck hungrily.

“Fuck, I need you,” she whispered, “Please, just fuck me. Please, please, Monsieur.”

“Mon dieu, you know exactly how to beg, too. How can one woman manage to push every single one of my buttons?”

“I’m not the only one with a type here, honey,” she said, smiling, “I get what I want, too.”

His hand snaked down to rub her clit—slowly, to take in her expression, her voice. She moaned, grabbing his hair, pressing her forehead against his cheek.

“Oh, god, Vincent. Please…please…”

His fingers slid inside her eagerly, curling and pulling back then thrusting deeper.

“Mm…Vincent…”

“Yes, baby, say it like that.”

His voice was soft against her ear. She melted into the floor of the limousine, her body easing against his hand, just they way he’d imagined it would.

“I knew you’d be a good girl, Bella, I just needed to give you a nudge—“

She gasped loudly at his fingers pumping harshly back inside of her.

“—In the right direction. Don’t you think?”

Her smile even shone in the feeble light the managed to get through the limousine’s tinted windows. She turned her head and kissed him. He returned it sloppily, his head pulsing with blood as his cock ached painfully. Her lips found his cheek, then his jaw, then her tongue grazed his neck, making him shiver. She closed her teeth around his earlobe and tugged harshly. He moaned into her hair, shutting his eyes. He needed her. He couldn’t even keep his head on fucking straight enough to tease her. Months he had to wait—months of clinging onto remnants of her scent, her red-stained cigarette butts and rivers of blood that trailed behind her—months that drove him fucking mad.

“God, you fucking woman.”

He tore his belt open, undid his pants and pulled his dick out, wetting it with her slick. He rubbed the head against her pussy, breath shuddering, mouth drying; he wasn’t sure if he’d survive making love with her, feeling the way his heart thundered out of his chest.

“Take me,” she whispered, “fuck me, Vincent.”

He couldn’t hold back any longer. He slid inside her gently, but once he felt her, he couldn’t be gentle anymore. His hips drew back and crashed into hers, making her groan loudly and move her hands back over her head. His thrusts were harsh, intense, but his hands slid into her hair affectionately. He kissed her skin like it was the first thing he’d ever tasted, her sweat tasted like sugar to him.

“Fuck, you taste like vanilla.”

Her hands returned to him unbound, and they slid under his shirt. She held onto him and wrapped her legs around his hips as her breath caught with each thrust. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to hang on for him, to have this moment last as long as it could. His body felt perfect against his, his warmth, his scent, his taste. She’d only said words earlier—of course no one kept La Belladonna for long— but he seemed to be the man that just may have the ability—

“Put your hand on my neck,” she whispered, voice shaking.

His hand caressed her neck delicately. She let out a sigh, closing her eyes. Yes, he just might be the one.

“Harder, please,” she whimpered.

“Anything, mon cœur.”

“Faster.”

Her voice was barely leaving her throat. Vincent’s hips moved quickly as he felt her tightening around him. He moaned again, sure his voice managed to reach outside of the windows.

“Fuck, you’re getting so tight, Bella, you’re going to kill me.”

Her nails dug into his back cruelly, pushing him even closer to the edge as the pain echoed throughout his entire back. He managed to reach down and rub her clit again, feeling how swollen it had gotten as her orgasm came closer.

“Come for me, Bella, come, baby,” he encouraged, his fingers working quickly.

She cried out, her voice breaking as she grabbed onto his shoulders. She was just at the edge, her mind was spinning wildly. Her words were unintelligible to him, he’d never caught onto Italian very well.

“Oh, mio caro, sì, sì, ah, cazzo, sì—“

Her legs tightened around him as he slammed his hips against her, watching how her mouth fell open, listening to her gasping breath.

“Sì—sì come questo, tesoro, oh…oh! Non fermarti, per favore, oh per favore—ngh—cazzo!”

He groaned as her pussy clenched around him and she let out a cry, her nails digging so hard into his skin they might’ve been drawing blood. He snapped his hips into her one last time and came—loudly—as he felt for her breasts and grabbed onto them, tried and failed to stay upright, then lowered, his body pressed up against hers.

They laid for an eternity, trying to catch their breath, trying to wait for their heads to clear. Vincent managed to move first and kissed her neck, inhaling the smell of her skin, feeling her pulse starting to slow down. She let out a heavy exhale, eyes opening.

“You are…”

She trailed off into silence for a moment.

“…Magnificent.”

Vincent chuckled, kissing her jaw softly, unable to speak just yet. She smiled.

“Ti terrò in giro per molto tempo, tesoro.”

“I don’t know Italian, Bella.”

She laughed. “I said I’m going to keep you around.”

They looked at each other, and he smiled.

“Oh, are you?”

“Oh yes, Monsieur…for a very long time.”

She lifted a finger, tapping his nose affectionately.

“You keep me, I keep you, Mademoiselle.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, smiling softly. “That arrangement just might be acceptable.”

He smiled. “I’m glad we could finally settle on an agreement.”

Her laugh was weak, but her eyes shone with that sardonic humor that had charmed him so. He slowly pulled out of her, gently sitting her up.

“Come with me. I will take you home so you can rest. We’ll have dinner.”

#marquis de gramont #amaranthine_enihtnarama #my wriitng #ao3 writer #marquis de gramont x reader #fanfic authors #john wick fanfic #john wick fandom #Spotify

[a-strange-familiar]

Birthday

A/n : it's me again with a lil bit of angst and my favorite trope.

Warnings : Angst, lil bit of swearing. That's it I think. Maybe a shitty ending. Not proof read, sorry.

Pairing : Actress!y/n and Harry

Summary : Harry forgot Y/n's birthday.

She woke up , by feeling Harry's warm body next to her.

It's a beautiful and cozy winter morning in London and she is feeling lazy to wake up but she had to because it's a special day.

Today is Y/n's birthday.

Well it's special because it's her first birthday with Harry. This is the day she had been waiting for , to spend her special day with her lover. This is the reason why she wanted to spend a month of her break in London with Harry. She don't know a lot of people in London, except Harry and few of his friends. But she came to London for him to spend time with him while he work on his new album.

She closed her eyes again to just embrace the fact that she is with Harry today. And god , she is soo in love with him. And she drifted back into sleep slowly while feeling content with Harry's embrace.

After few minutes she woke up again to the sound of the shower. She rubbed her eyes with the heal of the palm to erase the sleep completely. She can smell Harry's shower gel from the bathroom. He is taking a shower. She smiled to herself.

She sat and leaned to the headboard. She is very hardly trying to submerge the idea of taking her phone and scroll and check notifications.

Soon after she sound of the shower came to halt. She can hear the shower door opening.

Harry walked out of the ensuit bathroom with all his naked glory. He is all wet from the shower. His hair is still wet and he smell soo delicious. She love his shampoo's and body wash's smell. He always smells like a bowl full of summer fruits. It's one of her favorite smell. He also had this signature scent which is sweet and at the same time masculine and spicy . She is a gonner for him.

"Like what you see ?" Harry interrupted her thoughts.

"I love what I see." She answered with a cheeky grin.

He just chuckle and went in to his closet.

Don't get her wrong. She is not one for the total attention, or one who wants every one to wish her on the special day. But can you blame her now, it's her first birthday with him , she is just so fucking excited about it. So she thought that the minute Harry saw her , he is going to wish her. But he didn't. So she is a bit disappointed. But she again thought maybe he is just playing with her.

Harry returned back wearing a casual white t-shirt and pants. That's odd , because Harry always wear sweats or shorts in home. And he then he applied perfume which made to seem even more odd. Is he going out? She thought.

He is gathering his stuff and searching for his glasses when she spoke.

"What are you doing?" She asked him in confusion.

"Going to studio? Like everyday?" He said to her with a funny look on his face.

"Um-..." she couldn't speak anything. Did he really forgot? Or is he just playing with her and teasing her.

"I told you yesterday , that we are recording this new song today. We have to complete as soon as possible. So far what I know is this one is the hard on to do." He said to her while he made his way to the night stand near the bed to collect his phone.

That, he told her yesterday while having dinner. But she obviously forgot.

This can't happen right now. Did he really forgot her birthday ? She is already one the verge of crying. But she didn't. She can't.

He leaned down to her gave her a kiss. His lips always feel like heaven to her. She can never get bored of them.

"Bye, baby. Love you. I try to get back early today but can't promise you."

She was quite. Don't know what to speak. Afraid that if she speak, she will say something stupid or will directly ask him about if he really forgot her birthday.

"What , love ?" He asked while running his finger on her bottom lip.

"Will you like... maybe . Um-.. be able to make it for lunch. Maybe for an hour?" She asked him with doe eyes.

"Sorry, baby. Maybe I can not. But I promise that I'll make up to you for dinner. Yeah?"

She just noded and gave him her best fake smile to make it seem really genuine.

He gave her on last peck on her lips.

"Bye, puppy. Love you"

"Bye, baby. I love you."

With that he is out of the room. With in minutes he is out of the house.

She fell back on the bed with a sigh. She is disappointed. Not with him. But with herself. For expecting something.

She is never the one for celebrating her birthday days. Actually there is time where she used to despise birthdays. She felt everything is fake. The love , the attention, everything is fake. It only lasts for 24 hours. And later everything is gone. So she is not really interested in them.

Even in her childhood her parents didn't payed too much of time and attention to her. They always saw her as a responsibility and burden. So there are no memorable moments with her family on her birthdays.

High school was a bit different. She had some good friends. They made her feel a bit valuable by not showing fake love only on her birthdays.

And now it's entirely different. They is lot of people's attention now because she is an actress, a public figure. Now she is receiving both true love and adoration and fake love and attention. Her fans are angels, everyone of them. They are her loves. They made her feel like she is worthy of true love. There are people who really adore and love her. She had never been happier in life.

At the same time there are people who are like double masked. People who talk behind her back and praise and wish her in front of her face. She try not to get bothered by them not to let them get to her.

With another sigh she rolled on the bed to reach her phone on the night stand.

She unlocked the phone. Immediately she is met with many notifications. Many people are wishing her. Her friends, her team, her fans.

She felt overwhelmed by all the love. She replied only to few messages from her close friends.

And noticed that there is no single message from her parents.

Well, she expected that. Her parents never loved her. They always treated her like a burden even though she is the only child. They were never happy for achievements in her childhood. So she expected the same for the rest of the life. But once she became an actress and got money and fame. Her family started to show love and care that they never showed before. She felt strange and uncomfortable at beginning. But later she understood that they don't love her , but they want her money and fame. She felt disgust and she said them right across their faces that she never had them in her life before and don't want them anymore. So she didn't wanted to be treated like. So she cut her ties with them though she always sends them money, bought them a new house. But she don't want them in her life showing fake love.

So this a not a shocker that they didn't even cared to message her.

The shocker is the fact that Harry forgot her birthday. Not that she wanted him to do something extravagant and all. She just thought it would be a bit special if he remember and wished her. Harry had always been a wonderful boyfriend. Still is. Every single day. Every single minute. So expecting him to wish her is not her fault

But at the same time. She have to understand him. He is soo stressed with the album right now. That's all he is focused on now.

And also why would he remember? It's just birthday. He have lot more important things to do. An Album, a tour is coming up and many more things. So her birthday must be the last thing on his mind, right?

She don't want to cry but she is crying now. Maybe it's just a birthday rule that she have to cry atleast once on that day.

Hot tears running down her cheeks. Wishing that her parents loved her a bit more. Wishing that Harry remembered her birthday.

Finally what felt like an hour later she got from bed and went to take bath.She spent more time than usual. Pampering her self. Just laying in the tub.

After fourty five minutes she got out of the bathroom.

She went into the closet and picked some casual lingerie. And picked some loose baggy jeans and Harry's old t-shirt which is her favorite. Considering that she have no plans so she don't have to get all dressed. And atleast she will have a peice of him today.

She went down to the kitchen and made herself some smoothie for breakfast.

She sat down on the couch and decided to watch a movie or catch up with some shows since she have nothing to do.

Before she knows it it's past noon. She thought about calling Harry. She messaged him first to see if he is free.

To Harry: call me once your free

Within minutes her phone rang , and Harry's contact id popped up.

She answered it immediately.

"Hello."

"Hi , baby. What's up?"

"Nothing just wanted to talk." She said into the phone.

"Aww is my puppy is already missing me?" Harry said and she can see that shit eating grin with out even seeing it physically.

She started blushing. "Nope, not at all missing you. Im peacefully watching movies without you."

"Hey ! That's rude."

"Haha, fine I'm missing you. Just wanted to talk and see If you had lunch yet."

"No, not yet. But I will. Have you eaten yet?" He asked.

"No, actually not feeling hungry. I will later. How is the recording going on?"

He chuckled at the phone she can hear Jeff's voice from the other side saying something . "Yeah , it's actually going good. Making fun and goofing around now. But yeah we are making progress though." He said

She still is waiting for him to remember today. But that felt like being a bitch for some reason. Like those people who always seeks attention.

"Ok, baby I need to go. I call you later. Yeah?" Harry said

"Yeah OK,bye. love you." She said in a small voice.

"Bye baby, love you more. And eat something." With that he cut the call.

She just sat there in silence. She feels soo sad. Overwhelmed. Because a lot of people are wishing her. All strangers are being exited for her. But her own boyfriend don't even remember.

At the top of this her anxiety is not helping her. She is over thinking everything.

Does he really love her ? Or did he find her boring?

Sure there is nothing special about her. She is so little compared to Harry styles. She is new to industry, very young , not as popular and beautiful as his other Victoria secret models. She have many insecurities and now she even more feeling insecure.

But she don't want to think about them. Maybe Harry just forgot. It's not a big deal. Not at all. Maybe by the end of the day he will remember and will come back.

She stopped thinking about all of that and spent the rest of the day. She spent the day by reading all the messages, watching all the fan edits on social media and watching movies.

And time just flew by. Before she knew it's almost seven pm already.

Harry said he will make it for dinner. So she excited to see him. She took her phone and messaged him asking about dinner.

To Harry: hey ! Do you want me to start preparing dinner? Or you want to order in? At what time will you be back?

She waited few minutes for the reply.

From Harry: shit ! I'm sorry , puppy. Maybe I can't make it early today. We still have a lot to complete. I'll have something in the studio.

She felt her heart crack. This can't be happening. No.

To Harry: Oh. It's ok , fine.

From Harry: sorry , baby. :(

To Harry: it's fine, bubs. Just come home safe. Bye.

From Harry: bye baby, love you. Sorry again.

She kept her phone aside. This is not happening. The universe is plotting against her. Why ?

There is no use of waiting anymore so she just want to do something and just sleep.

She went into the kitchen. She want a cake. After all there is no birthday with out cake , even if your not celebrating.

But she don't want to bake a pity cake for herself. That's too much. And she even don't want to order one. And either way once when Harry comes back he will find out. She don't want that. He will feel bad and she don't want that too.

And then she remembered that they have some cupcakes that Harry brought yesterday.

She went and took the cupcakes box from the fridge. And for her luck there is only one cupcake left. One with white colour frosting and colourful sprinkles.

She bought a small candle and placed at the top of the cupcake and lit it.

She sang a pitiful birthday song for herself while tears rolling down her cheeks.

☆♡☆♡☆♡☆

Harry is going through the lyrics once again. Everyone are on break. This is the third break. And they are about to complete it for today. As Harry thought it is by far the toughest song.

As Harry is just reading again and again. He heard Jeff's voice.

"Harry , why didn't you tell me it's Y/n's birthday today?"

It's not Y/n's birthday. It's not today. He thought to himself.

"No , it's not today. It's on..."

Then it clicked. Something in his mind just went off.

Oh god, no no no. Not today

"What date is it today ?" Harry asked with a fear in his eyes.

"Umm. January 20."

No.no.no.no. NO FUCK! SHIT. It's not happening

"What ? You don't know its her birthday today? " Jeff asked in a shocked tone.

Harry just hung his head low and shook his head.

"How do you know ?" Harry asked Jeff.

"I just saw Y/n's instagram story. She wrote a thank you letter." Jeff handed Harry his phone.

Harry opened her story. It's just a simple paragraph with black background.

'Hello guys. Thank you soo much for all the love and wishes guys have sent me. I'm soo happy to see all the love you guys have given me. It's one of my best days and you guys made my day. And I'm sorry that I was not able to respond to all the wishes. I was busy , I'm sorry. And I wish to celebrate many more birthdays like this with you guys. Lots of love. <3'

Y/n. x

Harry felt like a moron after reading that.

'Busy' It's a lie. She was not Busy, she was just lonely the whole day alone waiting for him.

'Best day ' That's the biggest lie. Maybe this is her worst day ever. Because her boyfriend didn't even remember her birthday.

What kind of a boyfriend is he ?

He felt like an absolute idiot. They felt defeated. He officially is the worst person ever. He knew that her parents don't wish her anymore. He knew that he was only person that she wanted to spend with. She came to London for him. She don't know a lot of people.

He felt sick.

With sadness written all over his face, Harry returned the phone to Jeff.

"So, as per I understood today is Y/n's birthday. But you forgot. And you spent the whole day in the studio. When she is alone in your house. And top of that you didn't even wish her." Jeff said , which actually didn't make Harry's condition better.

He just nodded.

"One a scale from one to I'm the world's worst boyfriend, how much do you think I fucked up ?" Harry asked Jeff.

"I don't know, man. But I'm pretty sure that you just fucked up , big time."

Harry just buried his face in his hands.

"I didn't do it intentionally. I obviously know, but I was a bit behind days with all this album and all. I thought it's still a week later. I even planned a bit for it. But...."

"I know, this album is making you so stressed. And I also know that Y/n will understand it. She is not like every one else. She will get it. "

Obviously she will understand. His Y/n always understands.

"She didn't even bring it up once today. Nothing seemed off. She didn't even sounded mad earlier. She could have just reminded me. GOD. I feel like an idiot. "

"Why does she have to remind you ? As a boyfriend it's your duty to remember, it's not her duty to remind you. And also it's not like that she is gonna come near you and be like.' Hey, Harry it's my birthday today. Wish me and give me gifts.' You have to remember."

Harry just groaned. He is so damn angry at himself.

"You better start now and go. Before the days ended. Make up for her. Take a day off tomorrow. We will manage later. Just take care of her. And tell her my wishes. "

That's what Harry heard before he is running around the studio and collecting his stuff. He said bye to everyone and quickly hoped into the car.

He is driving soo fast. It's already nine pm. He have to be fast. As soon as possible.

He don't even know whether y/n is going to forgive him or not. But he will apologise until she did.

He heart is beating so fast. What if she don't want him anymore? What if she leaves him.

He shook his head to remove those thoughts.

After thirty minutes he reached home.

He stood at the front door for a minute gathering his courage.

He opened the door and met with familiar smell , her smell. The smell he always crave for.

He made his way to the living room, he heard the TV playing. And he saw her.

She was sleep on the couch. The TV was running in the background playing some reality show. She fell asleep while watching TV.

Did she eat ? He thought to himself.

He walk infront of the couch. And he kneeled in front of her.

She looked beautiful. As always. She looked like angel. With her eyes lashes falling on her cheeks. Her chest rising up and down by breathing. A few strands of hair falling on her face, she looked breath taking.

He slowly brought his hand to push a strand of hair behind her ear. He slowly ran his thumb over her cheek.

She slowly shifted in her sleep. And she opened her eyes.

She blinked her eyes a few times to get rid of the sleep.

Then she smiled at him. Smiled.

He was expecting her to be angry and push him away. But she didn't.

She slowly bought his thumb to her lips. And gave it a gentle kiss.

Now Harry is really beating up himself. How could he do that for her. She is literally an angle.

She slowly sat straight on the couch.

"Your back. Sorry, fell asleep. Felt little bit tired."

She stood up from couch. So did he.

"Did you eat anything? You said you'll have dinner. Or do you want me to make something ?" She asked very casually.

He just stood there and looked at her.

"I'll get some water for you." She said with a smile. And turned to get some water for him.

But he grabed her arm and turned her back to face him. And he took two steps and stood directly infront of her.

She looked up at him with confusion. And asked him what happened with her eyes.

He just shook his head and hugged her. He buried his face into her neck. And he inhaled her sent.

On the other side Y/n is in utter confusion. What happened to him? Did anything happened at the studio ?

She brought her hands to his back and hugged him tightly. She lifted one hand to his head and ran her fingers in his hair.

"What happened, bubs ? " She asked few moments later.

"I'm sorry , baby. I'm sorry so much." He wishpered into her neck.

And then she understood. He remembered now. But she didn't want to jump into the conclusion. So she asked him.

"Sorry for what, Harry?"

He removed his face from her neck and stood straight. He looked into her eyes. There is no anger. Just sadness.

"I forgot your birthday."

"That you did." She just said as if it's nothing.

"I'm sorry baby. I didn't mean to."

"It's fine , Harry." She just smiled at him .

"No it's not. I'm supposed to be the first one to wish you. Im supposed to be there with you and celebrate."

"No, it's fine. I don't-"

"No, stop doing that. It's not fine. I'm your boyfriend. I'm supposed to be there for you and celebrate . Not to leave you in an empty house. I fucked up. I'm sorry."

"Harry, it's fine. Really. You forgot. Yes, but it's ok. Atleast you remembered now. And I know you are soo busy and you have a lot on your plate now. I can understand. I always will. My birthday will come again next year we can do it again. "

He is melting at her words. Damn sure he didn't deserve her. He don't. He forgot her birthday and her she is assuring him that he it's fine. She is an angel.

"But -"

She placed her hand on his mouth to stop him.

"No buts. I'm sad yes. I was alone all day. But it's ok. It's ok until I know that you will come back home to me. That's all I want. And also your work is important. So I understand. "

"Nothing is more important to me more than you." He said.

She smiled "I love you. And nothing is more than you for me too."

Then he kissed her. The kiss is slow and sensual. Passionate. His lips are so soft around hers. Their lips fit perfectly like pieces of puzzle. It's an amazing feeling and Y/n is already feeling light headed. When he licked slowly at her bottom lip she opened her mouth and his tongue met hers.

They both are moaning into the kiss. It's a euphoric feeling.

Harry parted his lips from her and connected his forehead to hers.

"Happy birthday, my love." He said while looking into her eyes.

She just smile and gave him another kiss on lips.

"Will you let me make it up for you now ?" He asked in a low voice.

She just nodded with a grin on her face.

"I'm going to make it up to you darling. A lot. All night. All day, tomorrow. I'm not leaving until tomorrow night."

~~~~

Thank you, hope you enjoyed.

Lots of love <3

Please like , comments and reblog. Please give feedback. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry edward styles #harries #harry #hs #harry styles angst #my wriitng #harry styles forgotten birthday #birthday

[whereserpentswalk]

Don't fall in love with angels. They're allowed to love you and will do nice things for you. But they still serve heaven and its rules before they serve any being in the universe. The nicest, kindest, angel that you could ever meet, will still watch as thousands die because it's the will of fate, would still smite the undead just for being what they are. If they believe you're someone wrong or evil, even if you're just 'born wrong' they will destroy you. Their fire may warm you, but it's still there to burn heretics.

Fall in love with demons, those angels that have left heaven's will. They may be cruel at times, they all fell for different reasons, and many of them don't take well to being asked to say why. But they have their own will, and if you convince them to do good, they will do good. Even the darkest of demons can be reasoned with, because they already had enough reason to abandon the sky. Their fire may burn you, but it is the torch of liberty.

#angel #angels #angelcore #demon #demons #my worldbuilding #fantasy worldbuilding #worldbuilding #my words #my writing #writeblr #fantasy #writers on tumblr #writers #196 #my thougts #writing #urban fantasy #my wriitng #cosmic #heaven #hell

[loveshotzz]

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap eight/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

Red, White & Boom

summary: A Fourth of July block party ends in fireworks.

wc: 6.8k (🙄 it’s fine, you’re falling in love.)

warnings: 18+ series for future chapters. I don’t know based on Steve’s promise in the last one, what do you think? 😏

author’s note: there were so many different versions of this chapter before I got here and I just want to say thank you to my friends who helped me through this one. I just wanted it to be perfect 🧡

🌇 <- chapter seven | (bonus chapter playlist)

🌆 -> chapter nine

The Masterlist / The Playlist / The Tune:

July 4th -

Instead of the Good Morning tough girl you were expecting the next day, it was Good Morning beautiful that you read.

Steve Harrington woke you up calling you beautiful for the three mornings after that too. 

The night before the fourth, you could hardly sleep with his promise to kiss you still fresh in your mind. It lingered and attached itself to every thought since he left you with it. 

How was he going to do it? When was he going to do it?  When he picks you up? Middle of the date? End of the date? What if he changes his mind? 

The nerves are even worse as you stare at yourself in the long mirror of your room and your eyes catch the time. 1:52pm. Steve was ‘picking you up’ at two and you were on your fourth outfit in the last hour. Trying to find something that was cute enough for a first date but also practical for walking around the city in the summer heat was starting to feel impossible. 

Date.

The word makes the fluttering start before he’s even arrived, a smile tugging at your lips when you think it again. Would you get used to it?

The shorts you settle on are a high waisted dark denim pair that cut off and fringe in the middle of your thighs, The black low cut ribbed top you match them with has a lace trim along the sleeves and the dip down down the middle. It hugs your curves in a way that makes you feel confident, something in your closet you know you won’t spend the whole day adjusting and fiddling with. 

Knock, knock - knock, knock 

Jumping when you hear his knuckles against the wood, you give yourself another once over before deciding it’s good enough. With your shoes still in the corner of your room, your slippers slide against your floor all the way to your front door. Nerves tighten your chest, a shaky breath leaving between glossed lips before you stop to give yourself a minute to let it sink in- mentally preparing to see the man who showed up at your front door steps with his heart in his hands. Your handsome neighbor with a past and a Bandit as his best friend.

You have to hold back the sigh that threatens to escape when you lay your eyes on him for the first time since that night. His grin is lopsided, the almost beard he had is gone, like he’d shaved it the next day leaving just the kind of stubble you liked the most.

“Hey, tough girl.” Pearly whites flash when he says it sweet, dripping with extra honey just for you.

His hair is freshly done like when he’s on his way to work, the grays on the sides seem lighter from spending a weekend out in the sun. The sleeves are short on his dark navy button up, the linen material fitting him loose and snug in all the right places. The two ivory buttons on top are undone, leaving a place for his Raybans to dangle. The weight of them pulls it down just enough to see the beginnings of his dark curls underneath and the silver pendant at the end of the chain that always hangs around his neck.

“Hi Steve.” You bite your bottom lip to try and contain your smile, your hips twisting from side to side with your hands behind your back, you can’t help it when he talks to you like that. 

He’s wearing the same pants you saw him in when you brought him cannolis. The cream ones he almost kissed you in. The bottoms are cuffed, a pair of dark brown loafers on his feet, they look worn in but the gold buckle on top of them still shines in the dingy light of your stairwell.

“You look too pretty to be going on a date with me,” he says it in a way that almost makes you believe it. 

“Look who’s talkin’, handsome,” you manage to get out, making the apples of his cheeks dust your favorite shade of pink.

Opening your apartment door a little wider, the knots in your stomach twist a little tighter when his eyes linger on your lips.

Is he gonna do it now?

“You can come in, I just gotta put on my shoes.” You clear your throat, stepping aside when he doesn’t make any moves, tugging at the low cut collar of your shirt like it’s tight as your blood starts to run hot. 

You’re hit with the smell of his cologne when he crosses the threshold, it’s different today, more woodsy than you’re used to and it makes your head spin. He looks around with fresh eyes, admiring all the details he missed now that he can see them in the light of day. Glimpses of you that he hasn’t gotten to know yet. Missing pieces to your puzzle. His gaze slowly finds its way to your kitchen that almost sparkles. 

“That’s two visits in a row that I’ve come here and your dishes are done.” Steve points to your empty sink, “I’m impressed.” 

He gets his first eye roll of the day.

“Careful, we haven’t left yet. I could still cancel.” Wiggling your slipper covered feet as a reminder, you smirk. “My shoes aren’t even on, it’d be so easy to do.”

“Oh yeah? How easy?” He raises his eyebrows in a challenge, the corners of his mouth twitch as he tries to keep his face straight.

“Like flipping a light switch, easy,” you retort smugly, making sure to sway your hips a little more when you walk to your room. Fighting the giddy smile that threatens to take over your face, you lose when you’re out of his sight.

You aren’t expecting him to follow you, but you find him standing in your doorway when you take a seat on your bed.

“If it’s so easy…” there’s a new confidence in the way he looks at you now, like knows you want him too. 

He looks at the untied sneakers next to your feet before taking the first steps into your room. He pauses to let you stop him, but when you smirk at him with a cocked eyebrow he closes the rest of the space. Crouching down in front of you, playful eyes meet yours from under thick lashes. The freckles that dot the top of his nose seem darker in the daylight. You wonder if there’s a way to find and kiss all of them. 

“Let me make it harder.”

He’s gentle when he takes your socked foot in his hand, the warmth of his skin seeping through the cotton. It makes your heart race. He grabs your sneaker, the slight platform looking small in his grasp when his fingers wrap around your ankle to push it on. The pad of his thumb rubs at the soft skin there when he has to use a little force.

Long fingers work the laces like a pro, forearms flexing when he tightens after each eyelet, always just enough, never too tight. Leaning back on your palms, you watch him with the kind of adoration you couldn’t hide even if you tried when he repeats the same process on your other foot.

He ties both in a perfect bow, a proud smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes when he looks up for your approval.  Your favorite strand already begs to come out of its gelled confines and your fingers itch ready to brush it away again if it escapes.

“I usually double tie it,” you giggle with another wiggle of your foot. “I mean, if you really wanna make sure I stay put.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, hot breath fanning against your skin that leaves goosebumps in its wake. He holds your stare while tying his perfect bow into a duplicate on both shoes, smirking when you squirm.

“No running now honey.” 

The neighborhood is alive in a different way than you’ve seen before, the rush of everyday life is replaced with sparklers, Italian ice, and live music. The cars that lined the sides of the street including Steve’s are nowhere to be seen. Multicolored tents with homemade signs of vendors from all over the city replace them instead. 

The sun hangs high, bright in the cerulean sky. Golden and warm like the man next to you. His Raybans cover his eyes now, leaving you defenseless against trying to read his thoughts. It’s different in public like this, it’s not just you two in the spaces between houses - in front yards, in alleys, in kitchens. It’s new feelings, new territory, and lots of people, but Steve searches for comfort in you when he takes your hand into his like it’s nothing.

“This is not what I was expecting when you said block party,” you say with an overwhelmed giggle, walking with no real destination, moving with the crowd. 

The fair rides catch your sight from the end of the street taking up the middle school parking lot. A ferris wheel just high enough you think you’d be able to see the lake from the top of it. It blinks multicolored bulbs, red white and blue flags hanging from its hinges blowing in the breeze haphazardly. The sweet smell of honey roasted almonds almost over powers the sizzle of Italian beef, and the butter of the popcorn. 

“Yeah, they go all out because it’s sponsored,” Steve offers with a shy smile, “This is actually my first one if I’m being honest, I usually go out of town for these, Bandit hates fireworks.”

“Wait? Is he home? Is he going to be okay? Do you have one of those vest thingy’s? I’ve read about them-“ Your pace slows, worry setting deep in your features and Steve thinks it's the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

“Yes, he’s in good hands. He’s staying with his aunt Nancy in the suburbs where it’s not so bad.” He chuckles, pulling your hand to his lips, they’re soft like silk when they press a kiss to your skin. It’s enough for your face to relax, eyes glazing over at the contact. “I promise honey.”

“Such a good daddy Steve, it’s cute,” you giggle, the nickname falling way too easily off your lips to not even be looking at him. Steve’s jaw clenches, he wants to kiss you. Bad. It doesn’t help that your gloss shimmers like glitter in the sun. Tempting him. The worst part is knowing you’d let him kiss you too. 

Not yet - the plan. 

His hand twitches at his side, he wants the familiar comfort of his fingers through his hair to ease his nerves but he can’t. It took him way too long to get it styled like this. Instead, he scratches at his jaw with a tight lipped smile.

“Thanks, I try.” 

The two of you wander through the different tents, a tentative hand always finding its way to your lower back whenever you stop at something you want to take a closer look at. Light conversation about your weeks at work comes easy, your touches staying a little shy, both of you unsure how to act in such a crowded place. 

The more the afternoon goes on like this, the endless butterflies that only exist for him start to stir from their cocoons. It’s when you lean over a table to get a better look at a moonstone that’s delicately hanging from a silver chain, that they start to stretch their wings. They flutter when you feel bold fingertips trace a line up your spine before long fingers wrap around the back of your neck giving the tense muscles there a squeeze. The pad of his thumb digging lightly into the spot behind your ear that makes your eyes want to close. You tuck your bottom lip between teeth to hold back your groan, the week of heavy trays and heavy thoughts coming loose under his touch.

“You like that one?” His voice startles you, it’s deep, rich and just above a whisper right by your ear. He chuckles when you jump a little letting his hand slide down the dip of your back, blunt nails scratching at the small of it.

“Yeah, it’s cute. I used to have one just like it but I lost it a few years ago.” Your eyes trace around the smooth stone, before seeing the sixty dollar price tag attached to it. 

Not that cute.

“Hopefully not in a sink.” It comes out of his mouth like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life.

The glare you give him makes him snort, hands raising in surrender while your reflection in his lenses turns you into a giggling mess. The sixty year old woman in a moo moo trying to cool herself down with a paper fan on the other side of the table doesn’t think either of you are very funny. Steve digs for his wallet, your mouth opening in protest before he pulls out a crisp twenty from the tan leather billfold.

“Let’s get out of her hair, I saw something a few tables down that I want to grab for Eddie. Want to get us a lemonade and I’ll meet you?” Steve points to the concession stand on the other side of the tent, where a line of over excited kids and their already worn out parents have formed.

You watch his eyebrows raise behind the frames of his sunglasses when you just stare at the money in his hand making no indication of grabbing it. He knows what you’re doing.

“I asked you on a date if you remember, tough girl, I can buy you a what? A six dollar drink?” He huffs, lips twitching despite himself.

Steve gets his second eye roll of the day, this one accompanied with the kind of smile he wants from you all the time. He hopes it was the reminder that you were on a date with him that makes you beam like that. 

“Fair enough of an argument, I guess,” you sigh with a hint of a giggle at the end, and it makes him shake his head, white teeth on display leaving you a giddy mess.

He holds the bill out for you to take again, even though his eyes are hidden behind tinted lenses, you know he’s giving you a look. You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth to try and stop your smile from growing, your fingers wrapping around the bill sweetly.

“I’ll be five minutes,” he starts as you tuck the twenty into your back pocket.

“I got your number handsome.” You wink, making his cheeks bubblegum pink as you walk away. “No running, remember?” 

“That double knot isn’t coming loose honey. Five minutes.” He gestures the minutes with his hand, the kind of grin on his face that threatens to make you fall in love.

🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋

The heat starts getting sticky, the breeze from before coming to a standstill making the plastic cup wet in your hand. The condensation drips down the bright yellow lemons that decorate it and onto your fingers but it feels good. You shift from side to side awkwardly next to the concession stand, people watching with the green bendy straw in your mouth. You’re closer to the school now, the sight of fair games in the shade of tents cooled down by giant fans catches your eye. The empty ring toss table calling your name. 

That’s when you see him, an irrational anger settling in your gut at how he somehow looks even more attractive than he did ten minutes ago. You can tell the moment he spots you through the crowd, a giant smile stretching so wide across his face it threatens to compete with the sun and it's just for you. 

“That was longer than five minutes, Steve,” you tsk when he reaches you, trying not to overthink the fact that he doesn’t have any sort of bag.

He chuckles, a little out of breath, giving into his impulse to run his fingers through his hair. The heat of the day finally ruining any product that was left in it.

“You just got one lemonade?” He points to the dripping cup in your hands with a smirk.

“Yeah, I realized that after I’d ordered, but could you imagine if I was left waiting here for ten minutes with two of these?!” You lift it up like it's heavy before narrowing your eyes playfully, “Why? Got a problem sharing with me or something?”

He lifts his sunglasses pushing them up to rest on top of his head, and they almost get lost in the thickness of his honey and pepper locks. The full force of the mossy green browns of his eyes make your thighs press.

“No, just wanted to make sure before I did this.” Leaning forward, his gaze stays focused on yours before his lips wrap around the straw. His adams apple bobs in his throat when he takes a long gulp, while beads of sweat collect and drip down the sides of his neck making you lick your lips. 

“G-good?” You manage to ask when he pulls away wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

“Delicious actually. Is that a hint of strawberry?” Steve asks with a widening grin, the pad of his thumbs swiping away some of the excess lipgloss he’d gotten off the straw. You rub your lips together subconsciously, the corners of them threatening to pull up when he puts his sunglasses back on.

“Strawberry and watermelon actually.” 

The air between you grows thick with something that’s not the humidity, especially when you see the way more sweat glistens from the tease of soft curls on his chest. Was that a third button undone?

“I didn’t catch the watermelon, I’ll just have to get a better taste next time.” His ears catch your quick intake of breath. He could do it now, really taste you. The way your eyes keep dropping to his mouth tells him you want him to.  

Stick to the plan.

He takes the cup that you have to hold with both hands into one, fingers wrapping around it with ease. Stealing your hand in his other, they intertwine like they missed each other. The cold condensation left on your palm from the lemonade cools the warmth of his heated skin from the sun and from you.

“Let’s go check out the games.”

“You know ring toss is a scam right?” Steve sighs, the two of you standing in front of the booth you’d eye’d from across the block. 

“It’s not a scam, it’s a game of skill Steve.” 

You give him his third eye roll of the day and it makes the corners of his lips curve despite giving you one in return.

“I thought you were Mr. Sports anyway, shouldn’t you be good at this? Don’t you work for the Cubs or something?” You copy his stance, taking note of how it gets him more irritated.

“Mr. Sports? I do marketing, I don’t play for the team,” he scoffs at the nickname, but the playfulness that fills your eyes is contagious and it’s enough to feed his soul for months. “I’m plenty good at this game, I just didn’t want you to get discouraged.”

“Me? Discouraged?” You give him a sarcastic laugh and it makes his cheeks push up. He can’t remember the last time he smiled like this.

“I’m just looking out for you, that’s all.” He shrugs, taking another sip of the lemonade so he doesn’t laugh at the face that gets you to make.

“You don’t have to look out for me, in fact I’m gonna raise the stakes Harrington.” He loves how you say his last name like you’ve known him for years, especially when you’re heated. “The loser has to buy funnel cake after this, or is that too much for you to handle?” You raise your eyebrows, in a challenge.

“It’s never too much for me to handle.” Steve makes sure to look you up and down, enjoying the way it makes you squirm before continuing, “And don’t worry I’m not really going to make you pay for the funnel cake after I beat you.”  

He signals to the teenager on the other side of the table for two rounds, laughing at the way you scoff around giggles giving his shoulder a light shove.

———————————————————————

It takes about three throws for Steve to realize he’s going to eat his words when he watches the plastic ring bounce off the lip of the bottle again. 

“Aww maybe the next one, champ.” you pout with a quick flick of your wrist, your fourth ring hitting the top of the bottle before spinning down the neck of it with a hollow hum just like the three before and it makes Steve’s jaw clench. “I like extra powdered sugar by the way.” 

He grumbles something to himself grabbing his last ring, feeling the heat of your stare on him, he tries to ignore the way it makes all the blood rush to his cheeks and focus on at least making one. His eyes squint as he picks his target.

“Maybe you need those glasses that were on your desk?” You shrug nonchalantly, conveniently refusing to meet his incredulous gaze, a smirk playing the edges of your lips.

“I don’t need glasses - who are you? Where’s that sweet girl from next door, huh?” He can’t help but laugh when your smirk breaks out into a fit of giggles.

“I'm competitive when it comes to meaningless games, Steve. What can I say?” You sigh, your admission making him snort as he refocuses on the bottle again.

“Competitive but hates sports, makes total sense,” mumbling, he does a few practice throws not letting the ring go. He’s not expecting you to come up beside him so close that he can smell the perfume you sprayed this morning. He wants to bury his nose in your neck and inhale.

“Just bend your arm a little here, baby,” the teasing edge to your voice is gone, replaced with something sticky sweet like the lemonade he shared with you, like your strawberry and watermelon lip gloss. ‘Baby’ rings loud in his ears and needs to hear you say it again, he always wants to be your baby. 

Your touch is gentle when you bend his elbow just slightly, soft fingers that feel electric. 

“You settin’ me up?” Steve’s eyes meet yours, smile going lopsided when he catches you getting a little shy.

“I’m not! I promise.” You giggle again and he decides he’ll buy you as many funnel cakes as you want. “If you think you’re throwing it too soft, you’re not.”

You back away to let him make his move, he’s more concentrated than you’ve ever seen as he takes your advice to heart. His tongue pokes out as he lines himself up, silently counting to three before letting go. You hold back your squeal watching it catch on the top, spinning sloppily down the neck plastic clinking against the glass loudly.

“Wooo!” Steve’s hands shoot up the bottom of his shirt rising with it giving you a glimpse of his happy trail. Excitement radiating from his bright smile.. 

God you just want to kiss him.

“See, skill, not luck,” you tease.

“How’d you get so good at this?” He questions watching you make your fifth one without a second thought.

“I lived in a small town with nothing to do but stupid games like this.” You shrug, you hadn’t thought about home since moving here, a nostalgic pain hits your chest.

“You get to pick a prize,” the teenager cuts into your conversation, refusing to let Steve ask the questions that were obviously on the tip of his tongue. 

He points to the grid wall behind him where everything from classic teddy bears, purple dragons, and dancing bananas are strung up in a pop of bright colors. Steve watches with admiration at the focus on your face as your eyes look over every option like it’s the hardest decision you’ve ever had to make in your life. Then you look up at him and ask-

“Which one do you think Bandit would like?” 

Maybe his plan was stupid, maybe he should just say fuck it and kiss your right here. 

“I think he’d really dig the banana, definitely his style.” Steve nods casually trying not to let it show that he thinks he’s already falling in love with you.

You beam at him before telling the kid your choice, excitedly grabbing it when it’s handed to you. Steve looks out to the sun starting to set burnt orange and pink in the sky telling himself he can hold out for at least another hour, maybe two. Maybe.

“You should have seen the woman’s face when I asked for more sugar,” Steve huffs, dropping the deep fried treat in front of you. The sweet powder puffs like smoke falling off the dough like snow landing onto the already formed piles that cover the bottom of the paper plate.

“She was just jealous,” you wave off, wiggling your fingers in excitement unsure of where to even start as he takes the seat next to you, knees bumping under the picnic table you’d found.

“Jealous of what? The dentist visit I’ll need to pay for after this?”  Steve cocks an eyebrow, pulling off a piece regardless of his complaining. His sunglasses hang down the middle of his shirt again, the sun low enough for his eyes to come out of hiding, stealing some of the confidence you have when you don’t get distracted by them.

You roll your eyes for the fourth time and it starts making him feel spoiled, especially the way the corners of your mouth always give you away curving up the littlest bit after each one.

Ignoring his complaining you plop a piece into your mouth, the extra sugar sticks to your gloss and he really starts to hate his plan again when he watches your tongue dart out to lick it off. 

“So what made you move here?” Steve asks, the curiosity from before coming back as he brushes some of the powder from another piece.

A small laugh escapes through your nose, your eyes meeting his from under your lashes before darting back to the dessert. You didn’t have an exciting or dramatic reason to give, not even a career path. The nerves of a different kind kick up in the fear of being perceived as a mess once he really gets to know you. It makes your palms sweat.

“I don’t know, New York always intimidated me,” you offer with a half smile, picking at the sides of the fried dough.

“Come on, tough girl.” Steve bumps his shoulder with yours, his cologne mixing with the day in a way that has you wanting to bottle it up for yourself.

You sigh, lips twitching in a grin before giving into him.

“It’s just something I’ve always wanted to do. Live in a big city.” You gesture around you before ripping off another bite. “My parents have never lived anywhere else their whole lives, so I promised myself that if I was still there when I was thirty, I’d do it. I’d pack up and move no matter what, and that’s exactly what I did.” You laugh, popping the small treat in your mouth. 

“I don’t really have a plan? I don’t really know what I’m doing which is scary and exciting all at the same time,” you admit, avoiding his gaze hunting for another perfect bite and it just kinda feels like stress eating now.

“You sound like me.” Steve chuckles, and it makes you freeze, finally daring to look at him. The tan he got from the day was already starting to show, the laugh lines under his eyes a little more prominent from this close. The stubble that lines his jaw has a little more salt than pepper.

“Yeah?” You hate how quiet your voice sounds, blaming it on the way his thigh is pressed tight against yours.

“You think I wanted to get into sports marketing my whole life?” Steve snorts, “I”m from a small town in Indiana, I worked at an ice cream shop in a mall and a video rental store after high school. I had no idea what I wanted to do, or who I was.” 

His hand reaches under the table, fingers wrapping around your knee to give it a reassuring squeeze.

“If it wasn’t for a drunk night with Eddie and my other best friend Robin after a shitty day at work,” He shrugs, picking at the dough, “telling me about this three bedroom apartment in Chicago they had found real cheap through some guy named Rick, who knows what I’d be doing now.” 

There’s a moment of silence between you, letting the realization that the Steve you’d built up in your head wasn’t the man next to you. The man next to you was better. He was real. Hope blooms inside your chest that maybe you weren’t so lost after all.

“Well, that just made me like you even more. Great.” You fake annoyance but your shy smile gives you away.

“Oh yeah?” He flirts, wiggling his eyebrows at you leaning in closer, loving how he can hear the stutter in your breath every time.

“Well, maybe.” 

“Maybe?” His question comes out soft, his nose bumping yours while his eyes linger on the sugar that collected on your already sweet lips. 

You nod with a sigh, sticky gloss and fluttering lashes, big eyes that beg him. The hand on your knee comes up to cup your face, the tip of his thumb tracing your bottom lip before tugging it down mesmerized by how it still shimmers after all this time.

Fuck the plan.

“Harrington? I thought that was you!” 

Both of you jump, your hand nearly flipping the plate when an unsuspecting voice pops you two out of your bubble. Again. It takes everything inside Steve not to groan out loud, recognizing the man behind the interruption instantly. His boss.

“Richard?” Steve’s voice changes to the version you’d heard on the phone as he spins around in his seat giving you the perfect view of the way the linen stretches over his shoulders.

He was going to kiss you and now he’s talking to Richard.

Your eyes meet a much older man’s dark brown ones, he looks somewhere in his mid to late sixties, but the kind of late sixties that told you he had money. The thick white cotton of his t-shirt looks Egyptian, the light wash jeans look like the kind of denim that cost more than your rent. The hundred and fifty dollar leather Cole Haan sneakers on his feet make it seem dressed down despite the wing tip. Casual rich.

“I didn’t think you’d be here sir.” Steve chuckles nervously scratching the back of his neck. 

“Well, someone has to see where the money you convinced me to spend is going.” He smiles but it’s warm in spite of his playful jab. 

“Besides, I’ve heard it’s you that doesn’t come to these things.” Richard’s eyes meet yours with a knowing sparkle behind them, “But I've got an idea why this year’s different.”

The heat rushes to your cheeks from the implications of his words and you try and bite back your own grin when you look down at the half eaten dessert.

“Well it’s always good to see you outside of the field Harrington, I think The ALS Foundation and the Chicago Parks District will be happy with their checks this year. Great job as always son,” he compliments proudly.

The two of them talk “shop” for a few minutes, but all you can focus on is the fact that Steve put this all together and it’s something he’s been doing for years. Channeling his grief into something good and it makes your heart swell.

“There’s an empty skybox with your name on it for next week’s game, bring your girl. It’ll be fun. I’ll let you two get back to it.” Richard’s voice gets louder with his departure breaking you out of your thoughts as he pats Steve on his shoulder, giving him a fatherly squeeze. 

“Enjoy the fireworks.”

He throws you a wink before walking away taking your kiss from Steve with him.

The music thumps low in the distance when you two get to a part of the lake that isn’t a public beach. It’s a Marina but not one for just anybody, the docks are mostly empty but the boats that are there look expensive, definitely not rentals.  

‘What are we doing Steve?” You whisper but it sounds more like a yell when he pulls out a keycard to open up the gate that stops you from going inside.

“My buddy has a boat, well it’s not here but his spot is, at the very end. We’d get a perfect view of Navy Pier and the fireworks. No people.” He opens the gate with a loud creak, his hand extending out for you to take. “Jus’ me and you.”

The skyline shines behind him, the wind catching in his unruly hair with the kind of smile you’d be insane to say no to. 

So you don’t.

You slide your hand into his without any hesitation, like it’s meant to be there, watching the way it disappears in his grasp.

“That’s my girl.”

The dock bobs in the small waves under your feet as he leads you out to the empty spot all the way at the end. The lake looks black, endless with the other side nowhere in sight. If you didn’t know any better you’d think it was the ocean. You’re almost scared when you get to the end and all you can see is the white tops of the water breaking against the rocks. 

The faint sounds of voices from the crowds at the pier catch in the wind, the long tourist attraction shining bright not that far from you. The ferris wheel towers above the lake, the glass enclosures catching the lights from the city while its own twinkles against the stars in the clear sky. 

“Steve, this is gorgeous.” You don’t know where to look, the man or the city.

He grins like he’s proud of himself, letting your hand go to lay the blanket down. Your eyes take in the view again while he gets situated, and you try to picture what it’s going to look like in a few minutes with all the colors in the sky. 

“Baby,”  the pet name comes out easy for him when he uses it to get your attention, like it’s what he should’ve been calling you all along. He likes the smile he gets when he says it too.

Both his hands reach out for you to take, helping you down to sit in the space between his legs. His knees lift up when you sit, while his arms wrap around your waist to pull you close. With your back to his chest, he rests his chin on your shoulder, his stubble tickling your neck when the tip of his nose runs along your jaw inhaling the powdered sugar and strawberry that still lingers on your skin.

“God, I’ve wanted you this close all day,” he confesses like it's a secret he’s exhausted from keeping. 

“Yeah?” You whisper, tilting your head to give him better access while his lips ghost against the shell of your ear, feeling the way they curve into a smile.

“You have no idea, beautiful girl.” He presses a soft kiss on your temple, the tips of his fingers exploring your rib cage and you wonder if he can feel the butterflies.

His lips drag to the apple of your cheek where he leaves another one before he pulls away, the music getting louder from the pier signaling the start of the show.

“Thank you for today.” You turn your head to look at him because you already miss him.

He tilts his chin down to meet your eyes over the slope of his nose, his knees going flat on the ground while his hand comes up to cup the side of your face. The pad of his thumb tracing the high bone of your cheek while he holds your gaze. He doesn’t care if he misses the fireworks.

“Really, I should thank you for everything you’ve done since I moved here,” you keep going with a low voice, the water lapping against the dock underneath you creating the kind of peace you don’t want to disturb.

The tip of his nose bumps against yours, quick breaths meeting in the middle. All he’d have to do is tilt his head.

“Honey, you saved me.” Steve’s brows furrow when he presses his forehead against yours. 

The sting is happy when you smile at him through glassy eyes, tilting your chin up just enough for your lips to brush.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Color flashes bright in the inky sky, it lights up Steve’s face in red’s and blue’s that sparkle against the jade and chestnut in his eyes. This time the interruption isn’t one that can stop him, closing the space he finally gets to do what he’s wanted to do since that night in his kitchen.

He’s gentle at first, his top lip brushing against your bottom and he loves the way it makes you sigh, giving into him the moment they finally connect. You turn in his lap, your hand finding its way to the back of his neck to pull him closer already needing more, your fingers curl in the soft hair at the base of it, greedy. Colors explode behind your eyes rivaling the ones above you when he dares to lick at your bottom lip, the firework display just the background to the main event when you let him in.

It’s lemonade and mint when his tongue massages slow against yours, his thumb tugging at your chin to open you up more for him. He kisses you like he’s sure of himself, taking his time so he can savor every moment of it like he could do this all night if you’d let him. He would too. The summer of unspoken words and miscommunicated feelings disappear when your lips move with the kind of desperation that comes with letting go. Giving into everything you both tried to fight while your tongues battle for dominance.

It’s too much but not enough all at once, the longer his lips move against yours it’s like they're never meant to be apart, like he didn’t know how he went this long without them.

The fireworks get louder above you signaling that you’re near the end of the show and you wish you had more time, especially when he starts kissing down your neck when he needs to catch his breath. Wet and sloppy, his lips make a sticky mess from all the gloss he collected from you, the watermelon he didn’t get to taste before making itself known. Sugary sweet like the girl in his lap. 

“I know it’s super lame to ask for a second date while on the first one, but that baseball game is next week if you want to go?” He finally speaks, breaking the silence, nudging his nose against yours when he finally stops his assault on your neck, swollen and pink, his lips shine with the evidence of you. 

“Only if you teach me the rules, or I’ll have no idea who to yell angrily at if you don’t.” You grin, nuzzling into his neck.

“Deal.” 

His chest shakes with laughter, while a hand smooths down your back pulling you even closer to him. The smoke from the fireworks still lingers in white wisps in the air. The lapping of the water falling in time with your breathing, while you and Steve enjoy the quiet, letting the crowds go home before you try and make your way back. It’s a night of hushed words, shared secrets, and stolen kisses. 

He walks you home at half past midnight, kissing you till you’re dizzy against your door with a promise of a text in the morning. He stops halfway down the stairs before jogging back up to kiss you again, this one a little tender with a whispered “Sweet dreams tough girl.” attached to it.

You don't need to wish for sweet dreams anymore, not when you have Steve.

———————————————————————

beta’d by @superblysubpar

dividers by @newlips

#my wriitng #all i really want it you series #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington series #steve harrington slow burn #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #Spotify

[apuckishwit]

"Sorry! I only speak English."

Steddie

"Sorry! I only speak English." Eddie offers what he hopes is an appropriately apologetic smile, holding his city map a little higher and offering it to the thoroughly unimpressed-looking cashier in the little shop he'd ducked into. "Train station?" he asks, racking his brain for any of the helpful phrases Gareth had tried drilling into him before the guys let him go wandering alone. "See-voo-play? Train? Uh, ho-hotel de...uh, fuck, Grand Vista Hotel?"

If he can get back to the rail station, he knows he'll be able to make it back to the hotel. The cashier tilts her head, now looking a little insulted as well as unimpressed and FUCK. It had seemed like such a romantic idea, exploring the French countryside by himself for a couple days before the show. He's been working on a few ballads for their next album...looking for ways to keep their sound fresh, keep their fans on their toes...and this had seemed like the perfect opportunity to get some inspiration. Quiet his head a little, get into a writing mood.

Only now he is lost as shit in this quaint city where there are hardly any signs in English and everybody seems to only speak French and he's supposed to be back in Paris TONIGHT and he has no idea how to fucking get there. And like, yes, he's very aware that he's living up to some very bad American stereotypes right now, but Gareth will actually kill him if he fucks this opportunity up for them (they're in motherfucking PARIS, opening for a motherfucking HUGE music festival...this is big for them) and he's frustrated enough that he thinks he might actually start crying and what is he going to DO???

"Hey man, you need some help?"

He is so startled by the thoroughly American voice behind him that he whips around, fast enough that he dislodges the baseball cap he's tucked his hair up into. He barely catches it before it goes flying, dropping his map in the process.

"Shit, sorry, let me..." The stranger shifts his basket of charmingly-wrapped cheese and wine bottles to his other arm and crouches down, gathering up the map. He looks up at Eddie as he holds it out to him and all Eddie can think is that there is a great deal he would give up in the world if he could have this vision on his knees in front of him every night.

The guy is fucking beautiful. Eddie can feel song lyrics bubbling up inside of him--an ode to those perfect lips, that creamy, mole-dotted skin, the way his jeans stretch enticingly over the muscles of his thighs as he stands, still holding the map out. Eddie's staring, but he can't help it. He takes the map in a daze. The guy cocks an eyebrow.

"Didn't mean to scare you, you just sounded like you needed help." He turns towards the cashier with a bright, charming smile, placing his purchases on the counter and starts speaking with her in what sounds like damn near perfect French. Eddie swallows hard at the lilting, beautiful language in that voice. Fuck. He guesses he has a language kink now. Who knew?

"Um, I do! Need help, that is," he blurts after the stranger has completed his transaction, whipping out a black AmEx card like it's nothing. "I need to get back to Paris tonight, but I'm, um, I'm lost as fuck." He laughs a little, rubbing the back of his neck and ruffling his now loose curls. His breath catches when the stranger follows the movement, a slight gleam of what Eddie VERY much hopes is interest lighting those honey brown eyes. Fuck, forget the French countryside--Eddie's got a goddamn MUSE standing right in front of him.

The guy smiles, just as charming, just as friendly, but is there a little bit of flirtatiousness in there as well? "Well, it just so happens my friend and I are heading into the city tonight for some music festival she's been dying to go to since, like, before we met. I'd be happy to make sure you get back."

Heaven really is smiling on Eddie today.

"Oh? I'd be...grateful," he says, taking a risk and laying on some innuendo. Wants to fist pump when the smile widens. That is definitely interest in those eyes now. The guy sticks his hand out.

"Steve," he says, his grip firm and sure when Eddie takes his hand to shake.

"Eddie," he says, and God, wandering around the French countryside by himself is the BEST idea he's ever had.

"If you are not going to buy anything else, please step away from the counter," the cashier huffs. In perfect English.

#Steddie #stranger things #my wriitng #Fic prompt

[cookie-crumblr]

Death’s Head

G/N Fast Food Worker Reader x M! Bugkeeper Yan OC

Part 2~

His Info: 🦋🕸️

Part 1

<<<Previous Part _ Next Part>>>

!!!MINORS DNI!!!

CW: G/N Reader, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, NSFW, Yandere, no body descriptions for reader, Reader Masturbation(no genitalia described), non-con voyeurism, non con somno, non con cum play, non con feeding cum, names used for reader(babe) not by ML, short part, insects

Enix’s breath hitches, what an incredible sight before him.

You, a leg draped over the back of the couch, head thrown back in a mix of frustration and pleasure. Your arm moving up and down rapidly, tiring fast, and making you groan harder. it’s the image of perfection to Enix.

“mm…!” Brows knit tightly, you’re struggling, a lot, to be honest… But you were feeling bored and now you’re determined to finish.

you stuff some fingers inside yourself and massage that spot you like so much while rubbing your front and fast. As fast as you can go.

Enix’s hand finds his own cock inside his pants, the wet patch had become cold and uncomfortable. He watches your fingers flick and squeeze inside of you while wishing that was any part of him getting to feel you around him.

He memorizes how you pleasure yourself.

He’d suck you off right now if he could. He’d worship you from the ground up. Oh and if you’d let him, he’d fuck you so hard, as if he’d die if he can’t meld his dick into your physical being. he’d strangle you and deprive you of air. He can’t help but need to hurt you, you’re just too cute! too precious! His hands burn around you, needing to wrap around and squeeze your flesh.

He’s shaking as he comes again. covering his mouth with the back of his hand as pathetic little whimpers leave him.

“Ah~!” You sigh

He wishes he had brought a jar to cum into so he could make you more sweets… Maybe he could still give you some more of him directly…

You grab a blanket from the back of the couch and lay it over yourself. Shortly after, Enix hears your soft, lulling snores.

He had saved at least a little of himself… Maybe, If he’s careful and doesn’t wake you—

He traces your body through the blanket, dizzy as he does, eyes practically spinning as he pants over your sleeping form.

He drags one hand up under the blanket up your thigh and slowly spreads your legs, and puts one back up over the couch back…

“Mmf…” you humph and mumble but keep snoring.

He slowly pulls your underwear to the side, and touches his seamen coated fingers to your sopping hole…

First, he massages just the outside, listening to your breath becoming shallower… His own still escaping him, and his nerves making him shake erratically. His fingers curl, dipping into you just barely giving you what you need.

His fingers slowly trace your hole one final time before he lets them both enter you. He smears his sperm all around your spongey interior, it feels like heaven to him!

He curls his fingers and itches that spot for you.

His breathing becomes ragged and loud, but your brows are knit as snores keep spilling from you.

He covers his mouth and pushes his fingers as deep into as possible, knuckles pressing hard into your base.

“Oh gods!”

Enix uses his free hand to quickly pulls himself free from his pants, right before he cums again, all over your belly and up the side of the couch.

He did it! he’s been accepted into your body now… He’s a part of you now.

His fingers squeeze inside of you again before he pulls them away.

He covers you back up. and heads back into the closet. satisfied with his work for now.

He continues to watch as you sleep peacefully, coated in his essence, and some even inside of you! He’s doubled over in an ecstatic high. He can barely keep himself quiet, when the front door opens… His wild eyes slowly travel to the source of the sound.

It’s your partner, Cameron.

Luckily the brute goes directly to the bathroom for a shower.

You’re still sleeping, looking so perfect for Enix.

He can’t help that his blood is boiling… He can’t stop his hand from grabbing the knife, and going into the bathroom when..

“Cameron?” He hears you stir.

He hides back in the closet, as far back as he can go so you don’t see him.

“Ew! What the fuck Cameron! you freak!!” you shout into the bathroom wiping Enix’s cum off of your lower half.

His legs clench, he knows you’d be calling him a freak… And he can’t help but feel so hot because of it.

Yes! He’s a freak! He’s your freak! He wants desperately for you to just step on him, spit on him, beat him! Give him love or give him hate, just give him something!

He’ll take care of you regardless.

He makes plenty of money with his clean up buisness… It involves lots and lots of insects, but he gets the jobs done. And his clients pay well.

He’s still holding the knife, contemplating grabbing you from behind when cameron steps out, his massive stature dwarfing you, Enix can’t possibly take both of you at once… So he waits.

“Hey, babe,” the word that came from Cameron’s vile maw makes Enix lose his mind in rage. His grip on the knife handle tightens.

“Fucking freak.” You call him and reach around him for your loofa and some soap.

“Oh c’mon, what’d i do this time?”

You’re only response is a look that sends shivers all the way down Enix’s back.

Cameron tries to touch you, and you just smack his hands away.

He’s so glad you’re rejecting that foul behemoth, in favor of him!

He’ll take such better care of you!

You won’t even have to work that shitty job anymore!

All you have to do is stay with him!

After you’re both out of the shower Cameron lays on the dirty couch and grabs his dab rig to get high.

By the next day, Enix hasn’t slept in at least two…

He’s definitely starting to smell.

It’s taken all the will power he has to take himself home…

“You’ll be fine,” He tells himself

“You can stand up for yourself, I don’t have to worry,” He repeats.

“Y/N will be fine,” he breathes the words more than says them, “Besides. I have to feed the insects.”

Beside him on the dash sits his phone, but rather than a GPS shows the five cameras he set up while you were still out. He tries not to let them distract him, but everytime there’s even slight movement his eyes are sucked to the screen. Sometimes he almost swerves off the road, but he manages to get home.

He takes a cold shower, feeds his bugs enough for a week, and packs clothes for the same amount… He then adds a few spare pairs of underwear and extra pants just in case.

He takes extra time at a few certain insect enclosures… The Brown Widow, the Tarantula Hawk and some scorpion tanks… Their venoms have a common factor, a paralytic effect, that he likes to combine and home brew with their help.

He thinks about the Tarantula Hawks for a second too long. How they sting a special prey that they deem worthy of their offspring… After the sting their prey is paralyzed, unable to reject them as they inject their offspring into their body. The offspring grows up and devours the surrogate.

He doesn’t want to kill you…

He won’t kill you.

He ca—

He has to get back to you.

He has to get you away from that oaf that lives with you.

#my oc #yandere #oc x reader #oc x you #yandere x reader #yandere x you #tw yandere #my fic #dead dove do not eat #x you #x reader #yandere oc #oc enix #bug keeping #bug keeper oc #bug keeper yandere #yandere oc x you #yandere oc x reader #my wriitng #gn reader #gn reader x yandere

[rae-gar-targaryen]

sin adorno o flores | without decoration or flowers [mickey "fanboy" garcia x fem!reader]

Summary: Some soapy, sinful sweetness in the bathtub with Fanboy. (Thanks to @fanboys-fangirl for this one).

Pairing: Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia x fem!civilian!reader (aka “Cielo;” as always no use of y/n – my readers are written ambiguous, but with a latina!reader in mind.)

Warnings: improbable bathtub shenanigans, adult content so 18+, fingering, allusions to smut, it’s unedited and probably terrible please don’t disown me.

Word Count: 1.7k of a sudsy, sexy solution to insomnia. 

--

Neither of you were immune to a sleepless night here and there.

Mickey knew you were prone to late night bouts of inspiration, slipping from your bedsheets to go draw. Prising yourself from his arms and leaving him with the lingering heat of your skin against his, dreams of sunlight and artist’s graceful hands dancing in his head.

And he would sometimes wake, the anxious itch that he had overslept or missed his alarm causing him to jolt awake at 2 a.m., damning him to spend the remainder of the witching hour tossing and turning. Restless nights when he was away were spent with wisps of you in his arms, in the form of imagination. Longing for the feel of your skin against his, despite damnable distance.

Even when he was home, sleep had a funny way of remaining elusive. Blame it on jet lag. Blame it on adrenaline. Blame it on the thoughts running a mile a minute in his head, the way the sky blurs past the canopy of his jet, an ocean of streaking, rolling blue.

Mickey's thoughts are muddled as he slips from your shared bed, careful not to disturb you as you continue to snooze on -- and were you dreaming of him? Your thoughts spinning, spilling into your pillow to piece together from dreams into shareable thoughts when you wake, an easy smile detectable on your lips through the 2 a.m. hazy spell of the room. 

Mickey creeps into the ensuite bathroom, cursing the transition of cold hardwood beneath his feet to cold tile as he shuts the door behind him and makes his way over to the tub -- cranking the brass tap and praying that the sudden rumble of water into the porcelain isn't enough to disturb your sleep.

You had a long day, after all. While Mickey played COD with Payback, you had worked. Taking nonstop calls from your project manager.

And you had still made time to make dinner. Mickey had helped, of course – If by help, you counted him slipping his hands along your waist as he crept up behind you while waiting for the pasta to boil. The warmth of his hands flooding through the thin fabric of your t-shirt, improbably unstoppable. His lips meeting your neck in a teasing peck, humming into your skin like tickling, tufty bee’s wings, as he watched you stir the noodles. 

“You’re not getting out of heating the sauce,” you admonished, turning in his arm to press a kiss to his lips, all scorn in your voice absent in favor of a lilting tease. 

“Baby,” he rumbled. “I’ll heat up every jar of alfredo I can find if you make that mean little wrinkle with your eyebrows at me again.”

You frowned.

“That’s the one,” he kissed your cheek. “Gets me hot.”  

And after dinner, you’d had to go back to your project – promises of devilish downtime with your boyfriend crumbling as the evening wore on, and the two of you had gone to bed.

Now, while he waited for the tub to fill, Mickey lit your large basin candle on the stand near the tub, the smell of cinnamon and oranges instantaneously filling his nose, washing him in warm sweetness as he dropped some of your honey-oat bath milk into the tub, watching it froth and foam. He eased himself into the tub, urging his mind to sooth as the warm water seeped and danced over his skin.

–

The slicing splash of water from the other side of the bathroom door meets your ears, stirring you from lavender hued dreams of warm smiles, tanned skin, and inky curls. Of the skimming skate of warm palms rasping up the skin of your arms and shoulders. Cupping your jaw. Of the hazy promise of a kiss, even in your dreams, as smiling lips danced along yours.

It was such a good dream.

You turned in your sheets, hands seeking hands in the darkness of your room, eager to make your dream a reality --

Only to find that his side of the bed was empty. Hm.

The tinkling trail of water dripping into the tub met your ears once more, prompting you to ease out of bed and make your way to the bathroom. 

Opening the door to be met with the sight of your beloved -- his curls, which had grown out since his return home, pulled back into a bun, a loose tendril sticking to his forehead, frizzing slightly at the steaming heat of the bathwater. 

And it was staggering, you thought, how he managed to steal the breath from your lungs each time, after all this time, like some sort of clever trick. One that he would never share. 

"A magician never reveals their secrets, Cielo," he would tease.

But he looked magical now, you thought. The golden glow of your single candle splashing across the exposed tawny skin of his arms, resting against the porcelain curve of the tub. His eyes closed and head tilted back as he rested in the warm, soapy water. 

He cracked an eye open, as though greeting you with a sleepy wink -- still cheeky, even when exhausted. His lips curling into a smile as he took in your form in the doorway. 

"Couldn't sleep?" You murmured, your footsteps silent over the tile as you made your way to the side of the tub.

Mickey groaned in response.

"Hmm, no." He opened both eyes now, sitting up and allowing the soapy bubbles that had rested there to slip their way down his chest with the movement. 

"Do you want to talk about it? Or just a restless night?" You eased, crouching beside the tub and allowing your arm to drape over the side. You trailed your fingers through the water, admiring the trails you cut through the soapy water, before glancing up to lock eyes with your beloved. 

“Just a tough night to sleep,” he shrugged. “But this is helping. You should go back to sleep, Cielo. I’ll be back in in a bit.”

“Well I’m awake now,” you huffed in mock consternation, allowing your brow to crease in the sexy little frown he had teased you for before. You reached for his hand, lacing his fingers through yours. “I suppose,” you pressed your lips to each fingertip between your words. “I could join you?” 

Mickey nodded, swallowing heavily in his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing as he took in the sight of you, standing now to step into the tub. His hand still joined with yours, he guided you into the water as you were, still clothed in your loose, soft sleeping t-shirt and white panties. 

You eased your way down with Mickey’s guidance, coming to rest between his legs, the feel of his firm chest pressing into your back through the damp shirt now sticking to your skin. You rested your head against his shoulder, sighing at the feel of being held once more.

“Relaxed?” you asked, tilting your head to look back and up at him, only to find his gaze already upon you.

His irises were the slow drip of honeyed bourbon, swirling, in the dim glow of your bathroom by candlelight as he took you in. His gaze blazing along your skin, taking in the sight of the rise and fall of your chest, your nipples visible through the thin dampness of your t-shirt as it clung to you. 

“No,” Mickey bit, reaching for you and allowing his hands to slip, obscured beneath the soapy water to toy with the elastic of your panties at your waist. Gripping your skin beneath your shirt as he allowed the water to assist, turning you in his lap to face him. Your chest now pressed against his.

Mickey’s lips met yours, a euphoric rush of sweltering sin as he nipped your lower lip. Easing your lips to part with heat and bite as he slid his tongue into your mouth, one hand at the back of your neck and one at the curve of the small of your back, keeping your hips pressed to his.

He released your lips from his, his eyes taking you in, wild and wanton –  the sections of hair dampened by his touch, your kiss-swollen lips. Your blown, doe-eyes glimmering like bottle-glass in the dim light of the bathroom. He reveled in the feel of the rise and fall of your chest as against his, the feel of your pebbled nipples. Of the now-soaked shirt clinging to your every dip and curve.

“Gonna kiss me again, Romeo?” you asked, breathlessly.

Mickey smiled, a fox’s grin. He parted his legs further, pressing them against the edges of the edges of the porcelain, allowing you to fill the space as he wrapped his arms fully around you, his hands spanning against your back. Pushing your shirt like tissue paper up and exposing more of your damp, glistening skin to his gaze as he brought his lips to yours once more. 

Using his leverage as he leaned back into the tub, bringing you with him, slipping up his body from your space between his legs. Your panties soaked through and clinging to you as you rolled your hips, begging for some friction as he continued to kiss you.

You brought your hands up the firm plane of his chest, allowing them to rest there as you parted your lips from his, taking in the glow-lit sight of your beloved below you.

And there it was again, you thought. The magician’s trick.

Mickey was still smirking at you through lust-blown eyes as one of his hands wandered from the small of your back. One hand to your neck as he kissed you again, tugging at the collar of your t-shirt, tugging it aside to press a kiss to your collarbone, a sly, sensational little thing – the feeling of his lips on your skin. The other hand moved toward your waist, inching toward your center, a thick finger snapping the waist of your panties against your slick, heated skin, the action muffled by the warm-but-cooling bathwater. He slid his down the front of your panties, a thick finger running along your wet slit, purposeful and cruel.

You tilted your head back at the feeling of his fingers at your center, sweet and firm, causing your eyes to flutter shut and your lips to part, the attention rendering the fluttering feeling between your thighs giving way to full, pulsing ache.

Mickey paused to take in the sight of you – of the bubbles trailing along your skin, glinting in the candlelight. 

The sloshing water met your ears as Mickey shifted beneath you, sitting up more fully to guide your lips into a kiss once more as he eased a finger inside of you, stroking you gently as the water continued to roll with the motion. 

“M,” you gasped, using your hands still pressed to his chest to push away, “Don’t take this the wrong way,” you rolled your hips against his hand once, a cracked-glass moan catching in your throat as the curve of his finger inside of you caused you to throb. “But we’ve gotta stop.”

Mickey’s brow creased at your words, a mild frown of his own playing on his shadow-danced features as you gently guided his hand from you with a gentle grip on his wrist. 

On shaky, Bambi legs, you made to stand – Mickey’s wrist still gripped in yours as you stepped out of the tub and onto the plush bath mat.

“Cielo, if this is some kind of game,” Mickey’s eyes followed you as you went, doing his best to keep the minor crack of desperation from his voice. You weren’t the only one aching by now, after all …

“No game,” you guided Mickey to stand in the tub, removing your grip from his to bring your hands to your own waist. With a traipsing trip, you hooked your fingers through the waistband of your panties, allowing the damp fabric to roll as you guided it down your legs to step out of them, kicking them to the side. “No trick,” you assured. 

You helped Mickey step from the tub, his body pressed to yours as you both stood on the plush rectangle of the bath mat. You glanced up at him through your lashes, guiding his hand to cup your jaw. Turning  your face slightly in his grip, you allowed your lips to follow, sucking his thumb lightly as you kept your heated gaze locked on his…

Reveling in the visible swallow in his throat at the feeling of your lips around him. In the way the candlelight made the peaks of his high cheekbones look somehow finer. As though your love was made of spun gold and the liquid aureate drip of the late-afternoon winter sun. 

“I know just how to help you sleep,” you murmured, leading him from your bathroom back to the bedroom and guiding him down onto the sheets –  dampness be damned.

Mickey had his tricks, sure. But so did you. 

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