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sincerelyneo · 6 months

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no judgement | l.mk

“i can be your lover or your shoulder to cry on, you can be whoever you like”

💿now playing: no judgement by niall horan

❯ summary: Mark’s shocked to see you at his front door step crying, but he isn’t surprised. You do this all the time - get a new boyfriend and forget about your childhood best friend. And the minute that asshole dumps you, you always want him to pick up the pieces. And he will. He always does.

❯ pairings: mark x fem!reader (brief mention of yuta)

❯ genre: friends to strangers to lovers? smut, angst

❯ words: 4.9k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, protected sex, lowkey sub!mark, hookup, rebound sex, glasses kink, big dick mark bc yes, oral sex (m receiving), nipple play, slight begging, yuta is an asshole for the plot, reader is also kinda mean, mentions of cheating (not between mark + y/n), slight unrequited love, use of ‘pretty girl’, reader uses she/her pronouns.

Mark thinks his mind is playing tricks on him. I mean - it would make sense - the last time he’d checked the clock on his desk it was 12:17 am. So, there’s no way the light knocking on his front door is really happening…right?

He tries to focus on the papers in front of him - a work assignment that was due last week that he’d already managed to get an extension on. He knows his boss will have his balls if he doesn’t have it completed and on his desk by 8:00 am sharp tomorrow (today).

However, Mark’s fears of premature insanity are put to a quick end this time when the knocking is paired with an unnecessarily loud yelling through his letter box.

“Mark Lee if you don’t open this door right now, I swear I’ll kick your ass the next time I see you.”

Now that - the sound of your voice - wasn’t in his imagination.

You bang harder, clear that you're using a fully clenched fist to make as much noise as possible. “I’m serious dude, I’ve kicked your ass before, and I’ll do it again. Now open. The. Door.”

Mark knows he should just ignore you, pretend that he’s sleeping and focus on his work; but, he hasn’t seen you in months, and you are supposed to be his best friend after all. He can’t just leave you out on the street at this hour — he won’t — what sort of friend would he be?

He rises from his desk, removes his glasses, and places them gently on the wooden surface before pinching the bridge of his nose.

You knock (pound) again.

“‘Alright alright, jeez, I’m coming,” he says, followed by a small curse as he ushers through his hallway to the front door.

As he swings the door open, he’s almost hit with a nasty sucker punch to the cheek as you simultaneously raise your fist to knock again.

“Woah there, calm down, you’re gonna get me a noise complaint,” he flinches.

“I think it’s a little too late for that,” you point to the house next door, “That woman has been glaring at me from her window since I got here.”

Mark peers out of his house, the cold night air nipping at the tips of his ears, and sees his neighbour looking down shaking her head disapprovingly at him. He raises his hand in a feeble apology, with a tight-lipped smile to ease the edge, but it doesn’t, he knows it doesn’t and he knows he’s going to have to do a lot of ass kissing in the morning.

“Well, Mrs Kim and her husband have just had a baby.”

He watches you shrug then grimace, “How was I supposed to know that? They didn’t have one the last time I was here.”

It’s now when Mark takes in the person standing in front of him, a mere silhouette of his childhood best friend. You’re barefoot, which already raises questions in his mind, and a bottle of wine is in your hand. Your hair is dishevelled and mascara smudged under the bottom of your eye – which makes sense since he can see the faded redness from where he knows you’ve been crying.

“So, you gonna let me in or what? I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

Well obviously, Mark thinks, you’re wearing nothing but a short black dress, covered by a thin sheer blazer leaving your legs completely bare in the middle of winter. Your teeth chatter and he has to suppress the smile threatening to dance on his lips because it reminds him of when the two of you used to mess around in the snow during winter break back in high school.

But he pushes those memories to the side, just like his front door, as he makes enough room for you to slip into his house. As you step inside, you waste no time making yourself comfortable - old habits die hard you guess - remembering how things used to be.

You remove the blazer you're wearing and walk over to Mark's desk, draping it over the back of his chair. Your eyes fall on the sheets of paper scattered across the surface, partially covered by his glasses. You recall that he had stopped wearing them during junior year, opting for contacts instead - a decision you found disappointing. You had always liked his glasses; they made him look kind of... cute.

“I’m not interrupting you, am I?”

Yes.

“Nah, not really,” Mark shrugs following in from behind you.

“Really?” You ask picking up a sheet of paper as you raise an eyebrow, “Marketing campaign for neo gummies, on my desk Monday 8:00 am.”

There’s a smile on your face as you read it because it’s nice to know that the Mark standing in front of you is the same as the one you grew up with. He was always the last person to hand in his college assignments, and school science projects; but don’t get it wrong, he’d always ace them.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve basically finished it.”

Mark’s lying, and you can easily tell by the way his arm reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. It's a mannerism you've become aware of, noticing how he used to do it when you asked him for his opinions on some of your uglier fashion choices throughout high school.

“You sure?” You add, “I wouldn’t want you getting in trouble with your boss or anything. Especially now that you live in this fancy-ass townhouse, your mortgage payments must be crazy.”

Mark shakes his head with a smile, reaching for his glasses and putting them back on. “They’re not that crazy…”

You give him a knowing look, his living room alone is practically the size of most apartments in the city. But you didn’t expect anything less from him, he’d always worked hard for everything he had. He graduated with flying colours, found a high-paying job after college, bought a nice house; and you’re sure that one day he’d secure himself a nice girl to live in it with him.

What you’re trying to say is Mark Lee had something to show for himself, which is more than you can say after you took a more leisurely approach to college. Mark had always worked a little too hard for your liking, or maybe you just worked a little too easy for his. Either way, he’s the one with his life put together and you’re just…standing barefoot in his living room, looking a mess, with a bottle of alcohol in your hand.

“Well then, since I’m not imposing, how ‘bout a drink?” You suggest, waving the bottle of wine in the air in an attempt to win him over and distract yourself from your own reality. As shitty as it sounds, you come to Mark to escape the chaos of your own life, so dwelling on comparisons isn't something you want to keep doing.

For Mark though, he knows he shouldn't indulge in a drink – after all, the work assignment on his desk is practically begging to be completed. But he's always struggled to say no to you, and he's well aware that you know that too. It's why you're so comfortable knocking on his door in the early hours of the morning when most of the city is asleep; you know he'll always open up for you.

And that’s exactly why he’s heading into his kitchen and rooting through his cabinets until he finds two wine glasses.

When he comes back into the living room, he finds you standing by the fireplace. It's not unusual, considering you were freezing just moments ago on his doorstep from your attire. However, what catches him off guard is that you're not warming yourself by the fire; instead, you're holding a picture – Mark's favourite one – taken by his parents on the day you got your wisdom teeth removed.

"No way you kept this," you groan, though there's a hint of laughter in your voice.

"Of course I did. You were completely out of it on anaesthesia, going on about marrying Lee Taemin," Mark replies.

You squeeze your eyes shut, remembering the way you sent the hot senior you had a crush on in your freshman year a DM in your high state. “Oh gosh, don’t remind me.”

But truthfully, that's not the sole reason Mark kept that picture, or why he still chooses to display it despite having hundreds of clearer, better ones of the two of you together. He treasures that particular photo because it was the day you told him you loved him – although you never brought it up again. Mark pins it down to you not remembering from the anaesthetic, but that photo, it’s the last slither of hope he has left.

“Well, I must say, Mark Lee, you have had quite the glow-up since your high school days,” you laugh putting the picture back on the fireplace.

Mark can't believe his cheeks are warming up as if he were that same teenager – pathetic, he thinks. And he wants to say the same about you, but he hardly recognizes you. You're a completely different person from the girl in the picture, and while he loves you, truly, it doesn't change the fact that you're a mess sitting before him.

To his defence, it's impossible not to notice it; he saw it the moment he opened the door and saw your smudged makeup and raw eyes – you’re defeated. And even though he knows precisely why, he still asks.

"What are you doing here, Y/N?"

You swallow, “Can’t I just come and see my best friend?”

“No, you can’t.”

His words carry a double-edged sword, both an accusation directed at you and an expression of the hurt he's experienced from your repeated instances of ghosting him over the last few months.

You begin pouring yourself a generous glass of the wine you brought along. If you were going to have this conversation with him, you weren't about to do it sober.

“Yuta broke up with me.”

And there it is. You always do this – get a new boyfriend and forget about your childhood best friend. And the minute the asshole in question dumps you, you always want him to pick up the pieces.

And Mark hadn't forgotten the name Yuta; in fact, it had been seared into his mind ever since you posted a picture with him on your Instagram account, looking all lovey-dovey. And then Mark had gone into full stalker mode – because of course he did – he always did. But the thing with Yuta was that he was one step ahead. One particularly awful day at work, when Mark wanted to check your account, he found himself blocked.

Honestly, Mark doesn’t blame Yuta, he’d be lying if he said all his thoughts about you were completely innocent, but you’d never blocked him over a guy before. He's accustomed to the isolation, the ghosting, and the personality changes that come with you getting a new boyfriend; but being digitally blocked by you was a new low. It's safe to say Mark had already formed his opinion about your new ex-boyfriend: he was definitely an asshole.

"Why did he break up with you?" he asks, not out of genuine concern, but rather out of selfish relief. Still, he knows it's the right thing to do.

“He found someone else, or I found him fucking someone else,” you spit bitterly, “and do you know what? That fucker didn’t even give me a chance to grab my shoes before he kicked me out.”

You take a long gulp from your glass, the liquid burning slightly as it goes down your throat, and then you flop back on the sofa. Your movements are heavy, weighed down by more than just the alcohol in your system. As you sink into the cushions, a wave of emotion crashes over you, threatening to engulf you completely. It's a moment of vulnerability that you've been holding back, and tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. You try to fight them, push down the rising tide of emotions, but it's futile.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he reassures, quickly taking a seat beside you on the sofa and resting a gentle hand on your thigh, where he begins to rub small, soothing circles into your skin, just like he used to do. "You can stay here tonight."

You groan into your hands, you can’t believe you're acting like this – pathetic – and it has you immediately defensive. “Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter, so quiet Mark almost misses it.

“Like what?”

“All judgy.”

“When have I ever judged you, Y/N?” he questions, his tone gentle, “I’m always your shoulder to cry on, we’re past the judgement stage,”

"I don't cry that much," you protest weakly.

“Well…” he starts, that teasing look in his eye you love.

In response, you push his chest playfully, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Because you’ve missed this – missed him.

And that’s the part that always stings the most: how effortlessly you two slip back into each other's company. Despite not speaking for a couple of months, it's like you didn’t lose any time. And perhaps that's why Mark finds it so easy to keep forgiving you, and why you find it so natural to slide in and out of his life and then expect him to mend your broken heart.

Mark grabs the hand you used to push his chest and looks at you seriously but gently, “Seriously, Y/N, you can just be yourself with me, just like it’s always been.”

His words resonate with you, stirring something deep within the pit of your stomach. You meet his gaze with glossy eyes, and in that moment, you feel an overwhelming surge of emotion. Without hesitation, you lean in and press your lips to his.

It's a tender kiss, soft and sweet just how you expected Mark’s lips to be. And he melts into it just as much as you do, if not more so. It’s like he craves it, like he’s hungry for it. And he is because you – his first-ever crush, the girl he’s been in love with since he could remember – is pressing her lips to his. The teenager in him is jumping up and down right now.

Just as you're about to deepen the kiss, your face bumps into his glasses, causing both of you to pause as they sit askew on his face. Mark blushes and begins to fumble with them, but just as he's about to take them off, your hand wraps around his and stops him.

“Mmmm. Keep ‘em on,” you bite your lip as you reposition them on the bridge of his nose. “I like them.”

“I didn't realize you had a glasses kink,” he teases.

“Neither did I...just like them on you.”

That triggers something inside of him because his tongue lightly sweeps over your bottom lip where he nips it with his teeth. One of his hands reaches up to cup the nape of your neck; the other finds its way to the hem of your dress, intrusive fingers brushing over your bare skin, making you gasp.

He stills.

Did he just fuck this up? Was he reading it wrong?

There’s a fraction of a beat where you just breathe against him, and Mark feels a twinge of self-consciousness. And just when he’s about to apologise, you dive into him and all reservations are thrown out the window as you give him the green light.

His hand wraps around your waist and he pulls you over his lap to straddle him. It gives him all the access he needs to grab your thighs and lift you up as he stands. He keeps your lips connected as he wraps your legs around his waist, pressing into you just enough to feel the swelling in his crotch.

If you thought he was hungry for it before, now he’s starving.

Your arms wrap around his neck, your breasts crushing against his chest. Your hips start to move against him without any control, almost like it’s instinctual. You suck on his tongue and he groans. And God if it isn’t the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard.

“You feel so fucking good, Y/N,” he says into your mouth, “Are we really doing this?”

You smile against his lips, “We’re doing this.”

You both take that as a confirmation to go harder, kissing like you’ve been starved of each other for years, and Mark supposes you have. His body moulds to yours and you feel his hand wander to your ass making your dress lift as he carries you out of the living room.

When you see him heading for the staircase you know exactly where his head is at, and when he opens his bedroom door with you still in his arms, you feel wetness pool right between your legs.

He drops you on the bed so gently and carefully not to hurt you – because even though he’s so goddamn horny right now – he’s still Mark. When your back hits the whites of his sheets it gives you a moment to look at him, his chest is heaving, lips swollen and cheeks flush. His hair is tousled and it makes your blood run cold.

He looks like pure sex. Hot sex. Good, filthy, all-night-long sex. And you want him, more than you’ve ever wanted any man before in your life.

Mark kneels on the bed in the space between your legs, coming close enough to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, and you wonder if he sees you the same way you see him right now. He brushes your cheek gently with his thumb and you lean into his caress and plant a small kiss against his palm.

His lips meet yours again as his hands slip between you two. They glide up your leg, to your stomach to under your dress, where he finds you not wearing a bra as your nipples pebble under his rough hands.

Instinctively, your arms stretch over your head, reluctantly breaking the kiss so he can tug the material off and over you, lips crashing back together as you roll your hips into his with desperation and need.

Mark groans when he pulls away to look at your naked chest in front of him, it’s a picture he thinks. One that needs to be hung up in an art gallery or some shit – actually now that he thinks about it – he hates the idea of you being on display like that for someone else.

His fingers wind themselves in your hair, a delightful shiver skittering along your body as you soften into his touch. You can’t help but grin suggestively as you look him in the eyes, top teeth holding down on your lower lip as your hands creep low enough to hook into the band of his pyjama bottoms.

Mark practically whimpers as your hand teases at the elastic, “Please.”

The plea has you smiling wider, knowing exactly what he wants. You remove his bottoms without a second thought, the same time he strips from his t-shirt. His cock springs free, thick and long and straining so eagerly for you.

You get a thrill knowing you’re the one who’s made him this hard and that makes you want to please him badly. So you do, taking control and flipping him over to be underneath you. He gasps at the motion and then he almost cums untouched at the sight of you kneeling between his legs, lowering yourself down just enough to kiss the tip of his cock.

The teasing touch sends a chill right through him. He leans back on his arms just to see you, eyebrows strained as he concentrates, glasses slightly fogged – he wants to remember exactly what you look like like this. You’re intoxicating, strong enough for him to get drunk on.

“So pretty,” he murmurs under a soft breath and you blush.

You lick your lips, focusing on his cock, flattening your tongue from the base all the way up to his head, where the slit is leaking with pre-cum. You hear him suck in a breath and it makes you smile.

You like knowing he’s needy, teasing him to ignite small reactions, but continuing to do so would only be hell for you; because right now you want nothing more than to suck on his cock like it’s the last thing you’ll ever taste.

You wrap your hand around his shaft and don’t waste another second before your mouth is sinking to suck on him. You manage all you can – there’s a lot of him – and use your fingers to move up the length you don’t swallow, stroking him painstakingly slow.

As you kiss and lick at him, Mark is going mad because it’s your mouth. Your mouth is wet and hot and currently wrapped around him good enough that his thighs have started trembling.

It’s not long before his hands find your hair and he helps you to slide more of his cock inside, knowing exactly when to stop instead of making you take too much. But he’s big and thick and your mouth barely covers him – which he hates – it feels like a reminder that he’s not made for you.

The thought has him letting out a growl, which catches you by surprise from the whimpering mess he was seconds ago. The grip he has on your hair tightens.

“Fuck, Y/N, suck me harder…” The dirty words sound dominant at first, but they trail off as you continue sucking on him, a lot like you’re melting him, and you fucking love that idea.

The thought of having him be so desperate for you is making you wetter and needier. And it’s that need that has you reaching up to graze his nipples with your fingers. Mark finds the chill of your cold digits distinctive, responding with a mewl that rings between the walls of his room.

You can't believe such a small touch makes him so…responsive.

Every tug on his sensitive peak is enough to pull a sound from his pink lips, enough to make him writhe his hips and edge his cock further into your mouth.

You twist and pinch and watch as Mark’s face twists in the feeling, mouth dropping open to release a stuttered breath. It’s so sensual - so carnal.

You pull off his cock with a sickening pop, looking up at him with spit-covered lips. “Who would have guessed your nipples would be so sensitive?”

Your hand stays at a steady pace, stroking him slowly as you speak. Mark shivers from the loss of your warm mouth around him, but there’s still a part of him that’s glad you stopped. But not because he doesn’t want this — he does, so badly — but because he was starting to feel his cock’s overwhelming urge to twitch with his orgasm. And there was no fucking way he was going to cum before he’d even buried himself inside you.

In a cooling breath, he replies, “Only sensitive for you.”

Warmth flushes on your face, and the arousal soaking between your legs begs to soak his cock. He’s so cute when he is all red-faced and whiny, eyes closed tightly as his brows knit together. And you suppose his own state of neediness triggers yours.

“Want you inside of me now, Mark,” you pant, “Need it.”

“Fuck~” his voice drips like honey as he moans, hands moving to grab at your waist to flip you under him.

You push yourself further up the bed and he crawls after you. It’s only now he realises the lace barrier still on your skin standing between you and his cock. Your panties are dark blue and they look so pretty against your skin.

He leans down, kissing the inside of your knee, letting his fingers slip up your ankle to cradle your smooth calf.

“Sometime tonight,” you tease.

But Mark likes to go slow, he likes to savour in your sight, study your body to remember every detail for his next late-night fantasy. He wants to bask in you being so bare and so ready for him — not your ex-boyfriend — him.

He skims his hands further up your bare legs until he slides your underwear down and disregards them somewhere on the floor. Then, he wraps his arms around you, holding you close, pressing your chests together skin to skin. He likes it like that — being so close and so intimate with you that it's almost raw.

He reaches into his nightstand and pulls out a condom. You don’t take your eyes off him once as he rips it open with his teeth and rolls it down the entirety of his length. Heat pools in your stomach because this is happening — and that makes your pussy throb.

He keeps his eyes on yours as he lines himself up with your entrance, pushing inside of you, breathless. You can’t help but sink your head back into the mattress, eyes closing.

“Eyes open.”

You lazily blink them open.

“Eyes always on me pretty girl,” he demands, thrusting into you.

You’ve never felt anything like him. You feel so full. He’s everywhere. Even your lungs and head are filled with him.

“Taking me so well pretty,” he groans.

His praise has you gushing, whining with the feeling of him stuffing you. It’s not awkward like the first time having sex with someone can be. It feels like you’ve always been doing this.

“You’re okay?” he asks.

He sounds calm, but you can see the restraint that he’s barely holding on to by the tightening in his jaw, and the tension in his brow.

“More than okay. Just fuck me, Mark. Please.”

He brushes his lips over yours and whispers, “Oh I plan to.”

You smile, but it’s quickly gone as he starts to move, fucking you slowly, then quicker and quicker, and harder and faster. The headboard is banging against the wall, surely denting it, and you know if the neighbours weren’t already pissed about your knocking they’d definitely be pissed now.

And selfishly, you can’t find it in you to give a shit because he’s like a machine, working thrusts into you at all the right angles to elicit sweet moans from your lips.

You’re panting and groaning like a bitch in heat. Mind fuzzy with euphoria as your flesh slaps loudly together. If college you knew that Mark Lee, your best friend, was about to give you an orgasm she would have laughed in your face.

But, God, the man can fuck.

He urges you onto his cock harder, clit rubbing against his pelvic bone, each time your hips connected in powerful thrusts.

“Oh God, Mark,” you try your best to keep your eyes open, but the pleasure is threatening to consume you.

“That’s it. Cum on my cock pretty girl. I won’t come until you do.”

The idea makes you want to hold off forever, let him fuck you for hours just to bask in the feeling of your closeness. However, your body disagrees with that sentiment, and suddenly you’re cumming hard.

“Shit,” he hisses, feeling your walls flutter around his length.

Mark doesn’t slow down though, he fucks you through your orgasm like a madman, hammering deep to the hilt to chase his high.

“I’m gonna cum, Y/N…shit…fuck…” He growls a sound so erotic in your ear, you feel like you might cum again.

He sags onto you, his body heavy but not crushing, his skin warm against yours. You touch your fingers to his cheek.

“I don’t think I can move,” he says, breathless.

“So, don’t.”

The tips of Mark’s ears turn red at the suggestion, but eventually, he figures he needs to move — much to his dismay. He eases out of you, catching hold of the condom and pulling it off his cock. He rolls off of you and out of bed to put it in the trash before he’s back next to you, arms engulfing you in a hug.

You look up at him and he presses a kiss on your lips before pulling back. “Are you staying?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I asked first.” He says.

“I’ll stay if you want me to stay.”

Liar.

Mark swallows, “Okay well, I’ll get us breakfast in the morning then, yeah?”

He says it but he knows come the morning you’ll have slipped out in the middle of the night because this isn’t the first time he’s had sex with you.

Mark has always been your rebound. Yes, he’s your best friend, but he’s also your favourite hookup call when your boyfriend’s being an asshole.

And he knew that when he first heard you knocking on his front door. He knows you'll never change – and strangely, he's content with that, he’s accepted it. Because even though he knows you'll move on again, he doesn't mind keeping your secrets safe until the next time when you want a man to heal your heart.

Because Mark will settle for being a pity fuck if it means he gets to be a constant in your life.

#nct smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #mark lee smut #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct 127 x reader #mark lee x reader #mark lee imagines #nct imagines #nct hard hours #kpop smut #nct oneshot

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hitlikehammers · 7 months

Text

take the call

rating: t ♥️ cw: off-screen car accident (but EVERYTHING IS FINE), hurt/comfort, softness ♥️ tags: established relationship, married steddie, hurt/comfort, rockstar Eddie/teacher Steve, Steve's heart of gold is very possibly going to be Eddie's undoing one of these days, well-worn-soul-deep love

for @steddielovemonth day eighteen: Love is terrifying (@starryeyedjanai)

set in the 00s, with Steve and Eddie having two decades of loving under their belts, now ♥️

Eddie isn’t expecting a call, any call, really; he’s in the studio, like, if he gets a call someone takes a message or whatever.

And in fairness, Eddie doesn’t get the call.

He gets a message.

“Eddie?”

He rolls his eyes kinda automatically, kinda thoughtlessly at the cut of the audio track to let the mic system override from outside the booth.

“Okay, so, like, don’t freak out.”

He’s not thoughtless at all about the way he clocks the tension in Jeff’s voice even across the speaker system; it’s entirely automatic how he freezes, how he looks up and locks eyes with his friend through the glass and sucks in a sharp breath for the look on his face: pained.

Maybe, maybe scared.

Eddie’s heart drops somewhere near his knees, but beats there so fucking hard.

“This lady called, and she said she found Lainie’s card inside the case of a phone she picked up,” and okay, okay, that’s…that’s random but maybe it’s about their assistance manger, who just got her contract confirmed and got fancy new business cards for it and has been handing them out to everybody she sees, even gave Eddie extras to pass on to Steve, maybe he can share them at the school as if anyone at even a hoity-toity private 6-through-12 school would have a reason for a card from a record label but she’s excited, and Eddie’s excited for her, and Steve loves the people Eddie works with, and not just because they’re attached to Eddie and he loves the things that come with Eddie as a given—but that’s also true, and always has been, but—

“She, um,” Jeff’s voice is filtering through again, and Eddie clocks that there’s…there’s something more to it, more than his brain’s willing to grasp just yet but his body’s apparently picked up on because he thinks the slightest breeze would knock him over and shatter him into pieces, for the tightness in his body; he’s not focused enough to count the separate beats of his pulse but he can tell it’s quick enough already, still weighed down near his feet, that counting would be kinda hard, would take effort:

“She found the phone at a car crash?”

So: the more-to-it. The thing his body already knew.

Eddie…Eddie doesn’t even need to know what comes next to know he cannot fucking breathe.

“Sounded kinda like, uh, like it could have been Steve’s phone,” Jeff is trying to tell him, and part of Eddie hears it, part of him does but most of him is white noise, is pins-and-needles, is underwater and drowning and not even fucking thinking of fighting the pull because he can’t, he’s heavy at the legs and his lungs are seizing and there’s, he’s—

“Because it, umm, she found the card because the case was broken?” and just last night Eddie’d watched Steve pop off the case and slide the cards behind with a laugh and a promise to take them with him not today—because it’s one of those federal holidays that only schools notice happening, like the post office is still open—but definitely tomorrow, never knew which of the kiddos at the Rich People School might be a budding metalhead underneath their uniforms—

“And she said the case was, um, like bright—“

Green.

Electric lime neon fuckin’ green because after three times of Eddie taking Steve’s phone by accident he’d come home with that endearing eyesore, and a kiss to the bridge of Eddie’s nose and a soft hard to confuse that, babe nuzzled against him and—

“It could maybe have just been a coincide—“ Jeff’s talking but Eddie can’t fucking hear it, not really, not when he’s letting the door slam behind him and ripping off his headphones to drop to the groundnut when he’s gasping hard enough to crack a rib, not when the floor’s gone out from underneath him and his vision’s tunneled and nothing seems real, and everything feels too real, every world ending possibility shuddering through his foggy mind alongside every heartbreakingly perfect memory blossoming up unbidden just to serve as a reminder, an underscoring of what he stands to lose, what maybe he’s already fucking lost—

He meets Jeff’s eyes without the glass between them as he grabs his keys from his jacket on the couch and makes himself take the breath that’ll fuel the voice, that’ll give him words, just one word, he needs, he fucking needs—

“Where?”

_______________________

Eddie shouldn’t have driven himself, he knows that.

Like, on some other plane of existing, he’s sure he knows that.

But on this plane, he rips past his bandmates, all the extra people with them for recording, jams the close-door button before anyone can follow him into the elevator because he happens to know this one’s quicker than the stairs even on a good day, and this—

Eddie’s shaking so goddamn hard he can barely get one foot in front of the other, he really doesn’t think he can manage ten fucking flights of steps.

He burns rubber on the way out of the parking lot, and the nearest hospital to where Steve would have been—on his day off, because holiday, he’d have bene close to home, he mentioned food shopping, he thought he might make stir-fry but he wasn’t sure, they hadn’t made a vegetable haul from the Asian market downtown in a couple weeks and they need to, they need to but Steve wasn’t feeling like going on his own, because he might not say it out loud but they both know he enjoys Eddie’s excitability when new items hit the shelves and he can’t read the language they’re labelled in so he guesses frantically until the man who owns the place takes pity, only laughs a little and explains what this spice is for, or that that crazy looking thing’s a fruit, and they ultimately buy whatever it is because Eddie wants to try it now, because he got invested and—

Eddie should pull off the fucking road; his head’s a mess, he can’t see for the way his eyes are welling, streaming, the way he’s shaking with sobs that don’t exactly burst forth, just leak from his lashes as he trembles horrifically because…

Because they were maybe gonna have stir-fry, tonight. Even without the good vegetables.

They were—

Eddie thinks it’s fucking cruel, kind of unbearably so, that his brain’s dead-set on still processing the mundane little perfections of his life as if every single one of them might be dashed to pieces, might be hanging by a thread, might be entirely fucking gone, and he, he…

He can’t. He just, he fucking can’t.

Because that the thing, isn’t it: the scenarios he’s imagining aren’t hypothetical—they’re all memories, too. Steve bloodied, Steve bruised, Steve’s bones broken and flesh torn. Steve still, too still; Steve’s skin under Eddie’s hands when he can’t find a pulse because Eddie’s shaking, same as now how Eddie is fucking shaking—

Eddie knows all those things. They’re so long ago, now, so distant but his fucking cells will never forget every single moment he saw the man he loves bigger than his own goddamn life hurt like that; be risked like that. Be lost like—

And that’s the difference. That’s what is unravelling him as he speeds through the streets quicker than he should, probably breaking more laws than he could count and definitely more than he gives a shit to notice: it’s the losing.

Because the first times, even the times that came after Steve was his: they didn’t come with the loss of so much time, so much of themselves, so much glorious life that they’d built between them, the struggles and the triumphs, the hard choices and the easy things that weren’t choices at all: everything hand-in-hand, every night spent curled around each other, all of them, all of him, inside that chest since he was twenty fucking year old, and Eddie doesn’t just not know how to be outside of what he shares with Steve.

Eddie doesn’t think his own heart can survive, if if Steve’s isn’t next to him.

Eddie’s damn fucking sure no part of him would want to.

It takes him a minute to steady himself enough to get out of the car, once he finally reaches the ER. Steady his body, but more his fucking soul because the whole of him is shaking, is crying out, is wailing unfettered and breaking because he’s terrified, he is goddamn terrified of what he’s going to find when he walks in but he has to, he has to because whatever awaits him, that’s his husband, that is the love of his whole goddamn life and if the worst is going to come for him he’ll face it like he’s faced everything else: at Steve Harrington’s side.

If the worst comes for one of them, then it came for them both.

So he’s stumbling, shuddering, but resolute in his chest when he flies through the sliding doors, eyes still swimming, unfocused but he makes himself take a deep breath—it takes a few tries, and he doesn’t quite succeed, it’s still a tremorous thing and his lungs are still in revolt, but it’s something, and he’ll take something; he has to to take something—

“Eddie?”

He almost doesn’t register it, the voice from the sick-spiral of his memories, all the love on the table to be forfeit—

He almost doesn’t register that his name’s not coming from inside his head.

“Oh my god, what happened?” There’s a flurry over motion in front of him, and he blinks rapidly to try and pin it down because it looks familiar, it smells familiar, it aches familiar in his chest but:

“What is it, what’s wrong?” and fuck, it feels familiar when a hand reaches for his cheek where it’s still damp, tacky for the tears; when another hand slides itself into Eddie’s and draws him in, a hand that fits like no other hand in this world or any other, ever—

“Are you okay?”

And the hand on his cheek turns him and follows his eyes and it takes that long for him to clear his vision properly, but now he’s just blinking so much because that, that can’t be, even if it feels in every goddamn way like it really is, but it can’t…

It can’t be Steve here, whole and on his feet and looking at Eddie with so much worry, so much heart as he tilts Eddie’s chin a little this way, that way, squints to try and see…something.

Eddie’s breath tears out of him in a wet fucking gasp;

“Am I okay?”

Because Eddie’s really not the one to fucking worry about here, Steve had—

“You’re in a hospital, Eds, that’s not usually where you go when you’re okay,” Steve’s eyes widen as he he slides both hands now to Steve’s head, holding him still and assessing…something, maybe, Jesus: Eddie doesn’t know, but he does know that the touch on him now makes his…makes his heart feel safe and he’d been fucking terrified he’d never feel that again.

“Fuck, what happened, baby, did you hit your,” and fingers are dancing gentle across points on Eddie’s skull, so delicate and careful and he can’t fucking help it—

“Are you real?”

Because he needs to know, he needs to know with words because this feels…this feels right and warm and impossible but also true, so.

He needs to know. “Am I…?” Steve’s lips part and his brow furrows before his jaw clenches in that dependable way he has of squaring up to the monster at hand, no matter the kind.

“Shit,” he breathes out slow but then he nods: resolved; “shit, okay. Okay, let’s find—“

“You are real,” and it turns out Eddie didn’t actually need him to say it. He just needed to see the flash in Steve’s eyes when he was ready to take on the world for the sake of love, the way he positions himself a little different in front of Eddie as he keeps one hand at Eddie’s cheek but then slides to brace more at his neck, purposeful, like he’s splinting a wound or something, and then a hand grabs for Eddie’s own again and: oh.

Oh yes. That is Steve Harrington, living and breathing and solid and real, because no one else protects like this.

No one.

Eddie’s heart stumbles, jackrabbits around a little, almost like a reset: like it knows as the implications sink in to Eddie’s mind that it’s not destined to break anymore.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees too easily, distracted as he tugs the gentlest bit at Eddie’s hand, toward the nurse’s station; “yeah, and we should—“

“And you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Steve shrugs it off, but Eddie…Eddie’s vision is clearing. His pulse is settling. He can hear above the static and his limbs are getting lighter.

“You’re one-hundred-percent okay, not a scratch on you, not a single thing wrong,” he needs to make sure, like, so fucking sure.

“I am fine, Eddie,” Steve turns to look him straight on, exasperated and anxious and vibrant with it, so alive in it; “but you’re—“

Eddie’s hand moves almost without his conscious consent, definitely without a plan to grab at Steve’s arm and pinch his skin because Eddie was vaguely toying with the idea of pinches himself, and maybe with poking Steve a few extra times to make sure he didn’t disappear, but apparently his brain landed on: pinch Steve, avoid confirmation bias if your head wants to lie enough to make him real just you you, because you need him that bad.

Steve startles, and turns those beautiful brilliant bronze eyes on Eddie, stretches wide as he gapes a little at his husband.

Eddie…Eddie is here, in front of his living-breathing-gorgeously-aghast husband.

“Okay, oww,” Steve drops Eddie’s hand and pulls back, leaving Eddie’s head to its own devices as he looks a little shocked, shooting just shy of a glare Eddie’s way: full of questions.

Eddie—now that the biggest one’s solved, and solved so perfect, so gentle and sure and he doesn’t have to bury the soul of him; he doesn’t have to bury his soul—but now?

Eddie also has some fucking questions.

“Where’s your phone?” seems the most relevant to start with.

Steve blinks, frowns a little:

“It got lost in the crash—“

“Crash?” Eddie’s tone pitches up to squeak a little because: Steve’s here and whole in from of him, yes. But fuck, there was still a crash? He was—

“Not mine, my car’s still parked at fucking Jiffy Lube,” Steve adds with a huff; “I saw it happen so I stopped and—“

And Eddie knows his husband. He knows his husband better than he knows himself, and Eddie’s kinda made it a point of pride for how self-aware he’s grown to be these days, in living this life and loving Steve beyond the bounds of living at all. But he knows his Steve, and so he knows damn well what happened.

Car runs into car. Steve sees it and jumps out to help. Because Steve Harrington is a protector. Steve Harrington is a helper. Steve Harrington is the best man Eddie’s ever known.

Soon as he jumped into the fray, he wouldn’t have thought once about a fucking phone.

And Eddie, Eddie just, he needs to—

He grabs Steve’s hands and wraps them around his own waist, lets them go and then pulls Steve tight to his chest and buries his face in Steve’s shoulder as Eddie winds his way around his husband, feels him breathing, feels the tickle of his hair.

“You’re gonna kill me, Stevie,” Eddie whimpers, that going tight now all over again:

“You’ve got the biggest heart of fucking gold the world’s ever seen,” he moans into Steve’s collar; “and you’re going to fucking kill me.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, but his hands move up to rub Eddie’s back, rote and learned and he might not wholly get, yet, what Eddie’s putting together, and where Eddie’s head’s been, what his heart’s been through, but the first thing he knows, and does like clockwork, is to love of his partner, to soothe him even if he doesn’t know what for.

“Someone found your phone, and they, umm,” Eddie licks his lips, takes a suffering breath and tries to straighten but he’s not ready, not yet: he slumps right back onto Steve’s shoulder:

“They called the studio.”

“Shit,” Steve hisses, bunches his hands in Eddie’s shirt and draws him tighter to his chest: “shit, they interrupted,” and oh, fuck no, fuck regretting the interruption—

“They told me they found it at a crash site,” Eddie grits out, the hurt of it still raw, like just saying the words no matter where they landed in trust, just recalling those minutes that felt like full nightmarish lifetimes, reopens the tender wounds it’d left in hims; “they found it with the case broken,” and Steve leans back, then, eyes saucers as he meets Eddie’s gaze, breath catches harsh.

“Oh,” Steve whispers, eyes darting back and forth between Eddie’s, taking the whole of him in and then he exhales so heavy:

“Oh, babe,” he murmurs, fucking mournful before he takes his hands and links them behind the base of Eddies’ skull and draws him in to the center of his chest, envelopes him there whole: “come here.”

And Eddie falls into that chest—rising-falling-living—he falls into Steve so fucking fast

“I am totally fine, I promise you,” Steve breathes again Eddie’s ear, close and dear and real: “car’s fine—“

“I don’t fucking care about the car—“ Eddie tenses up, appalled at the implication that he gave one single goddamn thought to the car— “No, like, as proof,” Steve’s quick to correct him, to ease the hackles on him; “I wasn’t in the crash, but it was pretty bad and,” Steve shrugs a little then adds soft: “I keep my first aid certs up to date for a reason, I figure, right?”

Jesus; yes, okay. Steve’s savior complex had largely mellowed to a non-interdimensional-threat level with time but he’s meticulous about keeping every skillset he’d gone out of his way to learn from professionals before they’d gone up against the Upside Down for the last time sharp and at the ready for anything: even now.

Fuck, but this beautiful, brilliant, impossible man.

“I was helping, best I could, until the EMTs got there,” Steve tells him softly, fills in the gaps because he knows Eddie’s mind, all the pictures it paints for itself, and in times like these it’s always the worst possible pictures—he knows Eddie needs the slate wiped clean with the truths, blessedly softer, in this:

“Police wanted me to stick around for a statement but the girl who was driving the first car, she was so panicked and she didn’t want to go alone so, umm,” Steve huffs a little, shifts against Eddie gentle and solid and here: “she said she knew me, she was pretty desperate I think, so I rode here with her,” and of course he did, of course he did because he’s Steve; “now I’m just waiting to make sure she gets out of surgery okay,” he squeezes Eddie then, like a punctuation, and it feels so, so fucking good; “also still have to give the goddamn statement, but fuck knows that’s just hurry-up-and-wait,” he turns, and he kisses Eddie’s hair then and Eddie feels something snap in him, give way and the lingering tension spill from his frame as he gasp a little on a breathy exhale:

“I love you so much,” and he does, god: god, but how much he loves this man.

“I love you too, baby,” Steve mouths against his head and Eddie closes his eyes and nuzzles his a little closer as he puts it into words, because it feels like he needs to, it feels like in Steve’s arms like this, pressed up close to him to feel this undeniable life in him: it feels like the coast is clear enough to risk it, to confess:

“I was so fucking scared,” and the words only break a little, and that’s more than Eddie honestly expected.

“I am so sorry,” Steve bows his chin down to graze lips against Eddie’s hairline, delicate and intimate and shivery, trembly down Eddie’s spin for the best of reasons, now.

“Not your fault,” Eddie’s quite to counter, to make clear, because: “shit, you didn’t do anything, I just…”

Eddie makes himself pull back and meet Steve’s eyes, reaches out to frame his face, dear and desperate:

“I can’t lose you,” he moans a little, begs a little, says it with a bare line of something primal echoing in it, scraped straight from his bones: “I cannot ever lose you.”

“I know,” Steve turns and kisses one of his palms, and those two words hold the promise of five more they’ve said so many times, and held so true between them for so many year, through so fucking much:

It’s the same for me.

And to be loved the same as he loves is a fucking privilege; it’s heady and it’s wonderful and Eddie needs it, needs Steve, more than goddamn air.

“Sit with me?” Steve covers Eddie’s hands with his at his cheeks, and nods a little toward the blessedly-quiet collection of chairs by the windows; “while I wait?”

“Nowhere else I’d go,” Eddie says it like the given that it is, and pulls Steve close to kiss him full, to press his lips to Steve’s and drink his warmth, his breath, to feel it sink int past his heart and pump through his veins:

“Not ever, Stevie,” he speaks against Steve’s lips, all of him in it, every vow inside it:

“Not ever.”

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #hurt/comfort #established relationship #established steddie #married steddie #rockstar eddie munson #teacher steve harrington #rockstar husbands #steve harrington's heart of gold #(will quite possibly be the death of his husband holy FUCK)#criminal levels of softness #steddielovemonth #love is terrifying #these two boys have been together for DECADES at this point and it FUCKING SHOWS #old married couple!steddie #stranger things

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the-record · 2 years

Text

you’re on your own kid

steve harrington x reader

from sprinkler splashes,

“steve! stop! please, i surrender!” you squealed as he sprayed you directly with the hose, soaking entirely.

“oh yeah? you surrender?” he teases, aiming at your face.

you nod, screaming and giggling, hunching over and panting when he relents. he opens his arms for a hug, pulling you in and kissing your head in apology, still laughing to himself.

you just shake your head, ducking out from under his arms to get freezing cold payback.

“oh you’re so gonna regret that!” he screams as he chases you once more.

to fireplace ashes

christmas was always hard for steve, but luckily he had you to spend it with. sitting infront of his parents huge fireplace. a present behind both of your backs and smiles on your faces.

the fire crackled as you fought for who got to open first, him winning and your present forced into your lap.

a sweater you’d stole from him countless times and some records to add to your collection. you kissed him silly before sitting back on your heels and gently placing the wrapped box in-front him.

he smiled softly, nervous, before carefully taking off the wrapping.

a canon camera.

“it’s so when we go off to college, you can take pictures so i can see my boy.”

his eyes glossed over and he pulled you into him, laying on floor.

christmas station on the radio and ashes beside your heads.

i waited ages to see you there

red cup in hand, corner holding you away from the party.

he promised he’d come find you.

2 hours ago.

you’d began to give up searching for him when you spotted him in the kitchen, surrounded by his friends.

you squeezed through, pushing past couples and rowdy friends. you screamed his name, trying to get his attention over the loud music. instead he and his friends turned away, heading outside, seemingly not hearing you.

you huffed, trying to get past but being pushed back into a corner.

god you hated these parties.

i searched the party of better bodies

finally getting through the house and out the front you sighed, patting you pockets for keys when you remembered steve had them.

one loud sigh and you were searching for him in the backyard.

you saw him just outside the pool, cigarette between his lips and drink in hand.

“steve, can we go home?” you had his hand in yours, lips by his ear so he would understand you.

but he shook you off, laughing loudly.

“god, why are you so clingy? go get a drink or something and chill out for once in your life.” it felt harsh, kick in the gut as his friends laughed.

“just give me the keys.” he dropped them in your hands, his friends ‘whispering’ when you walked away.

“why are you even dating her?”

“nancy is so much hotter.”

“so uptight, you should totally dump her.”

and to hear him not say a thing, watching as you pulled away.

just to learn that you never cared.

#! 12:00 sharp !#! 13 sleepless nights !#steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x gn!reader

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wosoluver · 6 months

Note

Can you do a misa x reader where it's readers birthday?

Birthday girl

Misa Rodríguez x reader

Misa Rodriguez Masterlist

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

It was your birthday week. You were excited to spend your first birthday with your girlfriend and in Madrid. You had moved there months ago.

But every time Misa brought it up, your smile didn't reach your eyes, and you would somehow shut down the conversation. She knew something was wrong, you never shut up about how much you love to celebrate your birthday, and now that it was almost here, you didn't even bother to plan anything.

You had opened up to her, saying how weird it would be to not have your sisters or friends from back home with you. The step to move to Madrid had been a little tough on you, but you knew the importance of becoming more independent and being closer to great job opportunities. She understood how you felt, but she had set her mind into planning the best birthday possible, you deserved more than anyone to have a special day.

"Sofie, have you ordered the cake yet?" - Misa as usual, was taking matters very seriously, like she always did when it came to basically anything she felt like she had to succeed in.

"Calm down I got it, I'll order today" - saying quickly into the phone.

"You haven't yet!?" - annoyed at her friend for struggling at her only task.

"You know, when you said we were throwing a party I thought we were going clubbing or something."

"Your kidding right? I'm already struggling thinking on how I'm going to get her to Raso's apartment for the dinner. And you know she isn't really into people that are not her friends. She wouldn't stand 10 minutes inside a club."

"Right. It's fine, don't worry, we still got like 2 days."

"Two days go by like the blink of an eye"

and it did.

Misa's pov

Okay. It's 7:30 am. I have to get to practice by 8:00 sharp. Leave at 12:00, stop by to get some flowers and a café con leche from her favorite coffee shop. Should be fine. She should be waking up late anyway.

Stoping by the flower shop, I settled for a classic red rose bouquet. Besides being your favorite, they were the prettiest they had. Got the coffee and made my way home.

As soon as I opened the door I saw her laying on the couch, watching yet another episode of her comfort show.

"Good morning mi amor, these are for you..." - handing the bouquet in front of her - "Feliz Cumpleaños baby"

She seemed on a better mood than expected, taking into consideration the last couple of days.

"Buenos dias, guapa!" - jumping up from the couch and giving me a short kiss, taking the roses from my hands - "Thank you so much amor! And coffee?!? God I love you."

"You seem in a good mood, care to share why? Besides the obvious reason?" - looking down at her big smile.

"I sorry I didn't seem so excited the last couple of days, but it wouldn't be fair to myself or to you, to not let myself celebrate right? It's the first birthday I get to spend with you Misa!"

"Only the first of many."

"Kinda cheesy." - she says walking into the kitchen to set up the flowers in a vase.

"Excuse me? Can I be romantic to my girlfriend without being judged?!" - As I followed.

"Okay since I didn't plan anything before hand, can we do whatever I want today?"

"Yes, what would that be?"

"Shower and then lunch maybe?"

"Shower and lunch it is. I'll get the shower running while you finish it up here" - A weight left my shoulders when I realized it would be no trouble getting her out of the house.

After lunch we headed back home, the car ride was quiet and peaceful, and I decided it would be a good time to bring up we had plans.

"So... Since you were kind of down this week, I decided upon making plans for you. I mean us-" but I was quickly cut off.

"Misa, birthday sex doesn't need to be planned, it's kind of mandatory"

"Well yes but, I actually planned something, for tonight!"

"You did?! And you were able to keep it a secret? Wow, you really need to be praised then." - You said it half joking.

Back to the apartment.

"Alright so we have some free time until we need to start getting ready to go..." - I let her know while unlocking the door.

"I have the perfect idea to keep us busy till then..."

reader's pov

Standing both at someone's door, ready for whatever this was, you were excited to say the least. Misa never disappoints and that's been proved time and time again.

Not even 5 seconds later, there was Raso opening the door.

"Hello Y/N, happy birthday!" - She screams happily. The thick Aussie accent ever so present. "Welcome to my place and your birthday spot for the night!"

Hayley was the sweetest. You two had instantly become friends once you met. Unknown to you, when her friend asked for help to set everything up, she was the first one up for it, offering to take charge of everything. She missed Australia like crazy. And knew exactly how you were feeling.

Walking in and seeing the beautiful set up, made you smile and tear up immediately. Seeing all the girls you had grown close to, since you arrived in Spain made you feel so lucky.

The party initially started out as a calm dinner but by now it was a full on celebration, loud music and good drinks.

I saw Misa going out in the balcony, probably to get some air. And trailed off behind her.

"Thank you, my love. Really. It would've sucked to go through my birthday without a party." - I say looking into her eyes with the most love they could bare.

"I got you. Always. I'm so glad you liked it. Also really glad the cake was here." - Even though I didn't get the joke, I proceeded to thank her.

"This must have been a pain to organize. You know, we could of just gone clubbing." -

"That's what I said!" - Svava said from behind us. "I was looking for you two, the girls want to do karaoke!"

"I'm so gonna sing I want it that way."

"We'll be right there!" - Misa yelled through the loud music as she left us alone once more.

We stood there, just appreciating each other's presence. After sharing a kiss in a warm hug, Misa finally spoke again.

"First one down, forever to go!"

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

As always, would love to hear your thoughts! 🩷

#espwnt #woso #woso x reader #misa rodriguez #misa rodriguez x reader #real madrid femenino

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twistedbloodstain · 1 year

Text

vincent de gramont x assistant!reader: because i dropped your hand while dancing left you out there standing. | the marquis catches a glimpse through you.

plot: the one where the marquis saw right through you.

warning: violence, gunshot, gunshot wound, doting

masterlist

12:00 AM

you got into the right side of the passenger backseat, usually it was the marquis’ place but he’d gotten into the left side and god knows he’s not scooting over for you.

it was his car after all. you sighed to yourself, attempting to veil the proof of your exhaustion. you had gotten up at 3 AM that morning for work and now it was midnight and the work was still unfinished.

“one last meeting, then the both of you can go home. you can welcome your plush bed and the warm purrs of your sweet fluffy cat.” you assure yourself. the man beside you seems worn out as well, the pair of you had been chasing meetings and appointments all day long. each meeting took at least 1-2 hours but with the marquis’ firm insistence to see an opera play which took about four hours, you can’t help but feel annoyed that this man’s taste had gotten in the way of your sleeping schedule.

the two of you were on the way to an estate of a newly made ally of the marquis. it would take at least thirty minutes or an hour to get there, you pondered what time you’d be able to finally rest.

you glanced at the marquis, gazing at the car window with a drink in hand. he appears to be holding on to the cusps of consciousness, he needs to appear sharp and alert with the help of an alcoholic drink. he kept quiet and the roaring of the engine was heard inside the vehicle. and it’s going to remain that way, you tell yourself.

god what you’d give for a quick power nap for this very hour, although you’re quite sure you’d sleep through the next day. however, sleep shouldn’t be your priority right now, the marquis needs you to be vigilant and sharp as well, no matter how tempting it is to sleep through this entire car ride.

“fuck, i feel like i’m about to pass out.” you complain to yourself, the temptation presenting itself more sweeter than it had been a few seconds ago.

you steal a quick glance at the marquis and he’s still..occupied looking through the car window. you might as well indulge in a quick nap, hopefully he won’t mind…right? and even if he does mind, no amount of verbal chastisement can amount to a quick rest.

you lean your head against the window, catching glimpses of the city lights and few pedestrians on the street. your eyelids fluttering from the sudden burst of light from other cars, tucking your hands on your lap. you drift to the sleep you’ve been yearning for.

a shaking wakes you up from your slumber, jolting from the action, you open your eyes wide open and see the driver shaking your knee.

“we’ve arrived” he announces.

you fix yourself sheepish from your unconsciousness, you quickly glance at the marquis to make sure he isn’t annoyed and thankfully he doesn’t seem displeased. the alcoholic drink was absent from his hand and he was checking something on his phone. you glance at your watch to check the time.

1:20 AM

you hope that arrival time was only a few minutes before that and it didn’t take several minutes shaking you conscious. realizing that you dropped your journal on the flooring of the car, you hastily pick it up and fix your sleeved shirt into place.

“shall we go inside, sir?” you meekly inquire to the marquis.

he slowly faces himself to you then checks his watch. he meets your eyes then clicks his tongue.

“yes.” he shortly answers before unlocking the door.

you follow his lead and you unlock the door of your side of the car, you get out of the vehicle. the estate was rather grand but not as grand as any of the marquis’ properties. the entrance was classy and elegant, with a staircase leading to the main entrance of the grand mansion and the lights were numerous but weren’t all illuminated; you could count at least five working lamps in the round plaza. out of your instinct, you look back at the marquis to see if he was out of the car as well.

“christ i feel like a doting mother to her child.” you mutter to yourself.

you let him lead the way, waiting for him to walk in front of you before you continue walking. the tiredness seeps into your body and senses again. you wonder if this would take an hour or two. but before the marquis trudges in front of you. a gunshot echoes through the plaza, the bullet bounces off the ground next to where the marquis is positioned, missing its intended target.

your voice shrieks, filled with dread and volume. one of the guards screams for the marquis to get down but he doesn’t, he looks astounded from what’s just happened, that someone is attempting to kill him. instead, you are the one who folds onto the ground scared for your life, yanking the marquis through his coat to get down on the ground with you.

“jesus christ, get down! are you trying to get yourself killed?!” you screech at his face, forgetting yourself, the weight of how dire the situation was pulling your senses down. in a different circumstance, he might’ve screamed back at you but right now he was silent. from shock or he didn’t care at what you just said to him but he remained stuck to the ground.

more bullets begin to shoot from every direction, some of them you can hear bouncing off the ground and some hitting the car, where you and the marquis are taking cover from the line of fire. great, now you’d either die being shot by a ricochet bullet or just get shot point blank. amazing.

“oh god. oh god. i’m going to fucking die. i’m going to die here.” you begin to ramble, tears are pricking your eyes and the sound of gunshots overwhelming your senses. you lean your back against the car and ball up weeping.

you could hear the heavy sigh the marquis made beside you, feeling shame fill your gut because you’d displeased him. oh fucking god, you’re about to die and you’re concerned about the irritation your boss has for you right now, that you’ve shown yourself weak in this very moment. this is fucking stupid, i should’ve never applied for this job. you slightly glare at him because of that.

“not everyone goes through this, you fucking asshole! sorry if i look fucking weak right now because i think i might die right now?! screw you and your french operas! screw that fucking painting you stare at the louvre! you can go fuck yourself if you think less of me right now?!” you wanted to scream at him, but decided not to, taking into measure it would only irritate him even more and wouldn’t do anything to help you.

your boss remained low to prevent stray bullets, he wasn’t sitting on the ground anymore but one of his feet was planted on the ground and his knee knelt on the floor. he looked at you, your face pale from fear and full of dread.

“you’re not going to die. we only have to wait this out. i assure you nothing bad will happen to you.” he attempts to reassure you but the tone of his voice is nothing but not assuring, it remains cold and firm as if stating a well-known fact. he was so sure that nothing bad would happen.

“you better be right, because if we die i’m going to search through the depths of hell just to strangle you for being wrong.” you think to yourself, “i might be dead but i can heal in hell.”

it continues on for several more minutes, you find it hard to know whether the gunfight was turning to your favor, considering you saw a few of the marquis’ guards dead on the ground but fewer enemies seem to shoot back as time progresses. finally, the gunshots start to dwindle until none remains, you look at the marquis wondering if it was safe to stand up. the marquis leans his hand against the car then calls out.

“thomas, are we clear?” your boss calls out, expecting the familiar voice of the captain of his bodyguards to immediately reply but there is none. silence ensues and dread slowly cements itself in your stomach, you pondered if thomas was already dead to answer the marquis.

“yes sir, the opening's clear. we’re good to get out of here.” thomas replies, his breath labored from the previous encounter.

relief floods your head and you let out a relieved sigh, glad that it is over. the marquis gets on both of his feet and looks around, his brain likely coming up with punishments for his new enemy for what he did tonight. you sniff then slowly rise in front of your boss, thankful the horrible occurrence was over.

for a moment you thought that everything was finally okay, but as you rose up, you caught a sight of your boss’ face stunned and alarmed while looking at you…except he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at the person behind you.

before you could turn around to react, a final gunshot rang through the plaza and this time you couldn’t hear the sound of a ricocheting bullet to compensate for it. fuck, fuck, fuck. god please no. please no, a frail prayer to the above.

you look down and you notice a bright red spreading through your torso, the blood’s seeping through my shirt, you thought. you grasp your body and sink into the ground once again. god, it fucking hurts, you panic in your head. you hear another gunshot ring into the air, you pray that it wasn’t directed to you, when you look up you see the marquis wielding a gun, you assume he has shot the perpetrator, hopefully dead. you don’t often wish someone ill will, but right now it’s not fair for me to die and him to live. you let out a labored sigh and groan from the pain, as you try to lessen the blood loss. whimpering and tearing from the immense agony you felt from your wound, suddenly you feel a pair of hands on your shoulders. you look up and it’s the marquis, unscathed and safe.

well that’s not fair. i’m definitely hunting him through hell. you promise to yourself, trying to find amusement for this situation. the marquis on the other hand was someone you’ve never seen before.

he has repositioned your head against himself, attempting to find comfort for you whilst you bled on the ground. you could hear bouts of shouts from the guards that survived but couldn’t understand what they’d been saying. the marquis gazes at you with concern. an odd thought to your head, you must be imagining this with the both of you locked in a daze.

“you’ll be okay, mon amour. hold on for a little, it will be safe for you soon. you will live.” he utters to you, one of his palms rubbing circles to the pulse on your arm. it sounds like a promise, like a vow. an oath made during his frail moments. this sounded much more assuring than what he’d said earlier and it…

it sounded like he cared, like he actually cared about you because he does. not because of any loyal service you’ve given him but because he can’t seem to bear the idea of you gone. it almost sounded like he was assuring himself that you wouldn’t die right now, that he wouldn’t let it happen.

oh what has the world become? in a short span of time you’ve been scared for your life, relieved for safety, basically a clusterfuck of emotions, got shot by a dude that’s more dead than you are right now, slowly bleeding to death and most peculiar of all you’re dying in the arms of your boss and it seems like he cares about you.

you could feel black spots appearing in your vision, blocking the very lovely face of the marquis and the glimmer of the night sky. with your bones weary from work and your blood soaking through your clothes, slowly you flutter your eyes shut. the last thing you hear is the marquis barking an order, for you or for someone else, you could not tell. right now it didn’t matter, not when you’ve embraced the arms of death.

a sudden burst of light shines through your eyelids.

you open your eyes and it’s welcomed by the bright sunlight coming from the windowsill. you’re laid on a plush bed, likely not yours. you could only dream of having this bed. the room you’re situated in is regal and glamourous, you figure out that you’re in one of the rooms of the marquis’ home. wait, what?

then it all starts surging back to you, the gunshots from foe and ally, dragging the marquis to the ground with you and bleeding on the ground of the plaza. oh my god, i’m alive. i’m alive.

you thank whatever god that might exist out there, grateful that they’d spared you from dying. a gasp exists your mouth but rather labored, my throat is hoarse. i need water. a gleam beams at the end of your eyes, you look at glass and pitcher of water beside the bed, on the nightstand. you suddenly sit up and pain pierces through your body

“fuck!” you curse, wincing you lift your shirt and see bandages wrapped around your torso. it was bandaged properly but soon you’d need to get wrapped again, the blood was starting to show on the fabric.

slowly you scoot to the end of the large elegant bed, trying to minimize the movement that your torso might’ve done in normal condition. once your feet hanged over the bed, the nightstand was a bit farther than you expected from the bed, i’ll have to talk to the housekeeper about this, it’s called a nightstand for a reason. it’s supposed to be beside the bed not half a meter away from it! thankfully, there was a chair nearby you could grasp onto. you grabbed the pitcher and poured it on the glass, filling it to the brim. you drank it, greedily gulping the smooth liquid that served remedy for your dry throat. after finishing all of it, you set the glass back at the nightstand then scoot back to the headboard of the comfy bed, which was bombarded with pillows. the bed looked sweet enough for a princess like sleeping beauty, thankfully you woke up sooner than later compared to the fairytale princess.

you contemplate how long you’ve been out ever since you got shot, with the sleepiness and the severity of your wound, you pray it didn’t take longer than a few days, you had duties to fulfill and tasks to accomplish, of course but going home seemed more pleasant than doing some work. you missed the warm fluffy pet you had at home, you pray that the automatic feeder had provided enough food for your cat.

you decided to head home, you didn’t want to over-welcome your stay at the marquis’, surprisingly you’ve never spent a single night here for sleep. the only people who slept in the manor was the marquis, himself in addition to the household staff and his security team. sometimes the guests the marquis invited were offered to stay but it happened rarely and mostly out of ill contempt. you’ve entered some of the bedrooms but never laid on one, your boss’ home seemed more like palace than house and you often speculated he was picky with who stayed in his home.

you opt to get out of here, right now. maybe call for the person who bandaged you up, to get your wound treated again. you get up from the bed again and weakly trudge to the door, holding on to pieces of furniture nearby in case you fell.

you pull the door with all your strength, i did not realize how fucking heavy this thing was, how did the guards open it in such an easy manner? you might never tell. when the door was slightly ajar, peeking your head through the opening. you notice two men guarding the door, weird you think to yourself, but before you could say anything one of them notices you and jolt, his eyes wide,

“ma’am, good to see you awake. do you need anything?” thomas, the guard inquires to you.

now this is weird beyond levels, they’ve never spoken that polite to you. sometimes you occasionally joked with them but it was never this…formal. not to mention, this was thomas. he’s supposed to be protecting the marquis 24/7 not watching over the assistant.

“um…i need adeline, the senior housekeeper? i was just about to go to her for my stuff and then head home.” you answer to him, also weirdly polite.

“afraid, you can’t ma’am.” he replies, this perplexes you. why in the world not? a silence answers thomas, hopefully this wasn’t the marquis’ doing. you literally almost died and he won’t even let you leave…the recovery room? much less let you leave the manor and go home? anyways, it has rendered you temporarily speechless and annoyed,

“can i ask why, thomas?” you question him, trying not let your annoyance show.

“doctor’s orders. also out of experience, you just took a bullet to the torso, think you might need to be under observation for a while to make sure your gunshot wound doesn’t get worse, would hate it for you to die right now, ma’am.” he explains to you, it sounds just right but it feels weird the way he says it. normally there’d be a tinge of humor when he entertained your questions but it was nonexistent right now.

god what in the world happened?

“uh..okay. i appreciate that thomas, could you please send for adeline here then? and if it’s possible, the doctor too.” you reply to him with a weak smile. he simply hums in return and leaves you.

you let out a tired sigh and walk back to bed, you were getting out of here one way or another. right now, you need to process what the fuck just happened to you. you need to think if the amount of money the marquis pays you was worth dying for to stay under his employ. you sit on the edge of the bed and bury your face in your hands, hoping that adeline arrived first before the doctor.

you anticipated that adeline might help you get out of here through the back door of the house. the marquis’ house as armed and protected it was didn’t seem safe to you. i need the comfort of my home and a new job.

no matter how protected the marquis was, if you were going to die working for him. it might now be worth it, you might consider leaving france and heading back to your country. i also need a vacation. the only rest i got from him was 3-5 hours at best and therapy. i need therapy, preferably retail therapy. a cat works too.

a knock erupts from the door, you face the door and urge for the person to come in. thankfully, it was adeline. you slowly get on your feet as adeline approaches you.

“hey adeline, it’s so nice to see you.” you smile at her.

a moment of hesitation appears on her face, as if contemplating if she should’ve gone here or speak to you.

“it’s nice to see you, alive and safe ma’am.” she doesn't return a smile and meekly answers.

why was everyone so polite? adeline always welcomed whenever she spoke to you, is this usually what happens when you get shot? or do they know something i don’t? god did the bullet hit something fragile in my body? am i living on borrowed time?

you kept quiet, unsure how to continue the conversation. adeline doesn’t even meet your eyes. you feel upset and empty, this has never happened between the both of you. the last time you spoke to her, it was on good terms. both of you chattering gossip about the people in the manor. it was always good to talk to her and you presumed she felt the same. maybe it was entirely one sided.

“is there something you need? something to eat?” she probes to you.

“no, i think i’m good.” you quietly answer her. from what you’ve experienced with her, adeline had a soft heart and she had opened it you, why had she shut it close now?

“do you need someone to rebandage you? i can call the doctor for you.” she asks again.

“i already did.”

she looked up and you could feel her stare all over you. likely confused why you asked for her.

“then why did you ask the guard to call for me?” she demands. her voice felt harsh, she’d never spoken like this to you. cold and sharp enough to cut through skin.

“i was going to ask if you knew where my stuff were.”

“it’s safely stored in your locker downstairs. is there anything else? we placed some lemon water beside the bed in case you woke up.”

you hesitate, the last sentence pricked your skin. “how…how long was i out?”

“almost two weeks.”

“fuck.”

well that’s not good. you definitely need to get home to see if your cat’s still alive. hopefully he didn’t stay waiting for you at the door, you’d rather he escaped than have him starve.

“that sounds like a long time for a gunshot wound.” you mutter.

“it’s actually not.” she states matter of factly.

“oh.” you realize. “i think i need to get home right now, my family’s probably worried sick that i haven’t talk to them for weeks. any chance you could sneak me out?” you tinge your voice with concern and softness at the end.

she stays quiet, before answering to you. she’s hesitating what she’d normally say to me, she’s choosing her words carefully.

“i can’t. i assume you’ve been told what thomas knows about being shot? you need to recover.”

“adeline, i really need to go home right now…i-i don’t feel safe right here. i want to go home.” you reason with her, she had a hard exterior you prayed it could soften right now.

“i can’t.” she replies. clearly you were going nowhere when she’s firm in her decision. you decide to get petty in a way that often annoys her.

“adeline please, i need time to think, preferably away from this place.”

“you won’t get that. you’re staying here.”

“is that so? under whose orders did that come from? you’re being unreasonable here adeline, if it’s from the doctor or thomas who is sort of unreliable by the way, i’ve seen him get shot thrice but managed to beat up at least three dudes. i can get a doctor to help me treat this wound. so for god’s sake adeline who told you i can’t leave?!”

“the marqu-“ she screeches at you before cutting short. realizing she almost said that, she arranges herself and changes her answer. “the doctor. the doctor says you need to stay here.”

but you had heard it before it was finishes. the marquis. the marquis doesn’t want you to leave yet. why? god knows. likely he wants to speak to you, something about punishment or consequences if you ratted him out or something. you’re too tired to think something logical.

“no. you said the marquis. why does the marquis want me to stay here?”

she stays silent. as if her tongue had been cut at that very moment. you try to understand, but it’s hard to tell without the why.

“adeline…why? please answer me.” you pleaded.

she doesn’t say anything but looks at you. then at something behind you, like the answer was always in the room all along. you don’t follow her gaze too exhausted to play a guessing game.

“you can go now adeline. thank you.” you said feeling resigned.

adeline leaves the room and shuts the door. you slowly walk back to the nightstand pour another glass of water. your throat was still hoarse and dry from the lack of water for two weeks. you sipped the liquid, tasting a lemony flavor in the water. you remembered how the marquis wouldn’t drink anything but lemon water, he preferred it because of something about it’s health benefits but it always annoyed you because he would suddenly need a glass of it in the middle of nowhere. the first time he ordered you to fetch him one was in the middle of a meeting, he had refused to drink the bottled water on the table. you ran down for fresh lemons and plunged it into a glass filled with bottled water just to spite him. you chuckle at yourself at that, remembering the times you’d taken a shortcut at some of his orders.

wait. wait. you pondered why did they give you lemon water? you’ve never drank it here. hot water usually satisfied you, and adeline knew this. not to mention, when there was lemon water, either the marquis was near or he just left the room. it’s like he spawns out of nowhere. nevertheless, it was odd. the marquis ordering to keep you here and his precious lemon water in your room?

this is getting weird and suspicious. you decide to just call for the doctor, maybe once he clears me i can go home. odd he hasn’t arrived yet, deciding to either go to him or ask thomas to call for him again. the doors of your room burst open, you see a pair of medical professionals, a nurse and a doctor. not surprising, but what makes your forehead wrinkle in confusion and makes you frown was that the marquis was following right behind them.

you couldn’t bother to hide your shock from the marquis and stare at him as if he was the most eerie thing you’ve ever seen.

you sat on the luxurious chair, trying to listen to what the doctor was saying. he had mentioned something about avoiding vigorous exercise and constant movements to avoid ripping your stitches. while he lectured you on what to do, the nurse changed your bandages and by the end of his disquisition, the nurse was finished treating your wound.

the doctor gave you a bottle of painkillers in case you felt a sudden intense pain before he and the nurse left. you thanked the both of them for treating you before they left the door.

now, it’s time to face the elephant in the room.

the marquis.

he had sat there the entire time while the doctor rambled about the do’s and don’ts for your safety. he hadn’t spoken a single word ever since he entered the room, he sat across you on a refined cushioned chair. he seemed calm as ever, you wondered why had come here. if he was here to order you to appoint a reservation for an opera at 3 PM, you might strangle him right away wounded or not.

then again, the memory is still fresh in your mind. he had saved you, sort of. he didn’t get to prevent the perpetrator from shooting you but he did provide the medical treatment to keep you alive plus he shot the dude who shot you, so points for that.

as usual, he was staring at you. it’s become some ritual of his whenever you enter the room to the point you just ignore it. it hinted that it was harmless as you’ve observed for the past two years. but there was something different about it this time.

before, you’ve assumed that he stared to invoke submission and resilience from you, to establish himself as higher than you, but now his gaze wants to invoke a word from you. why? you wouldn’t know. the enigma that is your boss, is a puzzle too difficult to solve.

“how are you feeling?” he breaks the silence, gladly you look up wanting to get the conversation over with.

“i’m fine, sir.” you reply amiably.

“that’s good to hear.” he mutters. there was also something weird about the tone of his voice, he kept quiet after as if reliantly expecting a reply from you. but you don’t so he speaks up again.

“you’ve been asleep for almost two weeks, some of us have feared you might never wake up again.” he claims.

“glad that’s not the case for me sir.” you respond.

“yes, god was kind to you that night. the bullet missed any vital organs but you bled out, too much i might add.” he conveys as if it’s something humorous, you notice a slight tugging at the corner of his lips.

“yeah, that was really lucky.” you agree with him.

this needs to end. you could tell he was just being polite, his words were simply pleasantries as your employer. he might see this as a semblance of duty as your boss and maybe because he feels bad you took a bullet for him. emphasis on the “maybe”.

“i just wanted to thank you for what you’ve done for me. getting me treated until i woke up. so..thank you. thank you for saving my life. i owe you for it.” you graciously thank him, thinking of every event that you might have to thank him for. just to lay the foundation before you say what you actually want to say.

“you’re welcome.” he mutters, his eyes not meeting yours. you don’t know what’s going in that pretty head of his but..was he ashamed? ashamed. that word associated with your boss tastes different on the tongue. no, he can’t be.

“um..in addition to what i just said, i think i might head home now. like you said i’ve been gone for two weeks, my family’s probably going crazy worried about how i am right now. plus i think i got the wound covered, thank you for your hospitality.” you state to him in a gentle way, careful not to let your tone insult him in some way.

your effort to hide your weariness to achieve that polite demeanor in front him somehow fails, because after you said that the marquis looks back at you again and doesn’t say anything. was there something wrong with what i said?

he stares at you and doesn’t reply, he suddenly gets on his feet and walks to the larged illuminated window in the room. you follow your eyes on his frame, you’d assumed that he might’ve just agreed with you and left. you thought his visit was a mere courtesy so why had he stopped talking?

“sir?” you call out to him, the ticking on the clock appearing more dire than before. the same feeling you got during the car ride to the louvre two years ago, surges back to you.

but silence greets you.

“did you hear what i said?” growing more anxious by the second, you try a firm approach. still you were apprehensive on what he might have to say.

but no words answer you.

“is there something wrong with what i said?” you question, your tone laced with worry. this is bad. a quiet marquis is a pondering marquis. whatever thought he’s got cooked up was never good.

“you cannot.” he declares.

finally he answered, although not what you wished to hear.

“why? is there something wrong with me?” you firmly ask.

“sir?” you add, then the silent treatment flows into the room again. he stays quiet while you prod him with questions.

“it’s not…safe.” he states.

“for…who? for you or for them?” you reflect, someone might be out for his death right now, and perhaps torturing the assistant might get the required information they need, it’s also a possibility the marquis has sent out a bloodbath. it’s happened before and the times it occurred you’ve opted to reside a few hours in the manor, also to prevent being tortured for information, repercussions are still plausible. retaliation was always in mind.

“it’s not safe for you.” he faces you, the statement was like moisture on a window, blurry and murky. difficult to see what’s through.

your mouth falls open, “what? it’s you they were aiming for, not me. they wanted to kill you. it was you they wanted to shoot. you were the target. i honestly don’t think they’d go after the assistant to finish the job. right?” you begin to ramble.

“yes, you’re right. they wouldn’t.” he disclosed to you, “i know that bullet was intended for me, the man was supposed to shoot me. god knows i know.” he whispers.

“and look what happened to you. what they..did to you.” he says as he slowly walks towards you. “you…you weren’t supposed to get hurt. i don’t think i can forgive myself for that.” he says softly as he looks back at you.

everything in your body shuts down. what the fuck is happening? you remember the concern he had when he cradled you into his arms, assuming it was because he’d seen you as a work friend that’s really helpful to him. even if he could easily replace you with a few seconds whether you were alive or dead. but this? what was he saying? this is different. it doesn’t feel right but it’s happening.

it all starts to dawn upon you. the fancy bedroom. he wanted me to be comfortable, even if the selection of people he would’ve accepted to stay were little to none. the lemon water. he visited me while i was recovering, he sat by my bed waiting for me to wake up. what he called you that night while you bled on the pavement, on his arms.

“you’ll be okay, mon amour. hold on for a little, it will be safe for you soon. you will live.”

mon amour.

my love.

he called you his love that night.

you realize.

he leans down in front of you, you lean back from your realization. more questions are popping into your head, so many you want to ask but nothing leaves your throat. you look up at him and he’s been doing the same, looking into your eyes. you can see the regret,concern and affection that’s festering in his eyes.

“you’re right. it was meant for me, but you had it instead. you…you took a bullet for me. who does that for someone? how many people in the world can say that they’ve taken a bullet for me? one. there’s only one. and she’s sitting right in front of me.” he divulges to you, he says it like he’s been keeping it for thousands of years while he kept his mouth shut in anguish, like he was itching to confess to you the tender words as if they were the most sacred secrets known to man.

as if the words kept him trapped in a prison with no way out, but now he’d said it and he was free.

you were shocked. too speechless to say anything. this might be the most difficult thing to process so far into your life,that your boss is fostering affection for you, because you took a bullet for him.

“believe it or not, mon amour. you’ve become more precious to me than anything this life has to offer, i want to keep you safe and right now the only way is to keep you here.” with him he firmly states to you with affection and devotion which you could sense in his tone.

you wanted to object but he continued.

“for a while, until you regain your strength. do you understand, mon coeur?”

mon coeur.

a french endearment.

my heart.

he called you his heart.

author’s note: first time posting a fic that isn’t a bunch of headcanons, with this being posted the upcoming fics may vary from the reader’s pov or the marquis’. this took me at least three days and a cold to finish, (no regrets) but how come part two took three days but part three, a whole nighter?? ;) the next one’s a bit interesting. feel free to share your thoughts!

part one part 3 part four part five

taglist: @dcgoddess @1mawh0re

1K notes · View notes

ghostismybbygorl · 2 years

Text

141 sleeping habits

Soap

He sleeps with 3 comforters, hella squish mellows he also has to have white noise to fall asleep

He is a restless sleeper he'll start on the right side of the bed and wake up upside down on the other side of bed

He sleep walks

He once made waffles and ate them in his sleep

Ghost watched the whole thing happen he has a video of it and uses it for black mail

He snores but like not bad bad, he usually snores if he ends up on his back

He wears a XL T-shirt to bed with a pair of loose fitting boxers

He's both a night and morning person. He has a set schedule where get gets up at 5 to work out but after that he'd go back to sleep and wake up at like 12, 1:00 ish. I feel like he stays up to 2 am at the most

Ghost

Chronic insomniac but with a cup of lavender mint tea, a weighted blanket and a pitch black room he'll sleep like the dead

He lies on his back with his hands on his stomach occasionally rolling over to his side

He's a very light sleeper if he hears footsteps or people talking outside his room he wont fall asleep

He sleeps with the mask on, a hoodie, and soft pajama bottoms

He usually wakes up without his mask cause he'll take it off in his sleep

He only sleeps with one plushie and thats the plague doctor plushie

We all know he's a night owl and he's asleep all day fuckers a vampire.

Price

Sounds like a whole ass chainsaw when he sleeps

Definitely has sleep apnea and uses those machines when he goes to bed

Like ghost he sleeps on his back with his arms crossed

HE SLEEPS IN HIS BIRTHDAY SUIT just butt ass naked

He sleeps with a thin ass blanket too he's always hot

He sleeps to night time nature sounds reminds him of camping

Hes got one of those temperpedic pillows

He goes to bed at 10:00 sharp and wakes up at 6 am every day

Gaz

He talks in his sleep

Price had a whole conversation with him one night and the next morning gaz did not know what he was talking about

He sleeps on his stomach with a pillow under his leg or curled up in fetus position

He sleeps with a hand made quilt that his mom made him (he also sleeps with his childhood blanket)

He uses one of those giant squish mellows as a pillow

He sleeps in either a tank top or shirtless with his breifts on rare occasions hell sleep nude

Gotta take melatonin to fall asleep and he has a white noise maker he brings along

He stays up till about 3 and will sleep in til 3 mans needs his beauty sleep to function

Fuck it lets do könig

König

Most of the beds dont fit him so he usually sleeps diagonally in fetal position

He likes the little tiny plushes he has a whole army of them

He has a body pillow (not one of THOSE body pillows) he likes to hold while he sleeps

He sleeps in pure silence

He doesnt wear his mask but he has the blanket over his head

He sleeps with those giant ass fluffy soft blankets

He sleeps shirtless with sweat pants or those cute pajama pants

He goes to bed at 10:00 and sleeps tile maybe 8 or 9

2K notes · View notes

estxkios · 1 year

Text

MIDNIGHT

tomkaulitz x skater!reader

summary: you sneak out with your boyfriend at midnight to smoke. (part two with smut??)

requested - no

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you couldnt fall asleep, youd been sitting upright in bed staring into the wall for what felt like hours. at this point, you want to give up the agonizing game of trying to fall asleep so you look over to your cluttered nightsand and grab your phone off of it. the screen turning on lit up your face in the dark room, all you saw was the time 11:59 pm, until the brightness coming from your phone caused you to squint irritatingly hard, so you flicked on your lamp.

after your eyes adjusted to the light you resumed back to your phone and opened your messages app, not expecting to see anything. except there was something. 4 messages from your boyfriend, tom.

tom : hey, u up? 11:56 pm

tom : can i come over 11:59 pm

tom : are you ignoring me i saw you turn ur light on 12:00 am

tom : fuck it im coming 12:02 am

and right as you read the last message there was a faint tapping on your window, you jolted at the sound, but then connected the dots. it was tom. you gently pulled your curtain to the side, he smiled when you opened the window, his skateboard that was adorned with stickers clutched in his right hand.

"so ignoring my text messages is cool now?" he said, the window screen still unopened. you giggled at his attitude and lifted up the screen so you could hop out. "i was trying to sleep." you huffed as you hit the ground, the leaves crunching under you as your weight hit them. "doesnt look like your sleeping now, schatz." he pulled down you window and the screen as you patted yourself off. "yeah, tom. obviously." you walked over to him and reached in his coat pocket where he usually kept his joints. he lifted his hands above his head jokingly "jeez didnt know sneaking out with you required a search-" you cut him off by wiggling the joint in your hand in front of his face, showing him you were not infact searching his pockets, just borrowing some weed.

"oh." he laughed and took your hand that wasnt holding the joint, "lets get to the park before we start smoking yeah? your parents will smell it"

"oh shit yeah." you shoved the joint in your own pocket and grabbed your skateboard that you kept outside your window for occasions like this. you reached for toms hand and squeezed it as you two walked down your driveway.

when you reached the end of your driveway, you set down your skateboard. setting your left foot lightly on the front of your board. tom mimicked your movements and started to skate ahead of you.

"tom-! wait up!" you whisper-shouted, trying to make sure you didnt notify your parents you were awake.

"catch up loser!" he shouted, going faster than before.

you snorted and started pushing with your right foot, although you were out of breath from the task, you caught up to him in no time

"oh look who caught up!" tom laughed and went even faster than before, he put his right foot back on his board, putting most of his body weight on the left side of his board making a sharp turn to the skate park. you followed close behind.

the only thing that lit up the skate park was one small street light, so you watched as toms blurry figure dipped into the bowl.

you expected him to pop back out on the other side of it, except he didnt. so you shouted, "tom?"

"come down here schätzen!" he called from the bottom of the bowl, his voice echoing off the curved walls of it.

you walked to the edge of the bowl. you couldn't skate down because you would hit tom so you shouted "catch!" before sending your board down to tom, who was sitting down with his legs spread.

"oh- fuck!" he squealed

he quickly grabbed the board before it hit him in the balls. you could not stop laughing. you slid down, shoes scraping the paved walls.

"its not funny." tom said with a stern look.

"oh but it really is!" you giggled and sat next to him at the bottom of the bowl, your legs touching his. you grabbed the joint out of your pocket and put it in your mouth.

tom, knowing the drill, took the lighter out of his pocket and instead of immediately lighting your joint he grabbed your chin

"you're so gorgeous."

you rolled your eyes. but deep inside your stomach was twisting with anticipation, and thanks the darkness that surrounded the two of you he couldnt see your cheeks that were now dusted with a dark pink shade.

he brought the lighter to your joint and carefully lit it, taking one of the many joints out of his pocket and doing the same with his. he took a long draw of his joint and held the smoke in his mouth. his hand reached up to your joint and he took it out of your mouth.

he put two fingers under your chin and got closer to your face. he put his lips near yours but didnt seal the air between you with a kiss, instead, he pulled your mouth open with his thumb and passed the smoke into your mouth.

you breathed in his smoke and inhaled, puffing the rest out of your nose, giggling. you got closer to him and wrapped you arms around his neck. he smiled, touching his forehead to yours, and this time, he did seal the air between you two with a passionate kiss.

#tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz x reader fluff #tom kaulitz x reader smut #tom kaulitz imagines #bill kaulitz #georg listing #gustav schafer x reader #smut #bill kaulitz smut #georg listing smut #tokio hotel #tokio hotel smut #tokio hotel fluff #tokio hotel x reader

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surfinminho · 8 months

Text

6:00 PM

wc: 1.3K

Warnings: age gap, reader is older, fem bodied, humiliation, panty stealing, perversion, masterbation (m), spit, sub!felix, overstimulation, unprotected sex, keep in mind reader is like 15 years older with a kid though it isn’t rlly mentioned

He could get you fired, you’re his professor and he’s just one of your many students.

You were the talk around campus for a while. He can see why though. I mean, you were pretty, has a nice figure, smart, Felix could go on for hours about you.

You on the other hand, seemed to pay him no mind. He kinda got upset about it multiple times. Not noticing his wandering eyes on you or staying after class just to spend a few more seconds with you, pathetic attempts he knows.

As time went by, finals week came closer. And Felix isn’t going to lie but, he was going to fail. Environmental science wasn’t his strongest subject. But you’re here! And you could help him.

He contemplated for a while if he should just get a tutor and suck it up, but apparently you had some concerns too. “Felix, can you come here please?” The bell had just rung, leaving a few laggers, and you sitting at your desk.

He packed his stuff up quickly before heading to your desk. “Hi miss” he gave you a small smile, sitting down on the nearest chair.

“Felix, your grades are much lower than last semester, it went down 12%.” You frowned, taking out a piece of paper and a pen, “See Felix, if you get less than a 90 on your final you’re going to fail the semester.”

He didn’t want to disappoint you with his terrible grades, he wanted to seem better than that.

“I can get a tutor?” you cut him off, writing something’s down on the piece of paper.

“I’m afraid with what little time we have left, getting a tutor isn’t enough. So, I’ll do it for you, personally.” you hand him the piece of paper nicely folded.

“Thank you, miss” as he gets ready to leave, you stop him once more.

“Since it’s also at my house, I’m not really allowed to do that so don’t tell anyone”

Felix nods his head and leaves, smiling to himself, thinking about all the possibilities of what could happen.

You let him in with a smile, telling him to go to your room and wait for you. As he was waiting, he looked around the room. It was white and chic with a hint of brown. Though, on your dresser, there was a picture of you and a younger girl, the girl was fairly young, probably 9 years old, give or take.

His train of thought is interrupted as you walk through the door,

“Let’s get started Felix.”

The next few hours were hell, it’s like the practice problems you handed him were impossible to do. It’s like any prior knowledge he had flew out the window. He could your sighs get louder every time he gets another question wrong, rubbing your temples.

“Felix, these are simple questions, you know what, I’ll be right back” you got up, leaving the door slightly ajar.

He looked around the room again, taking in everything once more. This time, a piece of fabric that he definitely didn’t notice caught his eye. It was sitting on the floor, by the bed frame. You could come back anytime, but what’s the harm in looking?

He got up, picking up the fabric, or lack there of. His face flushed, pink lace panties. He should put them down, it’s an invasion of your privacy, but he wasn’t thinking rationally. He pockets your underwear and sits back down, picking up his pencil and going back to work.

“How about we call it a night”

He doesn’t know what came over him, guilt was taking over his body as he looked at your underwear. He doesn’t know why he took it, he can barely look you in your face anymore. He wasn’t going to give it back though, it’s covered in his cum and spit. Your smell as worn off, surely he can sneak another pair?

As the days go by, he goes to your house at 6 pm, sharp. He’s never early or late. It’s routine at this point. He goes over to your place, does some practice questions, then he goes home and jerks off using your panties.

But today, when you answered the door, your were very giddy, smile reaching both ends of your face. The questions you given him were fairly easy, the answers were basically common sense.

“Miss, I finished this packet.” Felix said, slowly sliding the paper towards you.

You carefully look it over with a pen, tracing each answer with it, you slide it back to him with a smile. “Good, only 1 wrong!” You paused, getting up and walking to your dresser, “I think you deserve a reward, I mean those questions must’ve been so hard.

You sit down on your bed, calling him over.

“Miss, what’s this abo-“ he choked on his words as he watched you throw a pair of lace panties at him, almost identical to the ones he stole a week before.

“I know you took my underwear Felix, you’re not very slick” you frowned, pulling him closer by his thighs.

he stayed quiet, playing with his fingers in his lap.

“Felix, that was very disgusting of you, I offer you extra help and you take from me. Is that how you were going to make your move on me?” your tone was condescending, it made him want to die from embarrassment.

'No --- No, no, no, no, no --- I’m sorry, I don’t know wh-“ you pressed a finger to his lips, shoving two fingers into his mouth.

“Aw but baby, you do know. Tell me why you did it, I don’t like liars” you slowly removed your fingers from his mouth, wiping his spit on his cheek.

“I wanted to taste you..”

“Wanted to taste me?”

He hums, looking up at you, trying not to touch you.

“You’re a pathetic thing, could’ve just asked.” you mumbled, taking your index and middle finger, hooking it on the waistband of his pants, pulling it down along with his underwear.

“Show me what you do to them at home”

He didn’t reply, saving himself from any more embarrassment. He took his hand and spit in it before wrapping his hand around his cock. His body jolts at the feeling, back arching into the pleasure. He wraps your panties over his tip, rutting into his fist. The spit made the glide easier, making it so he could go faster. He closed his eyes, staccato moans leaving his plump lips, little ‘pleases’ coming out ever so often.

“Stop.”

His eyes shot open, stopping his movements while keeping his hand on his cock. He whined, blinking away tears, to look at you. When do you take off your pants?

“Ah, you’re so cute and well behaved, makes me wanna kiss you.”

“Can I? Uhm can I get a kiss?” He pouts

You shuffle over to him, knees on either side of his lap, slotting your lips against his. You titled your head to the side, grabbing his chin, trying to get more of him until you felt something wet seep in between your thighs so you look down and-

Oh.

“I’m sorry” he sputtered, still rutting against your thigh.

“Cumming just from me kissing you? Pathetic baby” you leaned down to press a kiss to his lips, shutting him up before lining his cock up and sinking down.

“I can’t- miss- mommy please, f-fuck!” Letting out a choked out sob, he could feel his cock drag against your soft, warm walls.

“Yes you can” You huffed, fucking yourself down onto his cock, his cum making the slide easy.

“Let- let me pull out, g’nna cum shit” he threw his head back, his moans reaching a crescendo as his thrusts became erratic, losing its rhythm.

“Just like that, good boy” you pulled him into another kiss, gripping his shirt to keep leverage. “Wanna breed me? Make me a mommy?” You said in between moans, meeting him halfway.

“Cumming!” You felt his release paint your walls, sure it’s not a lot but it triggered your own orgasm.

You climbed off him, using the discarded panties to clean him up.

“You better be prepared for the final.”

#surfinminho #stray kids #skz x reader #skz x you #stray kids smut #sub skz #sub lee felix #Lee Felix

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elizabethwritesmen · 1 year

Text

I once was poison ivy

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

Part 2 but now I’m your daisy

Older!Fireman!Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Synopsis - You've spent your entire life taking men who intend to manipulate you and manipulating them instead. It's the only way you know how to survive. Then, one day, you meet Steve Harrington and you realize love and lust are so much more than survival.

A/N - This will be a two-parter. Maybe three if it runs too long.

Warnings: Fluff, sexual themes, smut to come in the second part, talks of using men for their money, vivid description of a car accident, drunk driving.

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

I've been breaking hearts a long time and Fooling with them older guys Just playthings for me to use

The napkin on my lap was in pieces.

I'd been tearing it apart, whether out of anxious habit or sheer boredom I wasn't sure.

The man sitting across from me just would not stop talking. He started the second I met up with him in the parking lot and hadn't closed his mouth since. I nodded along and provided just enough commentary to seem present, but my brain was miles away.

He cleared his throat, staring at me pointedly until I met his eyes, a saccharine smile gracing my face.

"Are you alright, doll? I know all this shop talk can be a lot for a pretty girl like you to keep up with," he stated with all the confidence in the world, and I fought a scoff at his condescension.

"Oh, I'm fine!" I grinned wildly, almost childlike, "To be honest, I'm just in awe of you. Absolutely fascinated. I keep asking myself what I did to deserve a date with you!"

The lies cut through my teeth like butter, slick and smooth. I knew they worked when he puffed out his chest and a red tint covered his full cheeks, "Well darling, if you keep talking to me like that, you'll get more than one date with me!"

"There's nothing I'd love more!"

I know I should've cursed him for all he was worth, but that's not how my lifestyle worked. I didn't care how much of a pig a man was, as long as his money was louder than his mouth. And this man's money definitely was.

You see, he was older, a business man. He worked at some high end finance job, and he was most definitely the boss. I met him through my own job. I was a waitress and he frequented my corner booth on his lunch breaks. He knew my schedule and came to eat every single day I worked at 12:00 sharp with a new story about his job, his divorce, or his 1970 Chevelle. On the days I didn't work, he stayed away, claiming I was the only girl there worth looking at. And, every time, he left me a crisp 100 as a tip.

The last time he'd come in, he'd ended his lunch by asking me on a date. He told me he wanted to pick a dress out for me and treat me to the nicest dinner I'd ever had. Poor thing had no idea he wasn't the first millionaire to offer that. I agreed happily, pushing down any reservations and forcing myself to look forward to it.

So there we were, at one of those restaurants where you have to dress formally and use certain etiquette. I hated those places, I knew I didn't belong there, but it was what I had to do and I always did it with a smile on my face.

He continued talking and I began fiddling with the Versace dress adorning me, tugging on the hem. I only heard snippets of what he was saying. After hearing a million men tell the same stories, I thought there was no reason to pay any real attention.

Our waitress startled me out of the trance I'd fallen into, dropping the check off at our table.

"Here," he smiled, placing $200 neatly in the little black book, "That's enough for you to add a cheesecake to-go for my beautiful companion, and to buy something pretty for yourself!"

The girl's eyes widened and she grinned, staring at the generous amount she'd been given. It took her mere moments to bring by a bag with the cheesecake in a box at the bottom, and I was finally done.

"I'll walk you to your car," Mr. Boring offered in a way that I couldn't possibly refuse.

Well, almost done.

Once we reached my Passat, he pressed me lightly against the driver's door and planted a sloppy kiss on my lips. I cringed my way through it until it was finally over, and he opened my door for me.

"Maybe we can go out again next week?" he proposed, "I'll call you and we can set it up."

"Of course!" I nodded, eagerly climbing into the seat.

"Oh, and before I forget," he sighed, pulling his wallet from his pocket and fishing out two more crisp hundred dollar bills, "This should cover gas and the rest is a thank-you for making an old man feel young again. Seeing you in that dress made my evening."

I smiled at him as he walked away, my expression dropping the second he was out of sight. And then, I was finally headed home.

Something happened for the first time In the darkest little paradise Shaking, pacing, I just need you

It was about a 30 minute drive to my house, and I had the music cranked up the entire way. I was passing through the last intersection before my highway exit when I saw something out of the corner of my eye.

It was an SUV, much bigger than my car, headed straight for me. It was going so fast but in that moment time slowed down. It was too late for me to stop or get out of the way, I knew I was screwed. I yanked the wheel to the right, hoping they wouldn't hit me directly. I thought that if they caught the back end of my car it would hurt less.

They slammed into the back driver's side door, just barely missing me, sending me careening across the highway and into the ditch. I screamed as my head slammed into my window, blood running down my temple and onto my neck.

Finally, everything stopped. My car was, beyond all rationality, still playing music. I turned it all the way down, looking around.

The SUV was upside down on the highway, engulfed in flames. I saw a man laying about 20 feet away from it on the asphalt. I prayed he was okay, and that nobody else was in his vehicle.

Then, I examined myself. Glass had shattered everywhere, and there was a pile of it in my lap. My poor Versace was tattered and bloody, and I frowned momentarily in a small fit of grief. The back of my car was completely done for, and I was shocked my airbags didn't go off. Of course, there was no impact to the front of my car.

It only took minutes for sirens to overtake the scene. There were two ambulances, a firetruck, and several police cars.

I slipped my seatbelt off, groaning at the pain. It felt like I'd been hit by a truck. I guess I had, in a manner of speaking. My body was suffering from the turmoil.

Shockingly, my door opened when I pulled the handle and I climbed out, falling to the ground with a cry and a sharp wince.

"Hey, hey, hey!" the voice was deep, and I glanced up to see the fireman it belonged to running in my direction, "Don't move, just stay still. Please, stay still. God, you could've died trying to climb out of that car. Too tough for your own good!" He kneeled beside me, his arms holding me up, his eyes scanning me for all signs of injury. "Here you go, calm down. It's okay now, I've got you."

His voice was soothing me, and so was his thumb as he rubbed calming circles on my hip.

"Please," I cried, my voice almost too small to be audible. I squirmed, trying and failing to break free, "I need... I need..."

I wasn't sure what I was pleading for. I just wanted relief. My bones felt like they were combusting.

"I'm gonna get you some help, sweetheart, I promise. You're safe with me." He called the paramedics over to have a look at me. They ran straight for us and he lifted me up placing me comfortably on the stretcher.

As he began to walk away, I called out meekly, "Please stay with me!" and reached blindly for his hand. He gave it to me and nodded, squeezing my palm lightly as he helped them wheel me to the ambulance. They got me inside of it and starting poking and prodding, asking me questions.

"I don't want to go to the hospital," I whined, "I'm fine, I don't need a hospital."

"We gotta get you to the hospital, sweetheart. I'm sorry, I know it's scary, but you're tough though, huh?," his voice was still so soothing, and I nodded, holding tighter to his hand that was still intertwined with mine.

"Will you come with me?" I stared up at him, my eyes wide and pitiful in a beg.

"I can't, I have to get back and help clean all this up," he told me, his voice regretful.

"Please," I was whimpering at that point, desperate. I hated begging but he was the only thing keeping me from an anxiety attack. The only thing grounding me. The only thing keeping me from asking questions like, what if I'm seriously hurt? What's going to happen with my car? Is my cheesecake okay? How am I going to replace this dress?

Okay, some of the questions were silly but cut me some slack. I'd just been hit by a truck.

He chewed his lip in thought for a moment before sighing, "Let me talk to my boss and see what I can do."

He was gone for about five minutes, but when he came back, he was only in a white T shirt and his turnout pants. He set his jacket and hat on the bench seat next to me and climbed in beside me, grasping my hand again.

"Thank you," I whispered, and the sweet smile he gave me warmed my tummy.

Hours passed in a flurry of medical stuff I didn't understand and tests being run. When everything calmed down, I was sitting on a bed in an ER, a thick medical grade bandaid on my temple where I hit the window and some pain killers in my system. Fortunately, I wasn't hurt badly at all, just extremely sore and shaken up. I had a concussion, but that was the brunt of it.

"Okay, Miss L/N. I've got a prescription here for painkillers, it should help soothe your soreness and your headache. Other than that, you're free to go," the doctor walked in the room and told me jovially. He was nice, he made me feel comfortable. I was thankful to have him instead of someone colder. But what really made me feel comfortable was the firefighter, whose name I'd discovered was Steve. He stayed right beside me the entire time, even when I was first admitted. He even called my mom for me when I was first admitted, and that's the only time he let go of my hand.

"I think that's all, thank you," I sincerely responded.

"Great. Then I'll leave you be. If anything else happens, come back. Concussions are no joke. But I'm sure Steve knows that, so you're in good hands. He'll take care of you," he gave us a pointed look, glancing from mine and Steve's interlaced fingers to our faces.

"Bye, Joe," Steve dramatized, rolling his eyes.

"Bye Steve. Bye Y/N," the doctor responded between laughs, taking his exit.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Steve turned to me, his hard features softening the second his eyes met mine.

"Have you heard anything else from my mom?" I asked, trying to keep the hope in my voice at bay.

"She checked on you once, about an hour ago. I told her I was taking care of you."

"Oh."

His eyes were boring into me, searching. I'm sure it seemed odd to him, a mother not immediately rushing to her child's side when she hears there's been an accident. Wasn't very strange to me, though. My mom had never spared much time for me.

He cleared his throat, speaking more quietly, "She said she wants me to get you home safe, so that's what I'm gonna do. One of the nurses is gonna give us a ride to the station and I'm gonna drive you from there."

"Well it's settled, then. Let's go," I beamed, grabbing his hand and hopping off the bed. I didn't make it very far, though, nearly collapsing the second my feet hit solid ground.

Steve was quick, catching me and holding me steady. I lifted my eyes and they met his, inches away. I could feel his breath, warm against my skin.

"Be careful there, Super Girl. You're too weak to take on the world just yet," he sighed, and I had to fight the urge to lean in.

He was handsome. I'd noticed it the second he ran over to me, my knight in dirty turnout gear. I'd noticed it again in the ambulance when he told me he could go to the hospital with me. And I noticed it as his arms squeezed me tighter.

"I can walk," I mumbled.

"I'm sure you can, but you aren't. Come on, I've got you," he stated, as if there was no room for argument or disagreement. One of the arms around me slipped down to the crook of my knees and he lifted, pulling me securely into his hold. I gasped, grasping tightly to his shirt, my nails leaving imprints in the soft fabric.

"Steve, I'm heavy!" I screeched, and he chuckled.

"Even if you were heavy, I can handle it," he said, like it was obvious. My stare stayed skeptical and he sighed, "Sweetheart, you're not heavy. You're nothing compared to the gear I wear and haul, and the people I have to carry out of buildings."

I stayed stubborn for a moment longer before giving him a slight nod, "If your back starts to break, put me down!"

"I don't have any plans to put you down, sweetheart," he winked, and with that, he was carrying me to the ambulance bay where an Altima was waiting for us. One of the nurses was leaning against it. She was pretty, like a young Angelina Jolie. Her scrubs hugged every curve and jealousy pinged in my gut at how perfect she was. It turned to discomfort, though, when I saw the way she was looking at us.

There was a scowl plastered onto her face, full of judgment. Her eyes were stuck on Steve's arms around me, and if looks could kill, she'd have me dead in a second.

"Can you open the door for me, Bridget?" he asked, frustration laced in his voice from the way she was staring at us instead of helping.

"Of course, Stevie," she cooed, doing as she asked. He helped me in the back seat, going as far as to buckle the belt around me. My breath hitched as he did so, the proximity turning my cheeks bright red.

Bridget's face dropped as he slid in beside me and shut the door behind himself. She opened it right back, "What are you doing, Steve? Your spot is up front!"

"I'd rather sit back here with Y/N and make sure she's okay. Come on, we should get going. I'm sure she's ready to shower and rest."

She huffed, her anger embarrassingly evident, but she gave a slight nod and slammed the door, climbing into the driver's side and speeding off. My head was pounding, so I leaned on Steve's shoulder the whole time. Every now and then he'd shield me from the sun with his hands or run his fingers through my hair, keeping me as comfortable as he could.

Once we got to the fire station, he helped me out and we waved goodbye to Bridget. She gave me one more dirty look before leaving, and I hoped I would never see her again.

"There you are, Steve!" a voice joined into the mix, and I turned around to see a man about Steve's height with long curly hair approaching. He had a bag in his hand.

"Hey, Eddie," Steve greeted, "Thank you for covering my shift all night."

"All night and all morning. I'm assuming you won't be back after you take her home."

Steve looked bashful. It was cute, his cheeks turning red and his eyes averting downward.

"I promise I'll make it up to you, man. I just couldn't leave her, she needed me," he rushed out an explanation and I couldn't stifle my giggle.

"Yeah, sure she did. Come on, dude, I'm not mad. I needed the hours anyway and I'm not like you, I don't have a ton of beautiful women begging me to escort them to the hospital. My Friday night was all free."

"I don't have a ton of them either," Steve cried out defensively, "Just the one."

"Well then get her home before she decides she doesn't neeeeeeed you anymore," the other man, Eddie, winked then and turned to me, "Oh, by the way, I'm Eddie. Steve's best friend, confidant, life saver, shift coverer. I'm the reason he could be with you all night."

His tone was joking, so I played along, "Oh, well thank you so very much. I would've just died without him. As a matter of fact if he leaves my sight I'm sure I'll faint."

"Marry her," Eddie deadpanned, turning to Steve with the most ridiculously serious look on his face. The only response he got was an eyeroll. "Okay, whatever, get out of here. Here's the rest of your stuff, and what we managed to get out of Y/N's car. You can make the shift change up to me later." He handed Steve the bag and glanced my way, "And Y/N, I'm sure I'll be seeing you again. Until then, I'm glad you're okay."

Steve pulled his keys out of the bag, clicking them. A truck beeped across the parking lot and he wrapped his arm around me, helping me over to it.

The last we heard of Eddie was a scream over the parking lot, "Oh and Steve, put some clothes on that poor girl!"

He glanced down at my ripped up dress and blushed.

"Here," he handed me his turnout jacket, "Put this on."

I did as he asked and slipped back into his arms, allowing him to lift me into the passenger seat. I liked the way the material felt on me, warm and loose. It smelled of smoke but it also smelled of cinnamon and something muskier, all Steve.

As he pulled away, I decided to make small talk. It was a ten minute drive back to my house and I didn't want it to be awkward. Not that a single moment we'd already spent together had been. Steve had a way of making me feel like I was finally safe at home.

"Bridget and Eddie seemed nice," I commented. Obviously, I didn't mean the first part but I had a sinking feeling that Steve and Bridget were something of an item and I didn't want to upset him.

"Eddie is a great guy. We've known each other forever, and he's always had my back." He paused for a moment, "And Bridget was awful to you today. You don't have to pretend she wasn't."

"I just thought you and her were probably friends, or maybe even a thing, and I didn't want to say anything mean about her just in case," I smiled softly, apologetically.

"We're not. But she wants to be. She's a uniform chaser. She doesn't know the first thing about me other than my job."

"Do you get that a lot? Girls that are only interested in you because of what you do?"

"More often than you'd think. But it's okay. I guess it's better than not being wanted at all."

"You think if you were something else, something more boring, girls wouldn't want you?" My brows were furrowed in confusion. How could a man so wonderful have such a gaping insecurity?

"I didn't feel that way at first, but I guess I've become cynical over time."

"Well, I'm cynical with the best of them and I'm telling you that you're wrong," I started, "Don't get me wrong. The turnout gear is ruggedly sexy. Straight out of a calendar, really. But I wouldn't have wanted you to come to the hospital with me if you were any other fireman. I wanted you there because of how you made me feel. Safe, and taken care of."

Silence filled the air. I don't think he knew how to respond.

"What about you?" he finally asked, "That was a nice dress before it was ruined. You must've been on quite a date."

"I wouldn't call it that," I stared at my lap, color rising in my cheeks.

"Didn't go well?"

"It's not that, it's just... I wasn't really interested in him."

"What was wrong with him?"

"You ask a lot of questions," I breathed out a laugh, wanting a subject change. I felt shame, like if Steve found out the kind of men I date and why, he would drop me off and forget about me. I didn't want that. I craved more of him. More of his time, and his headspace. I hadn't known him long, but it's hard not to swoon over a man who spends hours of his time taking care of you.

"I'll stop. For now."

Shortly after he said that, we pulled into my driveway. He helped me out of his truck and into my house, commenting on how cute he thought everything was.

"Where's your bathroom? I'm gonna get the shower running for you," he turned to me and said.

"Oh," I blushed, "You don't have to do that. Really. I can manage to get around."

"I want to. I told you I would take care of you, and I'm not doing it halfway. Now should I go looking until I find it or are you gonna tell me where it is?"

"My room is down the hall, the bathroom is in there," I smiled shyly.

He didn't waste a second, pulling me back into him and let me lean on him the entire way there. I leaned against the sink as he looked around, taking the room in.

"A bath would probably be better than a shower. You're still weak, I don't want you to slip and hurt yourself."

I didn't respond, I just watched him as he turned the faucet on and felt the water, adjusting until the temperature was perfect.

"Thank you," I finally said as he finished up and stopped the drain.

"Of course. You gonna be able to get from the tub to the bed?" he asked me.

I giggled, nodding, "I think I'll manage."

"Okay... if you have any trouble or need anything, you're welcome to call me."

"How am I gonna do that without your number?"

His face went red, a silly smile crossing his lips, "Of course. You're right. Here."

He slipped his phone out, pulling up the screen to create a new contact and handed it to me. I quickly typed in my name and info and handed it back. He called me once, hanging up as soon as it rang, and nodded once affirmatively.

"There. Now you have mine, too."

"I'll call you, Steve."

"Yes, if you need anything at all."

"Okay."

He seemed reluctant to leave, and I was reluctant to let him, but he finally mumbled a goodbye and let himself out. I grinned into my hand, the butterflies still not settled.

I was not the kind of girl to feel things like I was feeling. I had a process, a way of getting through life, and it didn't involve getting hung up on the first handsome fireman I meet. I willed myself to come back to reality, but it was difficult. His face was stamped into my mind.

My phone pinged and I glanced down, his number filling my screen.

"I left my jacket. Can I stop by later and get it? And bring you dinner? I'd like to check on you anyway."

Any hope of coming back to reality flew out the window. I typed quickly and pressed send before I could talk myself out of it.

"It's a date."

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