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bloompompom · 10 months

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Safekeeping - Aftermath

the second part to safekeeping | read the first part here

After a proposition to lose your virginity to your brother’s best friend, it becomes difficult to move on once you’re away at college. Difficult for who? That's up for debate.

✧ content: ~9.4k word count. eren jaeger x female reader. modern/college au. upgraded from porn without plot to porn with feelings, older brother's friend trope, reader’s brother has a name, sappy af, mutual pining/getting together, oral sex (m!receiving), PIV sex, spit, praise, pussy job, alcohol use, explicit sexual content, explicit language, reader discretion advised. 18+ only. ✧ a/n: because they deserved a happy ending, didn't they?

You did it. Your first semester of college was officially over.

Actually, it ended roughly two weeks ago when your final grades were uploaded. Now, you were smack in the middle of winter break, left with no responsibilities other than lounging before your family’s fireplace.

You were grateful, and it wasn’t just from the holiday spirit. You were overjoyed—and not to mention, relieved beyond belief—because college was everything you hoped it to be. It wasn’t exactly like the movies, of course, but it was damn near close. You got along well with your roommate, and for once in your life, your professors didn’t hold their grudges toward your brother against you because they didn’t have any.

And it just so happened that you were seeing someone. Something casual, no big deal.

You meant that earnestly. The guy wasn’t much to write home about, and he definitely wasn’t the one. He was just… there.

It was fun, though! It had to be, or else you wouldn’t keep going back to him. You felt a connection right away—it was why you slept with him in the first place—but after your semi-regular hookups, it just sort of fizzled. It was fine. He was fine.

Anyway, he hadn’t tried to reach out since you left, even once. You wanted it to hurt only because it felt like it should, but you couldn’t find it in you. Talking to him sounded less than appealing, if you were being honest. You much preferred to spend the better half of your days catnapping around a house much warmer than your dorm. The only person you bestowed your precious attention on was Hitch, your grade school bestie who was also visiting home. But that was about to change.

After breakfast, your brother Collin came knocking at your bedroom door, creaking it open with just his knuckles.

You peered up from your phone when he asked, “Got any plans later?”

“No,” you replied. He was giving you this weird look. Then he closed the door. “What’s the about?”

“I’m going to a party tonight. Wanna come?”

You looked from side to side because he had to be talking to someone else.

“Don’t be dumb.” He leaned against the wall like he planned to be there for a minute. “You’re old enough now. I’m sure you’ve gone to plenty at school, anyway.”

You weren’t buying into the whole brotherly love schtick. You deadpanned, “Mom and Dad said you have to bring me wherever you’re going, right?”

Collin’s shoulders slumped in that ‘you caught me’ sort of way. “I told them it was an ugly sweater party as a cover-up, and they bought it a little too well—said I have to take you if I want to go. They’re worried about you, all cooped up inside and—”

“Okay, I get it!” You didn’t need to hear that your parents thought you were a loser. There was nothing wrong with wanting some peace and quiet during your vacation.

To really sell the lie, you needed ugly sweaters. Neither of you had thought that far ahead, and you had to go thrifting after your parents began pestering you about it. On the drive to the store, you told Collin he had to pay for yours since he forced you out, and he spent the ride home complaining that he should have simply snuck out and saved the money.

“But then you’d have to cover for me, and I’d have to see your sad, lost-puppy eyes as you stayed in for another night,” he jested. You thumped his forehead.

Hours later, the two of you were back in the same seats. Collin parked the car, and the overhead light cut through the pitch-black neighborhood. He unbuckled, then immediately yanked his knit sweater over his forehead.

“I’m not planning on coming home tonight obviously. I’m staying at Jean’s. What about you?”

“Hitch’s,” you answered, peeling off your own sweater and throwing it into the backseat. “She didn’t want to come, but she offered to give me a ride to her place to stay the night. I doubt I’ll stay long.”

You stepped out of the car together. The doors slammed shut, and the sound echoed off the houses.

“Sounds good. Just be sure to let me know when you leave,” he said.

Collin parked a block or so away. On the walk, you started to overthink things. If Jean would be there, would Eren be there, too? You wanted to say it had been a while since you last thought of him, but that would be another lie you’d have to tally for the night.

“So,” you drawled. “Is Jean going to be here?”

Collin snorted. “Duh. It’s his house.”

He didn’t mention that earlier.

Your heart dropped into your stomach. Past your stomach, like it had splat on the pavement.

As fate would have it, you did see him at the party. Eren. Not immediately, but it might as well have been.

You had only drunk roughly three-quarters of a beer when you saw Eren, and it wasn’t nearly enough to dull the weird twirly feeling pitting in your stomach. It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling, but it was a confusing one, that was for sure.

It wasn’t that you regretted what you had done, not in the slightest, but that didn’t mean you weren’t nervous to see him. How couldn’t you be? This was the first time you’d been in the same room since you had naively bared it all for him, looking about as pathetic in bed as a newborn faun taking its first steps.

At the very least, you expected to see Eren the morning after—you actually dreaded it. You stayed in your bed, laid on pins and needles, staring at your ceiling until you could no longer. And even then, the basement remained silent.

They eventually emerged from their hibernations once the afternoon rolled around. Eren was nowhere to be found, as if he was suddenly the earlier riser of the group. You supposed it was less awkward this way.

In that emotional cauldron you were brewing, the one that was close to boiling over, you felt a dash of jealousy. It was strange and unexpected, but now that you saw Eren cozied up with some girl, her legs draped over his lap… the feeling was certainly there.

You hated it. Especially after your eyes lingered for too long, resulting in very brief, very fleeting eye contact between you. It was over and done with so fast that you didn’t even get a good look at his face. Was he surprised? Indifferent? It was only a guess at this point. But you—well, you made it entirely clear that you were avoiding him, what with the speedy way you spun on your heels to flee. It was a dead giveaway as to how you were feeling, whatever it was.

You tossed back the rest of your beer, then went scouring for what was next. Your best bet was what appeared to be a thrown-together hot chocolate bar. Not the best option but certainly not the worst. The slow cooker, still halfway full, sat warming on the counter. Surrounding it were loose bottles of cream liquors and peppermint schnapps, torn-open bags of marshmallows, and whipped cream if you were feeling fancy. Very on-theme for tonight’s holiday party.

In an attempt to look busy—keep your gaze low, hands moving—you headed that direction.

You fiddled with a stack of styrofoam cups and pretended you weren’t overwhelmingly flustered by this unbeknownst feeling. You didn’t do a great job at it. Or at least, Eren didn’t think so. And unlike you, he had already come to terms with his feelings, but only because it had hit him more or less like a freight train.

So let’s go ahead and recap what the last semester was like for Eren, shall we?

Becoming a third-year freed Eren from the required dormitories and roommates. He spent the tail end of his summer moving into an off-campus apartment. It wasn’t much—exactly what one would imagine when asked to envision an apartment with a down payment suited for a student’s budget. One-bedroom, one-bathroom, but it was all to himself.

No different than any other twenty-something, Eren was excited to be on his own. He could see it already: no one to answer to, no one to schedule his life around. And definitely no weird-ass habits he’d have to deal with from a roommate—one he, to this day, couldn’t believe he matched with based on the school’s dumb quiz. He just had to wait out the summer until his lease began, and then his life would officially start.

The vision derailed, of course, just two weeks before he was handed the keys to his (self-proclaimed) bachelor pad. The reason? It was easy enough to guess.

Eren could deny it as much as he wanted, but it wouldn’t change that after fantasizing about his friend’s little sister for days, he selfishly prioritized his needs over his friendship and took her virginity. And in a cruel turn of events, he wound up with feelings for her. It seemed a bit like karma, didn’t it?

From the very second his eyes snapped open the next morning, he convinced himself it was nothing more than a hot dream—albeit one that left him rattled. But when he ambled upstairs, he found his half-drunk glass of water, untouched, exactly where he recalled leaving it.

Days passed, and Eren waited for that dreadful pang of remorse to smack him upside the head for what he had done—what the two of you chose to do together. It never came. Somehow, that felt so much worse.

Now, he had a secret large enough that if it came to light, he’d end up with a black eye from his best friend. Not that it wouldn’t be well-deserved. Even he could acknowledge that. But he was far from guilt-ridden over it. The only thing he regretted was that he hadn’t spoken to you since. He never talked to you much to begin with—he didn’t even have your phone number—so it’d be weird of him to start now, right?

Eren didn’t know what was the right thing to do, so he defaulted to doing nothing. It didn’t feel like there was any right option, like he had already made too many wrongs to turn back now.

His worst offense? To him, it was that he still thought of you when he was, for lack of better words, alone. But that was the only time!

That was how he justified it: he’d only allow his memories of you, though painfully limited, to seep to the forefront then and only then. It was a half-assed boundary at most, Eren knew as much, and it was so wrong of him. You trusted him, you told him that yourself, and here he was, shamefully fucking his fist to nothing more than a mirage because that was all you had left him.

He’d think of your sweet sounds. Those little, fluttering breaths would escape you as a shiver no matter where he touched you. Sensitive and soft and warm beneath his palms, he’d replay the moment you first tried to take him on your own. Lowering yourself onto him, Eren could see you shifting your hips as you learned how to take him, all of him, best. Past lulled and heavy eyelids, you were intent on getting yourself off, no matter what it took. And when you got there—fuck, he wished he could see it again. He wanted to feel it again, something his hand could never replicate.

After, you never went away. That was when Eren knew he was in trouble. When you were no longer a perverted fantasy but still at his side when he’d close his eyes. No longer fucking but basking in the afterglow of it together. Your arm slung around his waist, your balmy cheek resting against his chest. Tangled sheets, kisses pressed to your forehead, bodies sheened and sticky with sweat—all of it.

This went much deeper than merely offering a helping hand to someone in need before she left for college. Eren did the favor of scratching your back, but what you didn’t realize was that you had scratched his, too. The one itch he couldn’t reach. He still bore the scars of it.

You had him in a chokehold, and you didn’t even know it. A very, very complicated chokehold at that. Eren couldn’t believe he had caught feelings for you, his best friend’s little sister! But now he was peeking at—no, who was he kidding? He was religiously checking your Instagram stories.

By the look of it, there was finally some action in that love life of yours. You were never explicit about it, sharing no more than a picture of his hand on your thigh or a strategically-snapped photo of your cocktail with the mystery man’s face reduced to a background blur. The subtle art of a soft launch. It told Eren enough.

So when he noticed how your eyes sprung to the size of saucers when you saw him across the party, he was intrigued. Eren didn’t know when he’d bump into you next, but he often wondered how you’d react. And when you scurried off like a mouse, excitement sparked within him, even if it was at your expense. He needed to know then if you still thought about him—what he did to you, and you to him—despite being with someone else.

He quickly decided there wasn’t any harm in approaching you to say—

“Hey.”

Eren interrupted you just as you attempted to serve yourself hot cocoa. You nearly dropped the ladle when you heard his voice over your shoulder.

You faltered as you piped back a ‘hi’ but smiled through it only because you realized he came looking for you.

“Need some help?” He offered you a smile laced with pity. You followed his eyes to find yourself pouring hot chocolate onto your wrist. You didn’t feel the string of it until then.

You cursed but thanked him when he took your cup. Since it was apparent you needed his help, Eren started making your drink as you searched for some paper towels.

“What alcohol didya want?”

“I didn’t think that far ahead,” you admitted, nodding toward cocoa-coated hands. “Clearly.”

His mouth curled up at that but nothing more. He didn’t leave any time for your embarrassment to simmer before he replied, “Then I’ll fix you what I made myself.

By the time you were dry and the remnants of your mess were forgotten in the trash can, Eren had mixed your drink and extended it to you. You thanked him for it and took a sip. It was sweet on the tip of your tongue, enough to comfort the burn of liquor that tickled from your throat and down your stomach.

You smiled at him, the kind that made your eyes crinkle. “Cream and peppermint liquor. Good choice.”

“I thought so,” Eren beamed briefly before adding, “Oh—almost forgot.”

He reached for the can of whipped cream, locking his eyes to yours as he angled the nozzle toward your face.

“Open up.”

His smirk was like a wordless language that only you understood. He told you he remembered it—in fact, he even still thought about it—and he wanted to know if you did, too.

You opened your mouth.

A laugh bubbled through you before the cream even met your tongue. Eren’s laugh joined yours when half made it into your mouth. The rest landed on the corner of your lips, daring to spill down your chin. After you thumbed it into your mouth, Eren surprised you by dotting your nose with it, too.

You weren’t stupid; you knew how this looked because it was exactly as it appeared. The action toed the border between playfulness and something more—something that wasn’t entirely uncharted, given your history, but just as forbidden. You would have cared more if anyone was paying you any mind. And if someone important—Collin, Jean… hopefully the list ended there—were to see, you were convinced you could wisely play it off as a joke.

You never expected your next run-in with Eren to go like this. You hoped for it, the shameless flirting, but it was more likely that he’d avoid you like the plague. You convinced yourself of it. You moved on from that ephemeral night, began to see other people, and let your dead-end crush fade away.

No, you didn’t expect this at all. And even if you had, you wouldn’t have imagined it quite like this, with every fiber of your being tightened and set ablaze. And when you laid a hand on Eren’s arm, catching yourself in a fit of giggles, it tightened in reflex, like he felt the burning, too.

You hurdled through the pleasantries even though they weren’t necessary, considering Eren had sex with you off little more than a single conversation last time. In an act of modesty, you were sure, he didn’t directly ask if you were single but instead teased you about Fabio again—asked if you had met anyone that compared.

You hadn’t. The guy you were ‘dating’ was far from your dream man, even to the extent that you had already considered how you’d end it when—if you ever heard from him again.

But Eren didn’t need to know that. You rolled your eyes at the lame joke, offhandedly saying, “I’m sort of seeing someone.”

It piqued his interest, discernible by his raised brow. Either that, or he saw right through you. He leaned into you, close. You wanted to check if Collin was near, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

“Oh, yeah?” He tilted his head and repeated, “‘Sort of.’ What does that mean?”

You sensed he wanted you to spell it out for him, the dirty details of it, but you hummed, “You know, hookups, the occasional dinner—not exclusive.”

Whether or not he detected the hint at the end, your answer didn’t seem to suffice. “Is that what you want?”

You swirled your drink, took another sip, and suppressed your shiver. “I’m still figuring out what I want.”

The next thing you knew, Eren had snuck you upstairs. For obvious reasons, you had never been to Jean’s house; you had not a clue whose bedroom Eren had chosen for the two of you. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t distinguish much under the tawny lights strung around the room, but that was far from your first priority. What mattered more was that no one saw you slip away with Eren. It was no big deal that you were about to have sex with your brother’s best friend on their other best friend’s bed, right?

Fuck it. Quite literally.

You shoved the thought to the back of your head much like the way Eren shoved you against the door as he kissed you. He kept one hand cupped around your face and used his other to lock the door behind you. The moment the click of it hit your ears, he pushed a hand between your legs.

You weren’t going to talk about it, the rather large elephant lurking in the room. That Eren offered to take your virginity much like a business proposition, and you agreed to sex that was supposed to feel just as transactional. But the reality of it was that you hadn’t stopped thinking about that night ever since. Neither of you had, so you’d go on and pretend like it never ended.

He palmed over the crotch of your jeans, teasing you before reaching for their button. You indirectly made him work for him, keeping him close with your arms looped around his neck—close enough that your noses were smushed together.

Eren struggled with the zipper next, less focused on it and more distracted by your teeth, gently tugging on his bottom lip. He groaned, and it spilled into your mouth like honey.

You broke the kiss, hands flinging to your sides to slip from your jeans. You bent at the waist, eyes fixed up at Eren, as you wiggled them down your legs. Noting the deep rise and fall of his shoulders, you felt a similar stutter in your own.

He confessed he didn’t have a condom. You told him you were on birth control now, and that was enough for you both to continue—so long as he pulled out, you reminded. He agreed by hooking your leg around his waist. You swung the other to match, locking your ankles against his lower back, and let him carry you to the bed.

Eren navigated to the bed with suspicious ease. He walked backward, lips still on yours, like he knew the room’s layout and where the bed was. You wanted to wince at the realization—that the likelihood this bedroom belonged to Jean had skyrocketed—but you forgot it just as fast when Eren sat on the edge of the mattress, pulling you down with him.

You straddled his lap with hands on either side of his face, your tongue in his mouth and against his own. He still tasted like peppermint schnapps. Burned like it, too.

He rucked up your shirt as his hands smoothed along your back. You’d think his fingers were made of matches, scorching trails whenever they roamed. You gasped when he dared low enough to grab your ass, pinching at the fat of it. Your thin underwear bunched in his grasp, dragging along your skin with him.

Eren pinned you to him, working you over the front of his jeans. Back and forth, your hips on a swivel, he used you to get himself hard, only stopping to smear his palms on his jeans when you’d start to slip from his grasp. It didn’t take long before you felt him, stiff and nicely pressed between your legs.

When you started to grind against him, demandingly and all on your own, the kiss went sloppy. Though the plush of your lips brushed together, it was less like making out and more like swapping breaths. Like a warm fog swirling around you, you grew dizzy off it. Eventually, one of you would have to come up for air.

You pulled away right as he sat back. You’d call it harmonious, but that would make it sound graceful. Each of you fumbled to get your shirt over your head, and it cascaded into a tangle of limbs and clumsy laughs. You reached for the hem of his T-shirt next. You’d hate to be the only one in your underwear.

You didn’t see them but felt the tight muscles of his chest. They didn’t give under your touch, even as you flattened a hand against him. He picked up on the hint, that you wanted him to lay back, and you moved together. He pushed himself further back on the bed, you following in a feline-like prowl above him, until he rested against the pillows.

It was a new side to you—at least, one that Eren hadn’t seen yet—and he already craved more. You were no longer shy, not in the way he remembered, but entirely disinhibited with this, dare Eren say, beyond turned-on look on your face. Glassy eyes, kiss-swollen lips, and the cherry on top: that devilish smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

He could only gawk as you pressed your smile to his sternum, then a bit lower. Then even lower than that. Your lips skimmed over the smooth skin of his hip bone, tickling him, smacking him with the realization of how dangerously low you were. Every muscle in his body tightened, his cock throbbing to be touched.

Only a tad bit desperate—he’d call it enthusiasm—Eren snaked his hand down to undo his belt. Once it was off, you helped him out of his jeans, working them and his boxers down his legs. You settled between.

Eren was so kind to you the first time, so exceedingly gentle; the least you could do was give him the chance to see what you’d learned since.

You placed a hand on the top of his thigh. Already, it flexed. You slid it higher, merely palming over his cock at your leisure—not his. He chewed on his inner lip in anticipation, fighting the impulse to rut against your hand. He wasn’t prepared to look that pathetic, even if he felt that way watching you wet your lips. He knew what was coming next, and if he had any air in his lungs, he would have whined at the sight.

When you finally brought your mouth to the tip of his cock, he sucked in a breath. That was all it took, just a swipe of your tongue; you didn’t even have to take him past your lips. Wanting to pull another noise from him, you did it a second time, licking him from base to tip, agonizingly slow.

You knew what he wanted. You could see it plainly on his face: Just put it in your mouth already! Anything, please! But instead of flinging a hand to the back of your head, he gripped the sheets. He let you tease him despite that it wasn’t the time or place for it. Outside the door, there was far-off music. It was indistinct, buzzing behind heavy footsteps and creaking floorboards and laughter—the usual party rumblings. It was as ambient to Eren as white noise, no greater than a low drone. He could only concentrate on suppressing his desire to ruin you—as if he hadn’t done so already. But before he could do that, you needed to show him how much you could take.

So you did just that. Inch by inch.

Eren’s abdominals clenched as more of him disappeared past your lips. Your mouth, wet and oh-so warm, was tight. Intentionally so as you wrapped your lips around him with hollowed cheeks. You found a comfortable, steady pace, bobbing your head over his length. You only paused to gather your saliva, allowing it to pool behind your front teeth. Unabashedly, Eren watched.

It was a sight so incredibly pornographic yet one he found undeniably adorable. Your little expressions had him smitten—how you pursed and puckered your lips before finally spitting. It dribbled from your bottom lip in a lewd string connecting you to him. You let out an uncomfortable giggle, then snapped it with a swipe of your thumb.

He’d say you officially had him wrapped around your pinky finger now—as if he hadn’t been pretending that wasn’t already the case for months.

Up and down, your hand spread the saliva over his length with little resistance. After a moment, you returned your mouth to him, and the little rasp of a moan he let slip caught your attention. Through tear-damp lashes, you found his eyes keen on you, his jaw slightly slack in what you’d only describe as awe.

The buttery lights warmed the side of his face, glinting like fire behind his eyes. You studied every part of his face, from the twitch of his brow when you’d lap your tongue along the underside of his shaft to how his nose would scrunch when you’d swirl around the tip. You wanted to learn exactly what made him feel good so you could do it over and over again, as he had with you.

Eren wrestled himself on whether he should let you continue or not. He didn’t want to stop you, dutifully attempting to take all of him without choking, it was just that he had a better idea in mind.

He sat up enough to guide you to his side with both hands. You could tell he was trying to be smug, but his voice sounded taken as he told you, “Looks like whoever you were with must have been a real amateur.”

Eren had you perpendicular to him now but still bent over so you could keep on as you were.

“Or just selfish,” he added. His hand stroked down your spine and over the curve of your ass. He reached between your legs and pushed your panties aside to make room for him. “Because this way, I can touch you, too.”

You moaned when his fingers traced over your slit. He used the pads of them to circle your clit and didn’t falter even as you wiggled back against his hand. With his free hand, he cupped your face, gently encouraging you to pick up from where you had left off. You were more than willing.

He dipped a finger inside you. On impulse, he jerked deeper into your throat when he felt you flutter around the intrusion, as if he could feel it in his cock. Every whimper he’d coax from you sounded even sweeter when muffled.

“Not to mention, he must be a fucking idiot to miss out on this.” Eren’s voice was a murmur up until the end. Then it was a hiss. “Because I bet you look real pretty coming with your mouth full.”

He spoke to you softly, the timbre of his voice a warm hum, yet his confidence was palpable. The back of your neck burned.

Though you clung to it like a shield, your strength began to waver. It was evident by the quiver in your thighs every time he’d slip from you, fingers dripping, to play with your clit. Every time, you followed it with another strangled whimper. Each was like a gift to Eren.

He had brought you to the brink of becoming undone. All the while, he watched contently, head drooped to his shoulder and everything. He felt the tiny huffs from your nose fan over his pelvis as you sputtered around his cock. Your arm would wobble, elbow threatening to give out, as you struggled to focus on him and your orgasm, impending and fogging your senses. You had forgotten how wonderful another person could make you feel, and this was just his fingers.

Eren was a bit of an anomaly; it only took you a few encounters to conclude such. Not everyone was talented with their fingers or their tongues or their—the list could go on, really. But it was more than deftness alone. Eren actually wanted to make you come, and by the look of it, he was just as needy for it as you were. And you were right there, the heat of it winding in your stomach until your entire being gained a pulse of its own.

You came with Eren’s cock in your mouth. It overtook you in a glow, burning you from the inside out in a series of little explosions. You dug your nails into his thigh. Your other hand, though shaky, was still around the base of him. You were hardly conscious of how you squeezed him, but he didn’t even feel it. He was more enraptured by the way your throat tightened around him as you choked through your orgasm.

Past the thick thrumming in your ears, you heard how much Eren enjoyed that lovely little mouth of yours—how much he enjoyed using it.

Thunder emitted low from his chest as he rolled his hips, meeting you halfway to ensure every bow of your head was punctuated by another squeak of the mattress and his tip bumped against the back of your throat. He was as delicate as could be while fucking your mouth, yet tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. They welled up and threatened to drip down your cheek, teasing him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” It tumbled from Eren’s mouth in a ragged chant. His head was thrown back into the stack of pillows, but he fought to steal a glimpse of you before your knees buckled beneath you. “Look at you. You’re fucking perfect.”

Your heart skipped.

You liked that you were the reason for his pleasure—the reason his cheeks bore a flush, and why he could no longer hold himself back. Seconds ago, you had set a scene just as vulgar, helplessly grinding against his hand in a chase for your own high. And now that he was just as swept up in it, he could no longer pretend he had dreamt only of fucking you gently.

There was no way Eren could finish before he had the chance to get started. He regrettably pulled out from your mouth with a spitty pop.

You were still panting when you traded positions. Eren laid you back on the bed, gazing down to trace over the features of your face. He petted the side of it when he said, “You did so good.”

He kissed every spot he touched. Your cheekbone, the lobe of your ear, then the dip below it. You felt each one at the base of your spine.

“Talk to me.” Eren nuzzled the words in the nook of your jaw, breathed them over your skin, sensitive and already tacky from your swelter. His tongue and teeth grazed down the column of your neck. “Tell me what you want.”

There wasn’t any air behind your voice, nothing to carry it when you tried to reply, “Take off my underwear. Please.”

You went to raise your hips for him, but your legs had long turned to mush. There was an unmistakable tremble to them as Eren shimmied off your underwear. You placed a leg on either side of him, spreading yourself and welcoming him between. His eyes, alert as a hawk’s, widened before falling exactly where one would predict. Then he swallowed hard.

He was faced with the task of taking all of you in, as if it were even possible. You followed the tips of his fingers as he trailed them up your curves with a butterfly’s touch. He toyed with the strap of your bra, now wilted off your shoulder and dangling at your arms. With a quick tug, he had your breasts popped over the cups.

Eren licked his lips. “God, you’re—”

He eagerly crashed to your chest, right between your tits. He didn’t intend to cut himself off, but he decided it was probably for the best; he wasn’t sure what he was about to spout out, anyway.

You were just as sensitive as he remembered, unable to keep still as his large hands squeezed at your breasts, kissing and nipping and licking every inch of the delicate skin. When his mouth was latched to one, flicking his tongue at your perked nipple, he’d continue playing with the other, rolling his thumb over it.

As though you could possibly drift away, you anchored yourself to Eren. You raked a hand through his hair, fingering through the lank strands that escaped his tie and hung loose. Before you could screw it up any further, you flinched when you heard voices booming on the other side of the wall. Your entire body froze as you glanced over to the door.

Either Eren didn’t hear it or if he was only pretending he didn’t. His hold on you was steadfast as he covered your body in kisses—that is, until the handle jiggled. He tore away then to follow your line of sight.

You waited for something to happen. Anything. Like the knob to rattle again, or a pound that would shake the door. Maybe someone would kick it down—you didn’t know! But the only sound between you was the thumping of your heartbeat against Eren’s.

Whoever it was, they must have wanted the room for the very same reason you and Eren did because, after a minute passed, you believed they had left. The groan of the floorboards grew distant as another hot and bothered pair continued their search for a vacancy.

You brought Eren back to you by lightly taking him by the forearm. You were unable to wrap your fingers around the entirety of it but managed to pull him in, anyway. At the same time, you dug your heels into the mattress and scooted closer to him.

“I want you,” you quietly confessed. You lifted your hips, angling them in an attempt to meet his cock.

Eren needed to convince himself this was real—that you were real. You hardly gave him the time to before you hitched a leg around his waist. He collapsed over you, caging you between his forearms. His eyes had darkened, brows sitting lowly above them in that drunken, determined look of lust.

He kissed you. The corner of your mouth first, then fully on your lips. Between your legs, you felt him brush against you, throbbing. His tongue parted your lips, slipping past them the moment he pushed inside you.

It stole your breath. Though your mouth was agape, a tiny ‘o’ against his, not a sound left you. He slipped out of you, then filled you again. Your breath returned in the form of a moan. He did this a few more times, deeper with each tilt of his hips, fucking you languidly, just to see if you could take it before he bottomed out.

Eren straightened out. “You okay?”

You gazed up at him and watched his lips curve into a soft smile when you whispered, “More than.”

Then you watched it melt away once you wiggled against him, encouraging him, asking for—no, taking more of him. As though he had been waiting on you, he finally pushed deeper until he was flush against you.

You realized Eren’s composure was an act because it much snapped like a rubber band. You caught his inhale, through his nose and sharp in your ear. His head dropped on his exhale, and you felt it vibrate through you. He thrust into you a few more times, adjusting to you, while tiny grunts played at your ears.

Keeping in mind your whereabouts, you expected this to be a quickie. But before you knew it, you were having the type of sex that wasn’t meant for a friend’s bed. It became pounding hips, so intense—so fucking good—that you heard Eren’s hand hit the headboard with a smack, gripping the top of it for support. It was erratic kisses. Ones that were messy and missed but would catch another part of the face, like the bow of your lip or dip in his chin; gasping and stealing damp breaths from one another in a bedroom growing headier by the second.

Lest he wished to come now and completely ruin everything, Eren had to pump the breaks. He sat back onto his calves and shoved a hand through his hair, sweeping it away from his face. His chest looked heavy, yet his arms remained sturdy as he cradled your hips. He fucked you slowly, mesmerized by the sight of him burying inside you—how well you took him—again and again.

Flustered, you tried to remember how to breathe, but Eren made it difficult with his lazy eyes and an even lazier smile.

You felt your whole body react when he placed a hand at the base of your neck. You were silk beneath his touch, from the dip between your chest, down to your navel. He traced along the side of your body and the swells of your breasts, then repeated it.

Eren had known you for years, but he didn’t know you—not like that. But he knew enough to say he liked you. And he was sure he’d only grow to like you more—a lot more.

He couldn’t wait to get there, to know everything there was to learn about you. Your birthday, your favorite food, what you liked to do on a rainy day—hell, he wanted to know what superpower you’d choose if presented with the option. He wanted every detail of it, and that had to mean something.

Eren grabbed your hand. He held it against his face and kissed the inside of your wrist.

“You’re so soft,” he told you, voice pitched low and spoken into your skin.

The only coherent thought you had was how desperately you needed him again. You yanked him forward until his mouth was back on yours, where it belonged. Taking your open mouth as an invitation, he sucked your tongue lightly. You felt a frisson of heat beneath your skin, but it prickled like a chill.

“Eren. More,” you pleaded, your voice lost somewhere in his mouth.

You twisted beneath him. Eren pulled out and watched as you rolled to your stomach, pushing yourself onto your hands and knees. You could only glimpse over your shoulder, but it was enough to see that his eyes were trained on you.

Suddenly hot under his gaze, you rushed to add, “Only if you want to.”

Whether it was intentional or Eren was just seeing things, he swore you arched your back as you said it, ass in the air like it was an offering.

Of course he wanted to. He wanted to so badly that he nearly couldn’t get the words out. From his mumbling, you could only make out, “You have no fucking idea.”

Eren had to kiss you then, everywhere that he could reach. Your lower back and then the valley of it next. He kissed a path between your legs. With his hands on your ass, he spread you, luring a squeal from you when he licked a stripe through your pussy.

He stood tall on his knees, kicked your legs apart, and plunged inside you with a swift swing of his hips. You let out an indulgent moan, your hands clawing fists into the pillows. With the fingers digging into the dough of your sides, he worked you over his cock.

“You feel so fucking good,” Eren panted, almost like a laugh, as if he was in disbelief. He wanted to say he had forgotten how wonderful you felt, almost like you were made for him, but how could he forget? He had only been longing for it.

“Fuck,” you whined under your breath.

You didn’t see it, your head had dropped between your shoulders, but Eren smirked.

“You like when I talk to you, don’t you?”

He watched how your back arched deeper before you answered, babbling, “Yes, yes—oh fuck, yes.”

There was little else on your mind other than how close you were to coming for the second time. Absolutely desperate for it, you bounced back against Eren’s thrusts. He cursed through gritted teeth, watching you sink back onto his cock. His hand snaked between your legs in search of your clit. He began rubbing tight circles that you felt in your toes.

You squeaked out a small, breathless sound as your body tightened.

With a voice like gravel, Eren hummed, “There you go.”

He fucked you through it. His hips never lost their pacing, and the rhythm of his fingers was resolute even as you twitched below him. It wasn’t until you heard him grunt, “I can feel it—shit, I can feel you coming—you’re so tight,” that he began to strain.

With a cheek smushed into the sheets, your moans were choppy until they sputtered into one last sigh. You went slack in Eren’s grasp.

He slipped an arm beneath you before you could crumble to the bed, holding you close enough that he could feel your rabid pulse against his arm. Eren folded over you, lazily rutting into you. You felt his weight atop you, the words he etched into the nape of your neck when murmured, “I wanna be with you.”

Blame it on the orgasm, but for whatever reason, it didn’t register with you. Be with you—wasn’t that what was happening right now?

His hand scooped your chin, angling your face to kiss your temple.

“Come back to my place.” Eren ghosted his lips over your ear. “I wanna be with you tonight, like I should have the first time.”

You could only assume the blood had left your head by now. Your eyes fluttered shut. You were as malleable as putty; you’d agree to just about anything at that moment—if you could. Hazy off all those feel-good hormones, you couldn’t manage a nod as your body rocked with his. After a few more jerks of his hips, he pulled out.

He didn’t come but flipped you onto your back. You slumped into the pillows willingly, your legs falling at your sides so Eren could nestle between. He didn’t enter you again but laid his cock against you, nice and slick for him, and spread you with it. He held himself there with a flattened palm and fucked between you. Wrecked and tortuously sensitive, the head of his cock bumping your clit had you spinning to the point of seeing stars.

Eren’s eyes snapped shut as he focused on your blissful purrs below him. He was already close; it only took another stutter of his hips before he threw his head back and came across your stomach, some of it spurting as high as your tits and neck. The muscles of his arms flexed, the veins of them chiseled and defined, as he held you there, soft and pliant for him.

He was still breathing hard when he stilled. He flexed his fingers, stretching out an ironclad grasp, as he sat back on his heels.

“Fuck, what a mess.” Eren croaked a chuckle. “Sorry.”

He stood and poked around the room a bit before locating a tissue box on the dresser. It skipped through your mind to ask if this was Jean’s room, but you decided it was best you didn’t know.

Eren gave you some tissues before taking his handful to wipe you clean. Despite your attempts at controlling it, you were visibly trembling. He must have noticed because he didn’t rush to dress but flopped beside you, even if he claimed it was because he was too hot to put his shirt back on.

You lolled your head to the side to look at him. Dew painted the edges of his face, catching what little light was there and defining the structure.

You shared a look, let it linger between you. It was unreadable. A face of shock—one you surely mirrored, and yet comfort lapped at you like tropical waves. The two emotions, together in stark contrast, could be summarized with a simple, ‘It’s you.’

Said once through a heavy sigh, like the realization that you were only startled by a friend around the corner.

Said twice with your jaw cartoonishly dropped to the floor when you realized who you had sex with again—the prickle of surprise when you rouse from your dream only to find them naked at your side.

Eren patted the top of your thigh before heaving himself upright. Time to go.

You quickly dressed and straightened out as much as possible, double-checking that no one’s clothes were on backward. Eren was fixing his hair in the mirror when he asked, “You ready to get out of here?”

“You were serious?” you questioned—nicely, of course. You figured it was only a heat-of-the-moment sort of deal.

He caught your eye in the reflection. “I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t serious.”

It slipped from his tongue easily. It sounded natural, no different than fact, as he told you what he wanted—you. The words were weighty, dragging your woozy head back down to Earth. They sobered you up like a splash of ice water to the face.

You didn’t have any desire to return to the party. There was no way either of you could continue on as though nothing happened. Someone would catch on. Besides that, you didn’t want to pretend any longer; you were much more interested in seeing where the rest of the night would take you—where Eren would take you.

You plotted your exit well enough that Eren was waiting on your ride outside by the time you were sneaking out. You had texted Collin that you were leaving and took his lack of reply as a good sign. You gave Hitch a half-truth—told her you were going home with someone but didn’t specify who.

Eren’s apartment was nice, neat. Still exceptionally new and hardly lived in. Then again, he didn’t fit the type to go full throttle into interior decorating.

He immediately pointed out the bathroom because you had complained you felt gross during the drive. There, you rummaged around a bit before you found his face wash in the shower. You freshened up as much as you could, stealing a swig of mouthwash to rid the syrupy taste of liquor from your teeth.

Eren knocked at the door. You spat into the sink, wiped your mouth, and peeked out.

“Thought you might want these,” Eren said, offering what appeared to be clothes much comfier than your own, folded and stacked in his hands.

You thanked him, inspecting them once he left you to change. You decided on just the T-shirt; it covered enough. There was no use in hiding now, and it certainly wasn’t worth risking tripping over the legs of his sweatpants.

Though you were practically tip-toeing, Eren heard you the second you walked into the kitchen. He stepped out from behind the refrigerator door dressed in just a pair of shorts, no shirt. You held your breath when he smiled at you, ever so lopsidedly that you found it cute.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” he said like an admission, with a sheepish laugh and all.

Your giggle was just as lighthearted, smiling when you replied, “I am, too.”

He neared you in a step with ardor sparkling through his eyes. With hands closed around your waist, he scooped you up and plopped you onto the counter.

You yelped when its chill hit the backs of your thighs. You made yourself comfortable, sitting happily and with dangling feet, as you watched Eren cycle through what little preparation was necessary for a frozen pizza.

You’d seen him like this, exactly like this, just as you’d seen all of your brother’s friends lumber out from his bedroom at three in the afternoon on a Saturday. You never looked for too long; that was off-limits. But now, things were different. He was different—to you, at least. Now you could touch.

You studied the sinewy muscles of his back, how they pulled taut when he reached into the freezer. Even under the fluorescent light of the kitchen, the crests of his shoulders shone like gold even though it was the middle of a sunless winter.

Eren squinted to read the instructions on the back of the box. Your snickering was met with his side eye, and he followed it with a ‘don’t laugh’ as he tossed the box aside.

He snatched a bag of chips from the counter, and the two of you split them as an appetizer while the oven preheated. While the pizza baked, you played a game of twenty questions, just to pass the time. And when the timer blared, you ate your slices straight from the oven and asked each other questions with burnt tongues.

You learned that Eren’s birthday was on March 30th and that his favorite food was a cheeseburger, hold the pickles—that part was important. When it rained, he preferred to either nap or go outside to watch the storm, no in between. And if he woke up one day to discover he had superhero-like powers, Eren would want to be able to teleport and travel the world, even if his clothes couldn’t come with him—yes, you asked.

The questions continued into the bedroom because some answers, like the one to the superpower question, inspired lengthy conversations. You met Eren in his bed and curled against him, letting him spread the blanket over you. You were glad to have stuck with just the tee because you liked the feeling of his skin returning to yours, your legs intertwined with his.

It was Eren’s turn. It was the final question to end the game. You thought he’d contemplate it longer, as he had with his previous questions, but it only took a beat for him to ask, “Can I see the guy you’re dating?”

“Absolutely not!” You scoffed a laugh at his audacity, even sitting higher in your seat to balk at him. “Besides, that’s not how the game works.”

Still, his grin widened. “C’mon, please. It’s the least I deserve.”

He poked you playfully, causing you to giggle as you asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I need to size up my competition.”

You wanted to be just as bold and tell him there was no competition, none at all. But your reluctant, “Fine, here,” said enough as you settled back into the crook of his arm.

You outstretched your phone before your face, far enough that Eren could see the screen, and scrolled to your dating app. You flitted through his profile because you didn’t want Eren to get a proper look, but he plucked the phone from your hand anyway. He glanced from you to the photo, then back to you once more.

“Seriously? This guy?” He tilted his head knowingly. “You know you can do better than that.”

Thinking you were clever, you sassed, “Oh, then are you suggesting you’re better?”

He flashed a cheeky smile. “Of course I am.”

You grabbed your phone from him with a roll of your eyes. “Whatever. He’s nice.” Eren pulled a face. “What?”

“It’s just the way you said it—‘he’s nice,’” he explained. “You don’t actually like him, do you?”

Eren was right. You didn’t want to admit it, though, not with the way he was eyeing you. But the truth sat heavy in your chest, and it consoled some of the weight to outrightly say, “No, not really. Not like I thought I did.”

You didn’t have the chance to set your phone aside before Eren snagged it again. Now aware of the guy’s name, he easily sorted through your contacts and found your messages with him. The unanswered text you last sent, well before winter break, stared back at you mockingly.

You felt a twinge of embarrassment waiting for Eren to comment on it, but whatever he was thinking, he kept the comment to himself.

It was undeniable that the guy must be a real prick for ignoring you. In turn, Eren determined he probably deserved what was coming: a message as short and sweet as ‘I think it’s best we don’t see each other again.’

Though you could have stopped him at any time, you still gasped, “Eren!” when he sent the text. It was meant as a scold but spilled from you as a laugh—as laughter, shaking your shoulders and making it a challenge to get your phone back.

A middle-of-the-night text like that could only mean one thing. You were sure he’d put the pieces together—that you had gotten with someone else—but you didn’t care. Now that he was out of the way, Eren ditched your phone next and captured the last bit of your attention.

His eyes were loyal to you, looking you straight in the face as he told you, “I like you. A lot.” He said it calmly, with a voice like a breeze. He brought a hand to your face and grazed it with the backs of his fingers. “Way more than I should, considering…”

Eren’s voice trailed off in a too-knowing way. He left it up to you to fill in the blank. No, blanks. Considering the only history between you was a two-night stand? Considering you lived three hours away? Or—how could you forget?—was it that you were the younger sister of his best friend?

The correct answer? All of the above.

Eren had more to say; you were sure of it. There was much—too much—left to be said. Tonight wasn’t the night for it.

You buried into the curve of his arm. Nose pressed against his neck, you breathed in the smell of his day, the salt on his skin from fucking. You lazed a hand on his chest. He was warm, live beneath your palm, his heartbeat like the patter of a tiny drum.

You took the bait then, carelessly pitching him, “So, how’s this going to work?”

Eren heard the smile in your voice. His fingers found your chin, angling your face toward him. On it was that coy smile of yours, the one he remembered from that night. He kissed it, soft-lipped, as chaste as a mere taste.

“We’ll figure it out.”

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren smut

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identifying-cars-in-posts · 7 months

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A long overdue update:

Hi everyone. Long time no see. I literally have not opened Tumblr since the last time I posted here. Hope everyone is doing ok. Figured I owed y’all an apology and explanation for kinda just vanishing.

First, I did in fact get a car! It’s a 2015 Nissan Versa Note. I don’t particularly like it but a friend gave me a deal on it that I couldn’t turn down. Once my life stabilizes I’m probably going to sell it and buy an old truck, maybe a 70s Ford. I’d love a little sports car or a land yacht but rear wheel drive is a bit impractical for brutal New England winters, and the Jeep really put me in Old American Truck Mode. But yes I have a car now!

Second, unfortunately this is an official notice of hiatus. When I last posted saying I was taking some time off it was because I had just had an incredibly stressful move and did not have the energy to keep this blog up. I figured I’d take some time to get settled in, relax, and then pick this back up after a week or two, but the last month has been really rough - the short version is one of the people I was living with turned out to be a pretty horrendous human being who managed to get everybody living in the house essentially kicked out via sheer drama. Within a month and a half. It’s a long story but tl:dr if you quite literally slander a property manager with heavy unfounded accusations of horrible crimes, they’ll probably bail from the whole situation. And since they’re gone the landlord has to hand ownership of everything over to a company that’s forcing everyone still here to vacate. I’m now fighting to not have to live in aforementioned Nissan Versa through the aforementioned brutal New England winter. On top of that, I’m a retail manager so we’re going into our busiest most stressful season, so that’s been an extra level of exhaustion.

So what does that mean for this blog? Well, as I said, I’m officially going on indefinite hiatus, as are the projects I was working on in relation, including the reference website. I’m really sorry, I’m just way too stressed and dealing with way too much. If I could, I would just hand off administrative power to someone else, but this is a sideblog so I can’t hand off login credentials without also giving access to my main/personal account. It’s my biggest regret of this account, but when I started it I never expected it to blow up the way it did back in September - I had no reason to expect to need it to be its own entirely separate blog. I love what I was doing here and I thought that it might even be a nice distraction from everything going on, but the upkeep required with this blog is just more than I can deal with right now. I hope that things settle down soon and that I can genuinely come back here and enjoy what I was doing, but I just need literally anything to level out in my real life and to not be in 100% survival mode, because at the moment I literally do not have the energy to pour into this.

Anyway. Sorry for the long post, I’m not good at not being overly verbose. I’m really sorry for kind of abandoning this project, and I hope I can get back to it relatively soon, it just might be a while.

In the mean time, I hope those of y’all who I turned onto cars as a potential hobby find some other good outlets! I highly recommend Donut Media’s series “Up to Speed” on YouTube, as well as the channels Regular Car Reviews, Doug DeMuro, Garbage Time, and Aging Wheels. All great YouTube channels that are both informative and very approachable and fun.

Godspeed and much love. Hope to see y’all soon

- Identifying Cars in Posts admin ❤️

#not a car id

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reverie-verse · 1 year

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Ooops Mating Bond - Azriel x Reader

Prompt: The time you accepted the mating bond by force feeding your mate who hadn’t eaten all day. Your a younger than Tarquin so like 40. You’re a chef for the inner circle.

Yoo so this is my first time writing an Acotar fic, ummmm also Az is my favorite right now so don’t judge. Umm I hope you enjoy it!

Also fluff❤️ lemme know if you want more! Ps I promise in the future I will grammar check okay, cuz this ish is so getting out of hand 😭😭😭

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you first joined the inner circle it was Mor, Cassian and Nesta who had found you. You were just a plain old fisher woman, you would go out on your little boat in the early mornings (mostly) to catch as many fish you could. You’d sell them to the other restaurants. You’d take whatever earnings you’d receive and hit the market. You’d buy various Ingredients for various dishes. In the time between you would take a nap before you prepared your dishes. Later in the evening you’d wake up and begin preparing different meals and pack them. It would be nearing toward the later part of the night. You’d pack your food cart and push it towards the direction of Rita’s. The night life there was always vibrant. You figured a change in crowd might be more beneficial to you.

There you stood with your cart and all, food hot and ready to be eaten. Mor had stumbled out of the club with Amren, Varian, and Azriel. They had been giggling to no end with smiles on their faces and twinkles in their eyes. Mor was the one who had rushed to your cart when she had smelt the variety of foods. She was more than delighted to pay for the entire cart of food. Amren complained that it was too much until she had tasted your food. Then she argued with Mor even though she particularly didn’t enjoy food about getting half the cart. Varian only laughed at his lover while Mor very seriously attempted to pull out money to pay for the entire cart. Azriel on the other hand had remained quiet. He watched you with careful eyes assessing you, and the cart. He had found it odd that he had never seen you before anywhere in Velaris. The fact that you had parked your cart out and near Rita’s. He had no reasons to truly believe you were to cause any harm.

Azriels face remained stoic and brooding but as a shadow singer and one of the most fear Illyrian spy you only smiled and offered him a pastry and some savory food. The Shadowsinger was taken back, everyone was so afraid of him he hadn’t expected you to outright smile at him. He reached into his pocket to fish out his money, his sapphiron's flickered in the street light. You moved your hand over the cart stoping his.

“ It’s on the house-”

He looked at you as if you spoke another language and you continued grinning. “ -For now. But when you come back I’ll charge you and your crew. Shadow man-.” You watched as he bit into the food. His whole body sagged at the taste of the food. It was rather comforting and it certainly hit the spot. You had packed the food into containers as you handed them to Azriel who was quietly enjoying his food. Mor and Amren had squealed with joy as Varian helped the struggling eater with the containers. You had closed up shop heading on your way home. Sure you had made money that night but it was worth it watching them express happiness over the food they had consumed.

It was like that for weeks and each time they had paid for the entire cart. With each passing day a new member of the inner circle would visit the cart along with your returning customers. At one point Feyre had asked why Mor, why everyone was so invested in a small food stand. To which she only replied “ The food is divine” So Feyre went and tried it with her friends and family. Needless to say she immediately demanded Rhysand to offer you a job to work for them. Whether it was at the River House, the Town House or the House of Wind. Rhys agreed without a second thought everyone was overjoyed that their favorite person would be joining them.

The High Lord and Lady appeared on your boat offering you a job which you gladly accepted. Months later you found yourself working in all three houses cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner. You enjoyed your job more than anything in the world. The best part was that you got to live there and a person who lingered in the shadows…. Traveling became much easier. Though it was horrible when you had to walk up those ten thousand steps with groceries. When you reached the top Azriel was quick to help you with the groceries it was a coincidence he had gotten there the same time you did. Thankfully that only happened one time. That was the only night the inner circle had no dinner and everyone was mad at those stairs because of it. This time around everyone had decided to stay at the River house.

You smiled at the memory as you finished today's breakfast having Nuala and Cerridwen place the dishes on the table. You began working on lunch for the day. You could hear the inner circle chatting at the table eating their food. Busy Bodies all of them, you chuckled to yourself. You waited though for a voice in particular one that was always brooding in the dark corner, with flying globs of shadows. Speaking of shadows one in particular found a safe place to rest as it wraps itself around your wrist. You looked at the shadow and whispered to it “ Where’s your master?” You were definitely joking when you had asked the question. Though the shadow seemed to believe you had meant it. It unravels itself from your wrist in a hot pursuit to find its master. You shake your head as you roll the dough.

After an hour or two everyone had cleared the table and set off to do their duties for the time being before lunch. Even as Nuala and Cerridwen were the maidens of Feyre they stuck close by you. They watched every movement you made and you knew who they reported too. Between them and the shadows you had no idea what to do. Azriel seemed to have kept all eyes on you at all times just as Rhys does with Feyre. The two were far more alike than you’d be willing to admit out loud. You and Azriel were barely mated. It snapped a month ago when he had come home from a mission. It had been a rough one and you both found yourselves together expressing hidden unrequited love amongst other things. However you hadn’t made a meal specifically for him yet.

………………….

You had finished with lunch fairly early helping the twins set the table. You watched as the entire inner circle piled in. Elain sniffs the air gently “ Oh Y/N this smells amazing!” as she settles herself down in a chair. Nesta, not far behind her sister, finds a place to sit and she grins, which was enough said in her case. Cassian right behind Nesta and Mor hot on his heels, he shoves Mor. “I AM STARVING!”

Mor shoves “ You Pig, save some for me!!” She lunges for the table Cassian doing the same. You laugh at the two as they fought for a specific dish they wanted. Feyre and Rhys both emerged making their way to the table.

“ Don’t start fighting, guys there's plenty of food” You laughed at your two friends who were eyeing the same pastry platter but further down the table, within a second both were scrambling for it.

“ Oh wow Y/N I think this is the best spread of food you’ve made” Feyre smiles at you before taking her place at the table. Grabbing her plate and piling on the food. The table had been covered in various fruits, vegetable dishes, sandwiches and meat dishes, even some rice dishes as well. You attempted this time around to try a new pastry dish which was completely devoured by Mor and Cassian. You could see why everyone was so eager to eat it looked good.

“ Thank you, I really appreciate that” You gave her an accomplished smile. You were proud that it looked even though you felt you could’ve done better. This was good for now and everyone had the look of It hit the spot on their faces. So take that overthinking brain.

Rhys turned to you he was about to say something when Amren came barreling into the room, excitement etched on her face. “My favorite time of day!” She too also lunged for the table.

“ Looks like you finally curbed your appetite,” Nesta says from her spot.

Amren glared at Nesta “Even in this fae body, I wouldn’t mind attempting to see if my old appetite still lingers, girl”

Rhys chucked “ Enough Amren eat your lunch Y/N had worked so hard to prepare this exquisite meal for us” Rhys had taken his seat as well gathering food to put on his plate. You took a seat next to Elain taking a rest before heading back to the kitchen. You liked to hear the chatter amongst the group and about how their days were going. You were quiet and just enjoying the simplicity of it. Until your mind wandered to Azriel, who hadn’t been there for breakfast and now lunch.

You felt talons in your mind gently tapping on your shielded mind. You knew it was Rhys by how his mental talons scratched at your mind. Feyre had never done it to you but you assumed that she was a much more gentle experience than Rhys, no offense to him. You let him slip into your mind easily.

“ Why so sad little chef?”

“ Little Chef? Haha, very original old man. Where is he?” You watched as Feyre and Elain talked about her garden in the town house. Cassian slumped back in his chair giving himself a tummy rub. Nesta rolls her eyes at him as he gives her a rather suggestive look. Mor cackled when she noticed the interaction. Amren paid no mind to anyone sneaking more food onto her plate while stealing off of everyone else's.

“ Ouch, old man? Do remind me of who we are talking about again, Little Chef ” You sided eyed Rhys as his shoulders shook slightly from holding in a laugh.

“You play too many games, old man. You know who I am talking about ” You mentally rolled your own eyes, showing him the gesture while also mentally flipping him off.

“ Okay, okay, I do play games. I rather enjoy them. However your ‘old man’ of a mate is taking care of business for me.”

“ Feyre was right”

“ About what?”

“ Your all Busy bodies”

“ Hey, you looked like you needed some reassurance. It would be wrong of me to not help a fellow friend”

“ Uh-huh so when will he be back?”

“ He should be back in an hour.”

“ I am so telling Feyre you’re a busy body” By this point you and Rhys locked eyes, both of you continued communicating mentally. Any other person who looked from the outside would have guessed that maybe the two of you were staring each other down to see who would break first.

“ Y/N, that is far from the truth.” Rhys looked away briefly to roll his own eyes at you.

“ It is the truth! You swear you don’t ‘meddle in other people's business’ here you are telling me what I wanna know” You mentally pointed a finger at him as you laughed softly.

“ You looked sad! This is the last time I help you ease your mind” Rhys attempted to defend himself but it was no use, he in fact was a busy body whether he wanted to admit it or not.

“Guilty busy body old man”

“ Don’t you have food to make, Little Chef”

“Thanks,”Your eyes lit with humor as you smiled before heading off to the kitchen to prepare dinner and Azriel’s lunch.

“Of course” Dipped his head at you returning that same humorous expression.

………………..

The hour had passed and you had finished making Azriel’s plate and some of the dinner spread. You could feel the buzz of energy that belonged to him. Your bond had begun sharpening itself lately between you two. It hadn’t completely fortified itself just yet and you couldn’t figure out why. This would be the first meal you’d bring just to Azriel, your mind unbeknownst to you had not caught on to what was happening. You weren’t exactly lucky in the learning of mating. Your parents were different. You knew that, and everyone else knew that, so this concept to you was entirely new.

“ Miss?” Nuala called out to you.

“ Yes?” You replied as you fixed a missing piece to his plate before grabbing a glass of water along with it.

“ You’re running behind Miss” Nuala gives you a small smile as she shifts her gaze to the clock. You follow it cursing at yourself grabbing the plate before making your way hastily out the kitchen. Cerridwen had smiled at herself knowing what was about to transpire.

Nuala called out to you again “ Uh Miss he’s in the High lords study”.

“ Oh right, yes Okay, thank you! I will be back to help with the rest of the dinner!” You called out as you left the kitchen.

“ Should we warn her?” Cerridwen giggled. Cerridwen couldn’t help but be happy for the pair. Azriel deserved to be loved just as the rest of the group is.

“ No, let the happy couple be,” Nuala replied, continuing her work as well. Azriel deserved to be loved just as the rest of the group is. Nuala looked to her sister as they both shared a giddy giggle of happiness.

You had followed Nuala’s advice practically running down the halls to get to Azriel. You knew he had to be starving; there was no way he would not be hungry. You hadn’t realized what was happening when you entered the room. All three bat boys had been in a meeting which was abruptly stopped by you. You didn’t seem to notice as your feet carried you to Azriel. Azriel noticed the plate in your hands. His face is tinting a shade of pink. Now was definitely not the time to be giving him food. Cassian and Rhys both coughed, finding everything else in the room rather interesting.

“ Y/N now isn’t the best time for-“ Azriel started, though you cut him off quickly.

“ You didn’t eat breakfast or lunch so I made you some food.” You hand him the plate expecting him to eat it. Azriel cleared his throat nervously, he didn’t even attempt to eat it. Though his stomach growled and he so badly wanted to eat it. He also so badly wanted to have you to himself and his way with you but he couldn’t not even during an important meeting with his high lord and his general. Fuuuuccckk. He mentally groaned. This could not have happened at a far worse time than right now. He loved your innocence in all this but it was his fault he should’ve warned you.

“I understand but-“ He started again as he tried to find the words to tell you that this was extremely bad timing. You were not taking a no for an answer, the other two males had not moved fast enough to stop you either. You had shoved a piece of food in Azriel’s mouth. His eyes widened, he was shocked that you forced him to eat. Azriel made no more to chew, or swallow or make any sudden movements. Once he inhales the food it was game over for everyone including you.

“ You better chew it Az, and swallow it. You haven’t eaten a damn thing all day long and it’s the last time I tell you” You warned him. Cassian and Rhys looked at each other before lunging for you both.

Rhys was the first to grab you and pull you away. Cassain quickly grabbed the plate from Azriel’s hands carrying it like bomb “ I GOT IT!” Cassian rushed over to the window chucking it out of the study. Rhys grabbed a napkin as he marched over to Azriel “ Spit it out!” to which Azriel obliged.

Rhys handed Azriel a cup of water to which Cassian yelled “ NO NOT THE WATER” Rhys immediately switched hands and conjured up a second water.

“ You gave him water too!” Rhys groaned as he looked at Azriel who was in fact looking at you.

“ For fuck sake it’s literally water! He hasn’t eaten and I highly doubt he had water! You guys, I worked hard on that food. Cass that was also my favorite dish!” You whined as you twirled around and faced a wall that was decorated with one of Feyre’s paintings.

“ Sorry but I had to do it. I’ll buy you a new one” Cassian shrugged, though he’d have to admit it was a bit of an overreaction.

Rhys sighed “ Y/N has anyone ever spoken to you about the mating ritual?”

You froze in place, there was no way your high lord was about to teach you a lesson on mating bonds, especially the ritual, “Ooooo no, oh by the cauldron this is embarrassing” You could feel your blood heat under you skin, and creep along your chest and neck. Azriel’s eyebrows shot up realizing that maybe his brother shouldn’t express that knowledge to her. Cassian seemed to have noticed the sudden change.

“ Rhys, I think we should let Az explain to her..” Cassian suggested as he walked toward a chair and sat down.

Rhys sighed again he looked between you and Azriel, “ We aren’t leaving this room, you can explain it to her in the corner but I want you both where I can see you” Rhys walked over to his desk pulling out papers to work on while Cassian played with one of Rhys’s trinkets. Rhys reached over and took it out of his hand. “ That’s not a toy”

“ Then why is it on your desk?”

“ Because that is where I decided to place it”

“ Why would you do that”

“ Cass” Rhys had pinched the bridge of his nose as the two began a bickering of their own.

You shook your head as you walked over to Azriel shyly. Azriel reached for your wrist grabbing it as he pulled you closer to him. You were experiencing many mixed emotions and you were rather embarrassed. You wanted nothing more than to dive into your work to distract yourself. You also wanted to severely scrub this memory out of your brain. Your head hung low, Azriel let go of your wrist tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. His finger grazed along the side of your jaw before dipping under your chin to tilt your head up so that your eyes could meet. Rhys had put a shield around you so that your conversation would stay between you with no prying ears. So to speak.

“ It’s okay” His usual sharp stoic demeanor softened, his eyes gently as they searched yours. Boy did you melt into a tiny ball of goo. “ You don’t have to be embarrassed. Shall I explain the ritual to you” He offered though he was going to tell you anyway. You groaned again moving your crown against his chest as you looked at the floor and at his feet. He only chuckled at your actions.

“ I’ll take that as a yes. Well what I can tell you is that when you give a mate food it signifies the bond. It makes it, as you would put it ‘official’. It means acceptance. After the acceptance, after the male eats all of the food given to him by his mate…they- uh do- a bit of mating of their own” Azriel was not sure how to phrase that last sentence. On any other given day with his job and with his life he would have used better terms. This was new; he had never done this before.

“ Oh-ooh- Oooooh I see” You felt even worse about your decision now. Azriel again lifted your head so that your eyes could lock again.

You huffed moving away from Azriel slightly as you spoke “ So from what I gathered is that I waltzed into this meeting almost force feed you-“

“ You didn’t waltz, you ran and barged in. You absolutely force fed me” Azriel teased you which only made you glare at him.

“ That’s not funny Az, I was about to put you into a sexual frenzy. “

“ Is that such a bad thing?” He reached for your hips but you smacked his hands away, not to say he couldn’t touch you but that this really wasn’t funny. Azriel ignored the fact that you did that, completely touch starved and craving you he pulled you back to him.

You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck. “No but- you were busy, I knew that, I just wanted to make sure you ate.” Azriel smiled as he rested his forehead against yours.

“ Tell you what, when I am done with this meeting. I will personally come find you myself. You can warm me up some food and a glass of water-” you both chuckled at that , as he leaned closer to your ear this time “ -and when I finish, for dessert,-“ he pressed your body even harder into him, closer to him impossibly close”- I want you spread out for me, so that I can devour you, leaving you wanting and needing more.”

Your eyes widened, Azriel moved away before capturing your lips in a kiss, but before it could go no further Rhys snapped the shield back, Cassian already near Azriel pulling him off and away from you. You in that moment cursed Rhys and Cass in your mind but in reality you flipped both of them off. Rhys had called for Nuala to take you back to the Kitchen. Azriel who no longer remained broody held a smirk filled with mischief and desire. His eyes twinkled with excitement, he was happy to have you as his mate. You could definitely say the same about him.

Before you completely exited the study room Azriel winked at you. You smiled at him as you shut the door heading to the kitchen with Nuala who bombarded you with questions about what happened. Cerridwen finished decorating a dish as she grabbed another, you also spilled the beans to her as she wanted every juicy detail. The three of you had grabbed dish after dish placing it on the table. You were giddy, excited, but mostly nervous about the acceptance of the bond. You knew Azriel would take care of you but you couldn’t help but worry if you’d be interrupted. Though you knew no one would bother you. Time could not have gone by any slower if it weren’t for the twins who kept you company and busy.

Once the food was ready and everyone piled in. Again you found yourself searching for Azriel. Nowhere to be found you sighed. Feyre walked over towards you and pushed you in the direction of the kitchen.

“ There’s something in the kitchen I think you should look at” She tells you and you knew what or rather who she was referring too. You giggled nodding, you head into the kitchen, when a little shadow flew towards you, wrapping around your wrist, your hair and caressing the sides of your cheeks. You grinned knowing that the man of your dreams was sitting at the island you were working on. He had a plate, a fork and nice ready to eat. A glass of water sat next to his plate. He offered you a sweet smile. He beckoned you closer and you couldn’t resist. You grabbed a chair and sat next to him. He waited for you to sit down. “ Have you eaten today?” He asked you before digging in. You grabbed a fork of your own getting ready to eat with him.

“ I’ll pick off your plate” You replied as you held the fork in hand getting ready to grab a potato.

Azriel watched you for a moment taking it in that you were his. “ I don’t know if I can last”

“ What come on listen I’ll eat one half of the plate you eat the other side. It’ll be fine-”

“ No-I meant I doubt that I’m going to be able to eat this without wanting you right now” He whispered.

You felt your blood heat up again. “ Az, eat first and then we’ll see if there’s room for…me…” Azriel’s skin tinted pink when you whispered those words. He hadn’t expected you to flirt back like that. That made him want you even more.

“ There’s always room for you” He whispers.

“ I guess we’ll have to find out. '' You teased as you began eating a few tiny pieces so that Azriel could eat the entire plate.

Azriel only shook his head as he quietly dug into his food with you by his side.

#poc reader #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader #imagines #azriel x reader #fanfic #x reader #azriel spymaster #x poc reader #x you #x y/n #acotar x you #bipoc writers #fanfic readers #fluff #acotar #acotar x reader #azriel shadowsinger

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kentopedia · 10 days

Text

˚₊‧꒰ა cold embrace (provenance) — fyodor dostoevsky

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎. you buy a two hundred year old house with a two hundred year old painting hanging above the mantel. it's not the only thing the previous owner left behind.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈. ghost!fyodor, f!reader, violence, angst, death, alternate / modern universe, no smut but it is suggestive, fyodor is kind of a pervy ghost so, wc: 6.1k

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈. this one has two titles bc it was supposed to be for my kinktober... never finished it. embarrassing ! but here is a semi-revamped version for this series! i can finally check it off my wips page <3 idk how i feel about it but i hope you enjoy

part of my summerween series !

A chime from the grandfather clock brings Fyodor out of his stupor, the sound signaling another day, another meaningless hour that will only continue his eternal misery. He’s grown used to it now—evening after evening of emptiness, of reading nothing but the same books, playing the same pieces of dull sheet music, and the lifeless chess matches against himself. The house is cold with only his presence, dusty without a housekeeper and a life to make it a home.

There are a million things in Fyodor’s life that he must have done to deserve this misery, but he can’t pinpoint which one solidified his reward of a lamentable, endless cycle.

He’s certain hell is better than this. It’s something he wishes for every day, if only to have an eternal companion with the devil, a challenge to overcome.

Though, even with this boredom, Fyodor refuses to let anyone live in his home. They’ll only serve to be another pain, something that would, surely, push him past the brink of sanity.

The centuries old décor will get replaced with gaudy twenty-first century items, ones that will be nothing more than an eyesore. There are a few already scattered around his home from previous tenants, but only things that he believed useful enough for him to keep; a few books from authors he didn’t live to read, a television from the nineties, a computer that he watched one couple scroll on before he murdered them in cold blood.

Perhaps he is two hundred years dead and gone, but he refuses to be an ignorant ghost, one that is unaware of anything beyond these four walls, caught forever in the past.

Although now, it’s been a while since anyone’s tried to move in, and he’s certain the only reason the house hasn’t been torn down is because its preserved nicely, an eighteenth-century home that has withstood the test of time.

Fyodor, in his lowest moments, wishes they would tear it down. Maybe then, and only then, can he be set free. Or maybe, he’s forever trapped in this exhaustive lot, doomed to decay, even when there’s nothing left of the foundations but soil.

He pushes a pawn forward on the board, putting himself in checkmate for the millionth time in a row. It’s been so long that he’s used to his own tricks. Even the computer, which he’d come to understand quickly, is no match for him. It’s far too exhaustive to play against a machine that utilizes an algorithm he can so easily decipher.

Out of nowhere, the front door unlocks, and Fyodor glances over at the sound, dark hair falling over his eyes. Seconds later, he notices an older realtor with a clipboard leading you around, a woman he’s never seen, dressed up nicely with a darker shade of lipstick smeared across your mouth.

He’s been through this before. It’s a miracle the realtor hasn’t given up on this house yet, a mansion she is determined to sell despite the endless horrors that have been committed by his hand.

“Here it is,” she says, nervous, gesturing around the expansive hall, the crystal chandelier and staircase that immediately follows. “It was built in 1731, but one of the owners remolded it in the style of the mid-nineteenth century. The structure has been stabilized; it’s safe… enough.”

The two of you chat, but he doesn’t bother to listen in. It’s all questions of: when can I move in? can we negotiate? — things you will come to regret once he sets his sights on killing you.

Then, the realtor is sighing, wringing her hands together as she watches you spin around the house in awe. It’s clear that you’re impressed by the layout, the rich furniture and colors that have been used.

That, at least, satisfies Fyodor. Everyone else who has moved in was looking to upgrade it to a modern style, rid the place of its aged grace and charm.

“I’m truly sorry,” she says, brushing curly hair away from her cheekbones. “But I am legally obligated to tell you that every person who has lived here before has suffered a terrible, terrible fate. There have been gruesome murders that cannot be explained, done in ways that I don’t even want to tell you about.”

You laugh, eyeing her with skepticism. “Are you telling me it’s haunted?”

The realtor shrugs. “That’s what people say.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” you answer, and Fyodor rolls his eyes, scoffing as he floats to the second floor, unable to listen into the unreasonable conversation anymore. It’s been the same story for decades. No one believes in ghosts, but it is always a ghost that kills them.

He returns to the chess board, irritated, though unable to consider the game any further. Your face is stuck in his mind. For some reason, he can’t remember the last time he’s ever seen anyone with such beauty.

Fyodor stops; your ageless elegance doesn’t matter—it can’t, and it won’t. You’ll be dead by the end of the month, when you gather all your things and invade the bedroom that was once his own. Even if you are beautiful, you are a nuisance, a threat to Fyodor’s eternal torment and quiet existence.

Still, he can’t help but wonder if it would be nice to have something other than his own thoughts to distract him from the endless misery.

You move in on the thirteenth of June, nothing more than a few boxes and a decade old car to keep you company. He guesses you’ve traveled a long distance to get here, and you’ve gotten rid of half of your life in the process.

A good thing for him. That means things can be over relatively quickly, and all your belongings can be disposed of easily after he kills you.

You spend the entire first day unpacking, and Fyodor waits patiently, allows you time to get comfortable in his home. He watches as you bring a stack of thick novels into the waiting room, which once boasted large parties, and place them on a shelf below those that have his name within the covers.

You take a few calls as you hang up your autumn coats, ones that won’t be needed for a few months. The voice on the other line sounds frantic, worried. A local, most likely. You only seem annoyed by his continuous string of anxieties.

When the sun sets, and you grow tired, you rub your eyes and head to bed. The first night you will spend in this place that Fyodor likens to Hell.

It’s the time he’s been waiting for—a moment to catch you off guard. You are so unsuspecting, already so at home in the mansion, that you have no fear of anything hurting you in the middle of the night.

While you get ready for bed, Fyodor slips into your room, observing the pieces of your life that have conquered his bedroom. A soft classical piece plays from your phone, one that he recognizes from his mortal life. Clearly, you are fascinated by the period he once lived in. A shame, really, he won’t be able to tell you more about it.

You leave the bathroom, come back towards him to change into a pair of small shorts, a large shirt hanging over your frame.

He’s forgotten how long it’s been since he’s seen a woman, how long since he’s touched one.

Fyodor finds himself distracted by your body, the smoothness of your skin. His eyes travel over your legs, your hips, the fullness of your breasts and ignores how much he desires to let his thumb graze over your flesh. There is something so soft about you, so gentle and innocent.

Perhaps, that is where his fascination stems from: he has always been the opposite. Even in his human existence, Fyodor was not a kind man, and he doesn’t plan on becoming one now that he is dead.

He shakes away the vision, the thoughts that swirl within his mind. It has been far too long since he has experienced any sort of pleasure, and maybe even a man as cold as himself is not immune to the desires that course within his veins.

Though he tries to be. He ignores his arousal desperately in exchange for a renewed bloodlust.

You climb into bed, put your phone on the white cord, and shut your eyes. Thirty minutes later, you’re sleeping soundly, soft puffs of air leaving your lips as you sleep.

It’s the opportune moment. The silver knife gleams brightly in his hand, streaks of moonlight tracing over the slanted point. It’s the same blade he’s killed every other new tenant with, their screams still echo in the halls like a harmonious melody each time he bring the knife down on another unknowing victim.

He stands before you at the side of the bed, watches as your chest rises and falls, the evidence of your life undeniable. You are a lovely image like this, something to be painted and adored; more beautiful than many of the women he’d met in his time, even those who were of the finest elite in the country.

Fyodor presses the blade to your throat, contemplative. He considers how much lovelier you will look with the scarlet stain of blood seeping down your neck, spraying across the room and ruining the fresh sheets. Will you awaken, gasping as you claw at your throat, or will you drift away without even understanding what has become of you?

He pictures it, and digs the blade close to your throat, nothing more than a pinprick of blood flowering there.

You don’t awaken; but you a little sound leaves you, something between a gasp and a moan, and you shift away from the knife gripped between his pale fingers. It’s a sound that has him pausing, musing, as he regards your vulnerable state, a beautiful figure there with no clue that such a murderous man is also a resident in her home.

You make another one of those pretty noises in your throat, and Fyodor, against two centuries of murderous intent, pulls the knife away. He watches as you roll on your stomach, your shirt scrunching, moving up your body to reveal the undersides of your breasts. Your hand shifts towards him on the bed, reaching in his direction, before you still. Then, your breathing is back to normal, evened out completely.

Your lips part blissfully as you sigh in your sleep.

He can’t stop looking at you, can’t stop wondering what his name would sound like leaving the perfect swell of your mouth, if you’d sound just as pretty when you orgasm as you do when you’re asleep.

Surely, he can find a better use for you—it would be a shame for such a pretty thing to go out so early.

As he draws back, Fyodor notices the chess board on the side table, the pieces arranged nicely, each on the correct square. He can’t tell if you play. You could just have it for decoration, or perhaps it was a gift given to you from a lover that he hasn’t seen pictures of, the one that he’s certain someone as lovely as you must have.

The board is aged; not as old as the one in the drawing room, but a nice set, nonetheless. Fyodor glances back at your sleeping form once more, smiles coolly to himself, and shifts a pawn forward.

The chess piece is the first thing you notice in the morning.

It’s almost ridiculous how easily it catches your eye, a tiny little movement within the chaos that was your brand-new room. A pawn is on a different square, leering at you from the other wall, as if smiling, a flashing sign above its head, calling to you, hoping you’ll pay attention.

You almost think nothing of it; things can move, can’t they? Perhaps there was a shift in the earth overnight… Though, that makes little sense when you think about it rationally.

It’s strange, that much is certain. You remember the realtor telling you about the ghosts, and though you aren’t inclined to believe in haunted houses and scary stories, you find a part of yourself questioning the logic of the chess piece.

You are certain it was on the correct square before you slept.

It’s the only thing on your mind as you get ready, suffer through a tasteless breakfast, and throw on a rain jacket to combat the dreary weather. You’re meeting a friend for lunch—the only friend you have in this town. Sigma is the sole reason you decided to move here, instead of the other arbitrary cities that you’d been desperate to escape to.

Still, the board won’t leave your mind. You take one last glance at it before, on a whim, pushing the opposite color pawn forward as well.

Then you leave, hoping that a conversation with your friend will take your mind off the strangeness of that happenstance, the anxiety you feel about moving to a new place, a new job where no one knows you, a home that stays cold, despite the heat that reigns with long summers.

The walk to the cafe is short, but with the wind and the drizzling rain, you are miserable, your hands wrinkling from the dampness, even within your pockets.

Sigma is waiting for you, his lavender and white hair loose over his shoulders as he peruses the menu, eyes darting across it like he’s never read it before.

You sit, offer him a greeting, and though your conversation is cordial, the two of you catching up on your day, you eventually ask the question you’ve been dying to know.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Sigma stops, puts the utensil back down on his plate, and regards you with a thin frown. “Did something happen?”

You think of the chess piece, wonder if another will be moved when you get home. “No, but—”

“I told you not to move into that house,” he says, eyes narrowing. Sigma refuses to step into that mansion, grows anxious every time you mention it. “Over ten people have died there. Do you want to get murdered?”

“No particularly,” you say, staring at him flatly, your mouth pulling into a line. “But I’ve made it one night already. I’ll be fine.”

A hard laugh leaves him, as he shakes his head, unamused by your cheekiness. “That’s what they all say, isn’t it? Then they all die.”

“Very dramatic.” You take a long sip of your water. Sigma’s features don’t crack in the slightest as he stares at you, waiting for you to continue. “I’m not scared. I just want to know if you believe in ghosts or not… Because I don’t.”

Sigma’s eyes flit across your face, searching for any hint of a lie, for any signs of fear. When he finds none, his hands stretch across the table, lacing them together as he glares. “Whether you believe in ghosts or not doesn’t matter. There’s something evil about that house, and you’re putting yourself in danger by living there.”

The conversation with Sigma weighs on your mind for hours after, when you return home, still thinking about the chess board. It was just as you’d left it, two pawns moved forward, staring each other down menacingly. Nothing out of the ordinary.

You sigh and finally put it out of your mind. It was just a coincidence, that’s all. The piece was probably on the wrong square all along, and you’d been too tired last night to notice it.

Instead, you focus your sights on unpacking, and contemplate what to do with the portrait hanging above the mantel.

It’s a dusty old thing, one that the previous owners had, for some reason, never taken down. It had hung over the mantel for centuries, the corners faded from the sun, but the sinister grin of the subject never losing its effect.

You tilt your head, stare at it from a different angle. Looking at it that way, you could, perhaps, see why the painting appealed to them. It’s old, with a style from a different century, and the man composed of deep shadows and pale colors is undeniably handsome. He seems out of place in the portrait, trapped there, too otherworldly to be captured on such a canvas. His features are sharp, molded out of something tougher than diamonds, something more beautiful than this plane is able to comprehend. His deep eyes seem to know all as they stare at you, trace you across the room.

For minutes, you are hypnotized, before a wave of disgust washes over you, and you turn away, unable to look at it any longer. You’ll sell it, you decide. Maybe it will be worth a pretty penny.

That evening, you decide to look into it, but the search into a local art dealer doesn’t get far. When you sit down at your laptop, beginning to type your question into the browser, the lid shuts on your fingertips.

It takes a moment for you to register what had happened. A faint sting dances along the back of your hands, your knuckles tender as you lift the lid back up. Lines bounce along the screen, as if the imprint of your hand had made its way into the pixels, matching the pulse of your nerves.

You curse lowly, hoping that a reset will fix the issue.

The lid had just fallen, nothing serious. It was a newer model, but those things could happen. Issues with the manufacturing, with the way it was assembled. Technology fails you all the time.

You hold the power button, irritated, and upset, when a horrible, screeching noise echoes from the computer. Nothing but a shrill scream, the speakers begging you for help. You slam it shut once more, and the noise stops, but your heartbeat doesn’t slow down.

Shit.

Tomorrow, you’ll have to take it in, and see if anyone can discern the issues. It’s not ideal, but there’s so many things to still need to do, and a broken laptop makes those things very difficult.

You sigh, pushing the chair back into the table. The portrait looms above you as you retreat back to your room, hands shaking. It’s irrational, you know it is, but you swear his eyes follow you all the way up the stairs.

It doesn’t take long for you to start believing in the ghost that is haunting your manor, the one who has let you live for a week and who plays a new game of chess every time your back is turned. Whoever it is, they are much better than you; so far, you’ve lost twice—haven’t even gotten close to winning.

He hides things from you, items that you are needing for the next day, papers that you can’t submit to work on time because the important files have been stashed away.

You find your books opened to paragraphs the ghost seemingly finds interesting, your sheet music scattered in a mess when you return. The candles get blown out unexpectedly, and doors slam when you’re not suspecting it.

If he’s trying to scare you—it isn’t working. You remain in the house, sometimes talking to him like he’s a friend, whispering amongst the walls that know all of the secrets in your home.

You stop at the library on your free weekend, flipping through a dusty copy of the local legends, only stopping when you find your home. There’s a copy of the painting there—your painting, the one that still hangs above your mantel, despite your better judgment.

Beside it, there’s a painting of your home, done when the house was first built. The outside of it is a differently color entirely, the garden in front blooming with pink and yellow flowers. It looks cheerful; the home of a warm and loving family, inviting and kind to each of the neighborhood children. Nothing like the dark manor it is today, with a dead garden in the front and shutters that keep even an ounce of light out.

You read the pages proceeding the painting. The first owner had been a kind man, but the next were not such. After the original owner lost his wealth, he sold the house, passed it to a line of greedy men, ones that were focused only on their money. For a century, it went on this way—until a man named Fyodor Dostoevsky purchased the home for twice as much as it once was.

He was the one who changed it, renovated it, upgraded it to his own personal style, ensuring that it fit in with the times and his own opinions of luxury. Fyodor was charming, but ruthless, deadly with his own intelligence, owning half the town as they lost their money to his schemes.

Fyodor’s rein came to an end when he was poisoned by his closest friend, perhaps the one man he had trusted. It was the first murder in a string of ones to follow within the house.

You close the book, unsure if you regret the knowledge you’d gained or not.

The house feels colder now that you know the history of it. As if you can see the cruelty etched into every wall. Colors of the home bleed into each other, a pastel yellow of warmth and light, and the next room empty, almost uninhabitable, with its royal purples.

You stare at the portrait as you make dinner, feeling like you can never escape the gaze of those oil painted eyes. He has a name now—Fyodor. It feels even more disarming now that you know more about him than he’ll ever know about you.

And though Fyodor watches you, every night, from every angle, you convince yourself it’s just the way that the painting is situated. It would be foolish to think that he’s really watching every move you make, irises pinned on your form, unblinking.

The oven heats up behind you as you cut up your food, humming a soft tune to yourself. It’s getting hotter outside – you’d almost forgotten how miserable the summers could be. You forget every year, even though you’ve lived many.

Just as you’re getting lost in your thoughts, going through a list of things that need to get done in your fixer-upper home, you hear a scratch behind you.

It’s a quick sound, so quick that you almost think it was only your imagination. It’s enough to give you pause, your humming fading out into the night as your eyes dart around your house. Although you’ve tried not to let urban legends get the best of you, you’re paranoid in this aged mansion now.

A few seconds pass. You listen to the sound of your own heartrate, feel it pounding in your chest as you will it to calm down. It’s just enough time for you to convince yourself that it was nothing, that you’re far too nervous about silly ghosts to think rationally.

Though as you turn, a knife flies from the counter, just grazing your cheek, but enough to cause a scratch to open up against the skin. Your finger draws away scarlet as you press it to the wound, staring at the painted crevices of your fingertip.

You can’t move. Despite every cell in your body begging, screaming at you to move, you’re frozen, trapped in the four walls of that kitchen as you stare at your bloodied hand.

It’s all a dream, you repeat to yourself. A dream.

One that you don’t wake up from.

Time passes strangely, when every muscle in your body is on edge, your head pounding from the anxiety that spikes throughout your nervous system. A bead of sweat drips from your temple, and though you aren’t sure how long you stand there, nothing else happens. The knife remains lodged in the wall behind you, and the ghost makes no other attempt to lodge one into your stomach.

It’s quiet. There’s no noise, save for the music that plays softly from your phone.

After you regain control of your racing heartrate, you realize that the song playing isn’t what you’d put on originally. It had switched to a gentle, classical piece. Tchaikovsky, you think… or something similar. Something that a man from a different era would be familiar with.

“Who’s there?” You find yourself saying, perhaps stupidly. “What do you want?”

There’s no response – of course there isn’t. You’re talking to the air. To a ghost. No one had gotten inside the house. You’d checked more than enough times, just as you always did.

“I live here now,” you offer, thinking that, perhaps anger is not the best course of action. Neither is fear, though, if the scary movies you’d watched as a teenager had been any indication. “But I’ll leave, if you want me to.”

There’s no answer to that either.

You sigh, and deflate once more, trying to make yourself believe that there was a logical explanation to knives flying and playlists changing. Just as you’d made yourself believe that everything the “ghost” had done before was just a game, innocently played.

Perhaps, there was never a ghost at all. It could be that stress is driving you to insanity.

With a glass of wine in your hand, you finish up dinner, feeling like you are at your wit’s end. How is it that only a few weeks in this house has already singed your mind, turned you into a believer of things that you are not?

The portrait feels like an omen, staring at you with violet eyes, as you wonder where Fyodor is now. Does he watch you when your home, cooking, as you shower, a vicious gaze tracing over each curve of your body, with a sickening thought of all the things he wishes to do to you?

You shiver. It’ s been a while since anyone’s looked at you with a hint of desire. The feeling has become foreign, now, but you can still recall the gratification that comes with being wanted, how it makes you feel, if only for a moment, comfortable in your own skin.

That thought alone quickly snaps you out of your irrational behavior. Thinking of a ghost wanting you? A man that had been buried in the earth for so long that his body would be nothing more than bones?

This house was making you sick, you concluded, wrapping your leftovers up in plastic and tinfoil, placing them in the fridge. Your nervous friend was right – you never should’ve moved into this house, and you never should have stayed this long.

Your hands shook along the banister, heart racing around every corner. You expected that, maybe, you would see a dark-haired spirit there, his body translucent, but still corporeal. Though, there was no spirit hiding within the depths of the shadows, lurking in the places where he still belonged. No sounds startled you, caused you to jump as you brushed your teeth, completed the one last routine of your day.

The bed was colder than usual as you climbed into it, like a flush of a cold spot had settled within the sheets. You remembered what they said about temperatures and ghosts—how they changed, nothing able to survive in the places that they haunted, as they were not of this world, but something in between, something unnatural.

Your lamp flickers as you turn it on, and it’s just one more red flag you choose to ignore. In houses as old as this one, there are issues like that. The wiring is faulty, the electric needs to be monitored, a laundry list of items you will probably never resolve.

There are a thousand rational conclusions, though, and only one irrational one, which puts your mind at ease. Things like flickering lamps and cold spots can be explained simply, even if knives flying at your face cannot.

Still, you settle into bed, deciding that you will talk to the realtor again soon. You’ll move in with Sigma if he’ll have you. Anything to put your mind at ease for good.

That night, you dream of Fyodor, as if he is there right in the room with you, looming above you with those deep, violent eyes. His fingers, long and pale, trace across your cheekbones, as your eyes flutter open, consciousness coming back to you.

He says your name – it’s no surprise he knows it, after living with you for so long. It’s spoken softly, with a hint of possession behind it, like you belong to him. And yet, you’ve never said a word to him, even if all this time, he’s gotten to know you better than anyone else ever has.

You expect a scream to leave your throat, some hint of surprise, of fear, even, to see a stranger in your bedroom. To see him watching you with those familiar eyes, hair falling over his pale forehead as he gazes down at you from the edge of the bed.

No sound emerges.

Your mind feels a little fuzzy, hazy at the edges as you blink at him, closer to a state of intoxication, than you are alertness. Despite that awareness, you can’t seem to snap out of it; maybe you don’t want to. Instead, you sink deeper into the warmth, the honeyed feeling that comes with turning off your rationality. Everything feels as if it’s coming through in blurred, rosy glasses.

“Fyodor,” you mouth, instead of the scream that you’d anticipated, his name coming out in two wistful syllables.

You should hate him – there’s something in your instincts pushing back at you. A flash of a knife, the days of chaos and uncertainty, where you were sure you were losing your mind, come back at you.

But none of that seems to matter now, as you trace your finger across his cheek, feeling the sharp indent below the high bone. His eyelashes are a shade lighter than his hair, soft as they flutter over his forehead. The portrait of him didn’t do him justice… or perhaps, it is in death that he has found his purest form.

“I’m too tired.”

You’re not sure where those words even come from. Calm, like this is nothing but routine, and waking up with Fyodor beside you is the closest thing to normalcy.

He smiles at you, leaning over you again on the bed, lips pulled tightly together in a morbid grin. It does little to sour your mood, to scare you into action, even if you can’t quite understand why.

“I know,” he replies.

It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak, a deep, accented sound smoothing against your ears as he traces his gaze against each of your features; musical, almost. His voice calms you, lulls you back into a meditative state.

You reach for him, in a trance, and twirl a strand of his hair between your finger, just to see if he’d let you. After the hell you’d been through the past week, well – was it really that miserable? He seems content to watch over you, observe the gentle movements of his dark hair coiled up around your pointer finger.

“Why are you here?” you ask, your voice softer than a whisper, carried away by the wind until it never existed at all.

Fyodor never disappears from your line of sight, even when you try to blink, to close your eyes. He’s there, gazing at you with a lustful fondness, one that’s dangerous, perhaps even malicious. If it’s a dream, it sure feels like a vivid one.

“You wanted to leave,” he says, taking your finger away from his face, before bringing it to his lips. The kiss is barely there, and his mouth is cold, chapped, from the brutality of the afterlife. “I couldn’t let you do that.”

“Hm?” You try to sit up. It takes more effort than it should’ve – you’re so relaxed, so weak, that you fall back down, letting yourself sink into the plushness of the pillow. “Why?”

Fyodor releases your hand, before touching his own finger to your mouth. It’s slender, like a piece of ice, gently parting your lips before grazing your chin, hovering over your neck. Then, he drops his touch to your collarbone. He stakes a claim on every inch of your skin, pausing as he reaches your chest, still covered by the blankets.

Your clothing is thin – it wouldn’t take much effort to get his cool hands on your bare skin. But he refrains, still smiling before answering your question, tucking his hands together onto his lap. “It’s been so long.”

It doesn’t make sense, but you can’t muster up the effort to question him, not when he’s contemplating every word, like he’s hesitant to scare you away. You let him think, watch him ponder, as you stare, too exhausted to move a muscle.

“I thought you’d be like all the rest,” he says, taking a seat next to you on the bed, nearly touching your hip. “They were nothing but filth, stains in these halls. It’s a crime for them to ever think that they belonged here. In my home.”

You blink. “It’s my home, too,” you say, suddenly filled with an immense amount of dread. It crawls up your neck, chokes you, and nothing leaves you but garbled sounds, as you panic.

Fyodor doesn’t move – there is no twitch in his features, as he watches you with disguised adoration, a kind you didn’t think a ghost capable of revealing. “Of course it is, darling,” he says, so softly, it could’ve been mistaken for kindness. Fyodor leans down, presses his cold, dead lips to your cheek, a kiss of death. “That’s why I couldn’t let you leave. It’s your home. You belong here.”

“Right,” you breath, steadying yourself, before nodding. “My home.” Once more, you gaze around the room, your eyes flicking over every surface. Things are exactly as you’d left them, nothing out of place. “With you?”

The ghost smiles, and reaches out to you, finally helping you into a seated position. Your neck is so stiff, in pain, and you roll it around, feeling nothing there when you expect shifting bones. “With me,” Fyodor confirms, running his icy fingertips across your throat, tangling them with your hair.

He leans into you, pressing a lingering kiss to your mouth, one that catches you off balance, before you accept it with an eagerness that surprises you further. It doesn’t feel unfamiliar, instead, it’s as if you’re coming home, like the man you’ve never seen until now was always meant to find you.

A thought that should’ve scared you, even though it doesn’t.

Fyodor pulls away, right as you begin to shift forward, maneuver yourself onto his lap. “You should rest,” he replies, keeping you at a distance. “It might take some time to adjust.”

“Hm? What do you mean?” you blink, holding onto his wrist as your gaze shifts from his impossibly dark eyes to the mirror across the room.

There, in the darkness of the evening, shrouded in moonlight, you can see your reflection staring back at you, eyes vacant, lifeless. You expect to see yourself as nothing but exhausted, but when you draw your gaze across the image of yourself, there is blood seeping from your neck, a stream of scarlet. There is thick gash across your throat, slashed so deep that it would’ve killed you instantly.

The expression on your face shifts from one of calm to horror, as you scrape at your neck, trying to clear off the blood that isn’t really there, the permanent wound that will follow you even into your death.

“What did you do?” you scream, tears rolling down your cheeks, even though you can’t feel them, can only see them in the mirror. “What did you do to me?”

Fyodor smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. Though you fight against him, he takes you into his arms, and you are too weak to fight him off. “I told you,” Fyodor says, shushing you, running his palm over your head as you scream. “I couldn’t let you leave.”

thank you for reading !

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 11 months

Text

A Little Tag-a-Long - Hangman

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin / Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only.

Warnings: Female Reader Referred to as "Peach", No Y/N, No Physical Description; Third Person POV; Named Niece OC (Chloe); Excessive Fluff

Summary: Hangman is excited to finally take out Peach, the woman that he's been in love with for months now. Except Peach gets called into babysitting duty right before their date.

Master List

Hangman came walking down the stairs of the house that he shared with Coyote, freshly shaved with a shirt that he steamed for the occasion and hair that he spent twenty minutes styling in the mirror. The event in question? A first date. And not just any first date. A first date with the woman that he had been trying to convince to go out with him for about five months now.

They met at the Hard Deck, where she worked occasionally as a bartender, and he was quite sure that he was in love with her the second that he watched her masterfully cut down some drunk asshole who was trying to get handsy with one of the younger bartenders. And when Hangman tossed the jackass out of the bar for her, he thought that their love story was sealed. He was prepared to sell the rights to Hollywood and buy a beautiful house with it.

But it didn't exactly all go to plan. Even though Peach flirted back with him, she always turned down his offers to buy her dinner or take her out for drinks. She was incredibly busy, working full time and part time as a bartender, taking some extra classes to get another degree, and helping her sister raise her niece.

But now, about five months later than Hangman was hoping for, Peach, as he called her, finally accepted his invitation for a date.

“Aw, look at him! All dressed up for his little date,” Coyote cooed, jokingly fixing the collar of Jake’s shirt for him.

“Fuck off,” Jake scoffed, knocking Coyote’s hands away.

“Do you think he likes her?” Payback called from behind a chuckling Coyote.

“Aw, I think he does. Look at him,” Fanboy agreed, leaning on his pilot as he pointed over at Hangman.

“Hey, how much did you pay her to go out with you?” Rooster yelled from the couch.

“Maybe she’s just doing some charity work,” Phoenix stated, high-fiving Rooster without even looking.

“No, there’s no way that anyone would go on a date with Hangman for free,” Bob replied, sharing a high-five with his pilot without looking as well.

“You can all suck a dick,” Hangman called over his shoulder, grabbing his keys and heading out the door.

“Remember! Just don’t be yourself and you’ll be fine!” Rooster yelled back before Hangman slammed the door behind him.

Not letting the ribbing of his squad mates get to him, Jake straightened out his shirt and got in his truck to head over to Peach’s apartment. Pulling into the parking lot, Jake parked his truck and slowly got out, not trying to let his nerves show. Wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, Jake walked up to Peach’s front door and knocked lightly.

A few moments later, Peach opened the door with an apologetic smile. She wasn’t quite dressed for a nice dinner, but Jake wasn’t going to comment on it.

“Hey, Jake,” Peach breathed out with a small smile.

“Hey, Peach,” Jake returned, shifting on his feet. “You ready to go?”

“About that,” Peach replied, forcing another apologetic smile. “I don’t think that I can go to dinner.”

“What?” Jake breathed out, trying to not let his face crumble.

“My sister, she got called into work, and so, uh . . . I’m sort of on babysitting duty,” Peach explained, opening the door a bit wider.

Glancing around Peach, Jake spotted a young girl, perhaps two or four or some kind of age, he didn't know he was terrible with guessing kids ages, with her hair up in two French braids ending in yellow bows that matched her dress. The little girl stared at Jake suspiciously, which made him subconsciously straighten up.

“This is my niece, Chloe,” Peach explained, gesturing behind her. Looking completely apologetic, Peach shrunk a bit. “I’m so sorry, Jake, I know that you had this thing planned for a while and I really do want to go, but I can’t just leave Chloe here alone. And I don’t think that restaurant that you wanted to go to is child-friendly and—”

“—What if she came along?” Jake blurted out, causing Peach to pause.

“What?” she breathed out, surprised.

“What if she came with us? We don’t have to go to that restaurant,” Jake offered, trying to come up with something on the fly. “There’s that mini golf place, down by the water. I’ve never been but I’m sure that’s kid friendly.”

“You’re really okay with our first date involving my niece?” Peach asked, staring at Jake with wide eyes.

“Yeah, of course,” Jake replied, causing a genuine smile to tug on Peach’s lips.

“Okay,” she stated, perking up. “Just give me ten minutes to change and get Chloe ready. And we’ll take my car, since I’m assuming you don’t have a car seat in your truck.”

“No, I don’t,” Jake mused, chuckling lightly.

“Alright,” Peach laughed along. “Then it’s a date.”

~~~~~

Chloe was a quiet girl, but Jake assumed that was because she didn’t fully trust him to show her true colors. And though he had to catch a few swears in his throat before he actually said them, it was surprisingly unawkward on the drive over. And when they finally arrived at the mini golf course, it seemed that Chloe finally started to warm up to him.

“Jake, I’ll pay,” Peach insisted, trying to shove his wallet away.

“No, no, it’s a first date,” Jake replied, handing over his credit card first.

“I’m paying for dinner then,” Peach stated, lightly bumping Jake with her hip.

“What colors did you want for your golf balls?” the teenager sitting behind the till asked in a bored tone.

“What color did you want, Chloe?” Peach asked her niece, who was trying to peek up at the display. “They’ve got red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, and—”

“—Purple!” Chloe quickly exclaimed, causing Jake to turn to the cashier with an amused smile.

“Well, that’s one purple. I’ll take a blue. And . . .”

“Green, please,” Peach finished for Jake, smiling softly.

Once they collected their balls and grabbed their golf sticks, Jake, Peach, and Chloe headed out to the first hole. It was a simple straight away with a hole in the middle of a big circle with a yellow flag sitting in the middle of it.

“Ladies first,” Jake offered, standing off to the side.

“Chloe, why don’t you start us off?” Peach suggested, gesturing for her niece to step up onto the green. “Aim for the little yellow flag at the end there.”

Chloe happily walked up to the fake grass and set her little purple ball down. Using her whole body to swing the putter, Chloe sent the ball ricocheting all around the green. After a couple choppy swings, Chloe finally got the ball into the hole.

“Good job, Chloe!” Peach praised, offering her niece a high-five.

After Peach finished up with her turn, it was Jake’s turn to tee up. Being raised by preppy new money businesspeople, Jake grew up spending a lot of time on the golf courses of East Texas. And so, he was quietly very good at mini golf. It was part of the reason why he suggested it in the first place. It didn’t hurt to show off a little bit to Peace.

And with one well-placed hit, Jake landed a hole in one.

“Wow!” Chloe gasped in surprise, running up to the hole to confirm that Jake’s blue ball went in. “How did you do that!?”

“Not my first rodeo,” Jake drawled, walking over to grab the ball. “I can teach you, if you want.”

Chloe nodded excitedly and quickly called for Jake and Peach to hurry up and head to the next hole. Jake turned to Peach to find her already looking and smiling at him.

“Thanks for being so nice to my niece,” Peach replied, stepping up onto the path.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Jake returned, smiling back at Peach.

They played through another five holes quickly. Chloe always started off and then Peach would follow and then Jake would finish up for the three of them. Peach kept score for everyone, though Chloe and Jake both tried to negotiate their own scores. On the sixth hole, Jake hit his second shot close to the hole, but the ball refused to go in.

“Nah ah! Three!” Chloe yelled to Peach, who shook her head playfully.

“What are you talking about? It’s two,” Jake called back.

“Nope. One, two, three!” Chloe counted, holding up three fingers.

In response, Jake got down on the ground. Laying flat, he started to blow air in the direction of the hole, trying to push the ball in with his breath. Chloe, immediately figuring out what he was trying to do, hurried to prevent Jake from landing the ball in the hole.

“No! You’re cheating!” she accused him, tugging on his shoulder. “It’s not fair!”

“What are you talking about? Don’t you feel that cross-breeze?” Jake joked before going back to blowing at the ball.

It eventually rolled in, causing Jake to smile triumphantly and Chloe to whine. They both turned to Peach, waiting for her verdict. Pretending to take a moment to decide, Peach raised her pencil and wrote down a clear ‘3’ on the score card. Showing Jake and Chloe her writing, Peach couldn’t help but laugh when Chloe jumped up and cheered.

“I told you! Ha!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jake pretended to huff, though he was clearly amused by the whole thing.

They moved on through the next couple of holes. The fourteenth hole was set up on a hill. It wasn’t possible to see the hole from the tee, but there was a little yellow flag up on top to give a general direction. Jake offered to walk up the hill to help direct Chloe and Peach towards the hole.

“It’s right here!” Jake called, holding up his hand and waving.

“Okay!” Chloe yelled back to him.

After a couple of attempts to hit the ball up the hill, and with a very clear look of frustration on her face, Chloe whacked the ball up the hill and into the circular area around the hole. The ball clacked against the back wall before slowly rolling in the direction of the hole before stopping a little bit more than a foot away from it.

From where Chloe and Peach were still standing, they couldn’t see where the ball landed. But for Jake, there was a clear opportunity. Keeping his gaze calm and focused forward, Jake moved the ball with his foot just enough for it to roll into the hole.

Chloe, with Peach right behind her, walked up the hill to see where the ball rolled. Chloe immediately frowned when she didn’t spot her bright purple ball sitting somewhere on the fake green grass. But when Jake gestured to the hole, Chloe froze in place for a moment before hurrying over to inspect the hole herself.

“I did it! I did it!” Chloe squealed, tugging excitedly on Peach’s arm. “I got a hole in one!”

“You sure did, Chloe,” Peach agreed, squeezing her niece in celebration. Peach shot Jake a knowing and dare he say enamored expression before turning back to Chloe. “You know what that means?”

“Yeah! You owe me ice cream!” Chloe shouted, pointing up at Peach.

“Yes, I do,” Peach chuckled, glancing up at Jake. “My treat.”

When Chloe was out of earshot, since she chose to remain up on the hill to stand guard by the flag, Peach turned to Jake with that same knowing, and dare he say enamored, expression. Smiling softly, she poked Jake lightly in the middle of his chest.

“You moved it, didn’t you?” she asked quietly before turning to line up her own shot.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jake drawled, glancing up the hill with a genuine smile.

~~~~~

After they finished up their round of mini golf, they headed inside to the small ice cream shop attached to the mini golf course. Eventually settling down outside at a table, the three of them enjoyed a cone or cup of ice cream each, and some extra sprinkles, in Chloe’s case. And with extra sprinkles seemed to come an extra mess.

"Chloe," Peach sighed, dabbing at her niece’s face and hand. “Try and aim for your mouth.”

“It’s melting!”

“That’s why I suggested the cup,” Peach replied gently, placing the extra cup in front of Chloe. “I’m going to grab some extra napkins too.” Turning to Jake, Peace offered him a small smile. “Do you need anything, Jake?”

“I’m all set, thanks.”

Peach got up to go and grab some napkins from inside the ice cream shop, leaving Jake and Chloe alone for a few moments. Jake watched Peach walk off until the door shut behind her. Turning back to Chloe, Jake almost jumped out of his skin when he saw Chloe staring him down with a serious expression.

“Why are you staring at my aunt like that?” Chloe immediately accused, causing Jake to straighten up.

“Like what?”

“Like that.”

Chloe took a menacing lick of her ice cream as she narrowed her eyes at Jake. Not really sure how to respond to the child, Jake tilted his head to the side.

“Okay . . .”

“My mommy said that you really like my auntie,” Chloe replied matter-of-factly.

“Your mom’s right,” Jake agreed, nodding along slowly. “I do really like your aunt.”

Chloe nodded curtly once in response to Jake, before quickly relaxing and going back to focus on her rapidly melting ice cream.

“She really likes you too,” Chloe stated, causing Jake to perk up.

“Really?”

“Yeah. She thinks that your eyes are pretty,” Chloe informed Jake, causing him to smirk proudly. “And she likes your butt. But I wasn’t supposed to hear that.”

“Secret’s safe with me,” Jake assured Chloe, shooting her a wink.

“Alright, this should be enough napkins,” Peach called to Chloe and Jake, causing them both to turn around. “Here, Chloe.” While Chloe and Peach worked together to clean Chloe up, Peach glanced between Jake and Chloe. “What did you guys talk about while I was gone?”

“Sprinkles,” Chloe lied easily, turning to her aunt with doe eyes.

“And about how they’re all over your arm?” Peach replied dryly, wiping them off of Chloe.

~~~~~

After finishing up their ice creams, they headed back to Peach’s apartment. Chloe was quickly coming down from a sugar high and Peach quietly guessed that it would be a quick dinner and bath before Chloe would be knocked out in her bed.

“Thank you for modifying our date,” Peach told Jake, turning to him with a soft smile. “I know that this probably wasn’t what you had in mind.”

“Are kidding? It’s the best first date that I’ve ever been on,” Jake replied, not even lying. “I’m just relieved that you finally agreed to go out with me.”

“And if I agreed to go out with you again?” Peach asked, glancing over at him with a playful smile. “Then how would you feel?”

“Well, now, that’s an indescribable feeling,” Jake stated, causing Peach to laugh.

She grabbed her keys and unlocked the door to her apartment. Chloe bounded inside, yelling a goodbye to Jake over her shoulder. Turning to Jake as she stepped inside her apartment, Peach straightened and tilted her chin up a bit.

“How about next week? I promise that I won’t be on babysitting duty for our next date.”

“I have Wednesday off,” Jake offered, his usual proud and confident demeanor returning in full force. “And I promise to make it worth your while.”

“Then it’s a date,” Peach agreed, unable to fight her smile.

“It’s a date,” Jake repeated, nodding to confirm. Glancing behind him, Jake took a step back from the door. “Have a good night. And tell Chloe that I had a great time hanging out with her.”

“I will. Good night, Jake.”

“Night.”

Turning to head down the stairs, Jake paused when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to face Peach again, only for Peach to press her lips to his own. It took a moment for Jake to register that Peach—the woman that he may or may not have been in love with for the last five months—had initiated a kiss at the end of their first date.

Eager to take in the moment, Jake returned the kiss. Cupping Peach’s cheek with his hand, Jake wrapped an arm around Peach’s waist, causing her to arch a bit more into his chest. Peach smiled into the kiss and moved to deepen it. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, playing with his hair as Jake's hand started to wander a bit lower.

But then there was a startled shriek from behind them.

“GROSS!” Chloe screeched, covering her eyes with her hands.

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cranberrymoons · 6 months

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may your days be merry

prompt: angst with a happy ending (@steddieholidaydrabbles) word count: 942 rated: t tags: post-s2, steve has head trauma, eddie sells drugs

welcome to Day 14 of the fic advent calendar – bite-sized fics posting every day during the month of december. enjoy!

The headaches start shortly after the second time he gets his ass kicked.

The ass-kicking happens around Halloween, and the headaches start around Thanksgiving, and he buys weed from Eddie Munson for the first time around Christmas.

He can mark it out like that: holiday after holiday, little milestones in the deterioration of his brain. He wonders if it’s going to do something to him long-term: the weed or the ass-kicking or the headaches themselves or maybe even all of it.

Probably.

A guy doesn’t usually get his brain punched through the back of his skull without some sort of lasting consequence.

The first time he buys, it’s out of desperation more than any real desire to get high; it’s been days since he properly slept, migraines acting up again and making it so that his scalp feels like it’s going to dissolve into atoms and vibrate off his head if he actually lays down all the way, so he’s been sleeping sitting up.

Sort of, propped on a stack of pillows culled from the rest of the house, but it’s not exactly the most comfortable arrangement. One of the guys on the swim team had mentioned that weed can help chill you out, turn off your brain, make it so your thoughts don’t go spinning out in a thousand different directions like Steve’s do if he’s not careful about keeping a tight hold on his head.

Literally, figuratively.

His head’s all sorts of out to get him lately, ever since last year.

The first headache, the worst one – not worst in the sense of worst pain, but worst in the sense of like… he just wasn’t expecting it, and so it really fucked up his whole week – that headache came two days before Thanksgiving, when he was on a plane halfway between Indianapolis and New York to visit his grandparents. His parents were sitting two rows ahead of him and unable to help as the changing pressure in the cabin turned his brain to splinters.

By the time they’d landed, the headache had gone away, and so he didn’t mention it, but then it came again and again and again, and so now he’s here.

Here in the doorway of Eddie Munson’s trailer, feeling like he hasn’t slept in days, because he hasn’t. Feeling like there’s nothing holding him up except sheer force of will. Feeling so, so impossibly alone.

When Eddie answers the door, there’s an old movie playing on the TV in the background, something festive and cheerful with a bunch of songs in it. Steve’s eyes catch on the screen as he watches Bing Crosby tap dance in technicolor.

“What do you want?” Eddie repeats, ducking his head to force Steve to meet his eye. He even snaps his fingers a few times to get his attention. “Weed? Coke? Party drugs?”

Steve blinks, long and slow. He sways a little on the spot, clears his throat.

“Not partying,” he says quietly. He looks down at his feet in his sneakers and Eddie’s feet in his socks, the two of them only a foot apart. “I just need to sleep.”

A line appears between Eddie’s eyebrows. He tilts his head toward Steve. “Are you like… okay?”

And that’s – Steve lets out a little laugh that sounds something like a sob, and that’s –

“No.” He runs a hand back through his hair. “No, man. I’m not okay.”

No one’s asked him that in at least a year. He feels like crying. He thinks he actually might.

Eddie nods slowly, taking him in. “Right on,” he says. Then he opens the door a little wider. “You want to come in? Christmas movie marathon.”

Steve raises his eyebrows, looks between Eddie and the room behind him. “You want to hang out with me?”

“If you’ll deign to grace me with your royal presence,” Eddie says. He widens his eyes, and it’s a little teasing. A little funny, and Steve feels the corners of his mouth twitch with the first smile he’s had in days as Eddie swings the door even wider, letting him inside with a weird little bow and a flourish. “My liege.”

“What’re you watching?” Steve asks as he shrugs out of his coat.

He hangs it neatly on the hook near the door and looks around the room as Eddie clatters to the fridge to pull out two beers, cracking both open and passing one to him. Steve accepts it, leaning his hip against the counter as Eddie stares at him from where he’s relaxed back against the sink.

“White Christmas,” he says. “But it sucks.”

Steve laughs a little – an actual laugh, bubbling up out of his chest before he can stop it. He takes a swig of his own beer and glances back toward the screen.

“Got any other options?”

Eddie grins. “Gremlins.”

Steve frowns, shaking his head. “That’s not a Christmas movie.”

“What?” Eddie scoffs. “Please, it totally is.”

“In what way is Gremlins a Christmas movie?”

Eddie’s eyes flash as he pushes himself off the counter, giving Steve a look as he passes by on his way to the living room. He collapses on the couch, feet up on the coffee table.

“Guess I’ll just have to prove it to you,” he says, tilting his head to the side.

And Steve – exhausted and relieved because his headache is all but forgotten – crosses the room to join him, curling his legs under himself as he sinks down to sit. Eddie’s eyes skate over him as he reaches for the remote, face unreadable, and Steve just smiles back.

[also on ao3]

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #my fic

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rainbow-nerdss · 2 years

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After the "earthquake", Steve's parents decide to officially move out of Hawkins for good. They don't bother selling the house -- they won't get much for it, considering there's a rift running through the backyard and it's not worth dealing with a realtor. They really just want to cut ties and get out of there for good.

Steve's an adult, they say they'd happily support him if he went to college but since he chooses not to, the extent of their "help" is passing the deed of the house on to him and acting like they've made his wildest dreams come true. All it does is saddle him with bills and property taxes and a big empty house which holds nothing but bad memories.

He puts the big house on the market, hoping for the best. In the meantime he offers rooms to people displaced by the rifts.

Steve manages to get enough work that he can afford to rent a little two bedroom in town. The second bedroom is more of a box than anything, but he's glad to have it for nights when Max can't face staying with her mother, or when Robin stays over and he's too tired or tipsy to drive her home.

There's a faucet in the bathroom which leaks a steady drip, drip, drip, and one of the windows in the kitchen gets easily jammed, but the lights are well maintained and never flicker.

It's small, a little rough around the edges, but full of life, and it's his. The kids help him decorate, painting the walls and moving the furniture that Hopper gave him, from the cabin -- a little tattered, a lot worn, but comfortable. The living room winds up with two blue walls and two orange, because Dustin and Max argued over the choice and this was their compromise. The curtains are frilly and ridiculous, an old pair from the Henderson's house.

He's got a painting hanging pride of place on one of the walls, bright and full of love, presented to him by Will shortly after the move. In it, the party stand together arm in arm, and Steve wields his nail bat with pride.

It's the complete opposite of the house he'd grown up in, and Steve knows his folks would hate everything about it. It's nothing short of perfect.

The apartment is where Steve comes out to Robin, it's where he kisses Eddie for the first time, it's where he first understands what home means. It's a home, much more than that big cookie cutter house he grew up in ever was.

Gradually, it becomes a space for more than just Steve. At first, Robin is always leaving things behind, so he starts putting them away. A shelf here, a drawer there.

The more Eddie starts to stay over, the more the place starts to look like his too. Metal albums mixed in with Steve's collection, a guitar in the living room, D&D books on the coffee table -- but maybe those are Henderson's, Steve doesn't really know.

When Eddie moves in with him, it's not that much of an adjustment. Eddie has basically been living there for months. They only bother making it official to convince Wayne it not to leave the larger bedroom in the new trailer for Eddie.

Steve tells Eddie he can use the spare room for his music, they can set up a desk for d&d planning, but Eddie's shit still spreads throughout the whole apartment. Guitar picks and scraps of paper and half-drunk bottles and pencil scratchings of lyrics directly on the walls that irritate Steve to no end until he reads what they say and his heart melts because he loves this man so much.

Eventually the big old house sells -- not for what it was once worth, probably, but Steve's just glad to see the back of it. He doesn't use the money to move anywhere else. He likes his little apartment, this life he's managed to build for himself.

He buys Robin a car, a beat up old thing which is the most she'll accept from him, and he teaches her to drive it, since she doesn't have him to chauffer her around in her college town.

He puts the rest of the money aside. Max is the only one if the kids without anything resembling a college fund. Shewants to go somewhere out west, he knows. Somewhere near her grandma, her dad. If she wants it, it's there for her.

For Max, for Robin, for any of the kids. It's there for the future that he's finally allowing himself to dream about.

#hi this has been slowly growing from a passing reference in one of my wips so please enjoy #steddie #steve harrington #stranger things #my fic #steddie fic

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sjsmith56 · 4 months

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Customer Service - Part 2

Summary: Bucky makes it right with his former girlfriend. Second part of two part story.

Length: 3.8 K

Warnings: Angst, acknowledgement of emotional distancing.

<<Part 1

🔹 🔹 🔹

It had been several weeks since Bucky bought his suit at the store where I worked. He picked up the trousers that had been hemmed, waiting until I went on my lunch break to take them, so that we didn’t meet. Even though it was what I wanted, a part of me was hurt that he didn’t even try to see me. The suit looked good when I saw the TV coverage of the White House visit showing the Avengers receiving their commendation for a difficult mission that was successfully completed without the loss of life. Fashion blogs singled him out for the black monochromatic look he wore, saying it was obvious he had a professional stylist help him look so handsome and debonair. It was flattering and devastating to me at the same time. I knew I was good at my job, but I also knew that by remaining coldly professional with him I likely destroyed any chance of ever reconciling with him. C’est la vie.

We did notice an uptick in sales after the fashion blogs took note, as someone connected to the Avengers PR team mentioned our store, and the excellent customer service Bucky encountered in his search for a suit. The store manager was pleased, commending me for taking advantage of the lucky opportunity to sell a suit to an Avenger as well-known as Bucky Barnes. If he only knew the truth, that I only did it so I could see my former boyfriend once more. Then I noticed a couple of the other Avengers showing up, some of them like Joaquin Torres and Peter Parker browsing in the men’s wear selection, shyly waving at me when I became aware of their presence. Others, like Yelena Belova and Kate Bishop trying things on in the women’s wear or makeup departments. If I had been a suspicious person, I would have thought they were spying on me. But I wasn’t and they weren’t, at least not in the way I was expecting.

It wasn’t until I became aware of the celebrity gossip shows promoting the appearance of Bucky at several premieres and fashion events with some starlet on his arm that I understood why they had been at the store. As long as I was unaware of what was going on everything was alright. But as soon as Bucky moved on, I wasn’t alright; I wasn’t happy at all. When Sam showed up just before my lunch hour one day (with suspiciously accurate timing) I knew he was there for me.

“I’m fine,” I said to him, when he presented himself near the staff room door to intercept me.

“You’re not,” he said bluntly. “You’re allowed to leave the store for an hour, right? Come with me and we’ll talk. I’ll buy you lunch.”

Five minutes later we were in a small café, our hands around a couple of cups of coffee and an order placed for a Cobb salad for me, and burger with fries for him.

“Ever since he showed up at the White House wearing the suit you chose for him, the PR team has been pushing him to be more visible,” he said. “Apparently, he’s got the hottest look going for men right now and they want to take advantage of him being the first one to show up in public like that. He’s not dating any of them. In fact, he doesn’t even like doing it.”

“Could have fooled me,” I said. “Not that it matters since we broke up months ago. He’s free to see anyone he wants.”

“He doesn’t want anyone else,” declared Sam. “He only stayed away because that’s what you wanted; what you indicated the last time he saw you.”

“I know that,” I answered. “I created a monster. Now I have to live with my creation.”

He breathed out my name, but I just glared at him. Even though seeing Bucky out with those other women hurt, I knew objectively that he had no obligations to me, just as I had none to him. We were both free agents, free to do what we wanted or see whoever we chose to see. The fact I hadn’t even gone out on a single date since we broke up was beside the point. I could go with whoever I wanted, once I was ready. Sam gamely tried to make me feel better and even tried again to convince me to speak with Bucky, but I was pretty adamant. We were done. Taking some cash out of my purse for my part of the bill I left it on the table.

“Hey, no, this is my treat,” said Sam, putting it back in my hand. “Please, just think about things, will you?”

“You know, Sam, I would,” I said. “It’s just that when we were together, he never wanted to go out in public with me. Said he didn’t like the attention. I only wanted to go out maybe once a week to dinner or a movie and he wouldn’t do that for me. Yet, he manages to go out for the PR people several times a week with different beautiful women, meeting celebrities, rubbing shoulders with the famous people, people who don’t even matter to him. What does that say to me, the woman he supposedly loved. He needs to get his priorities straight, don’t you think?”

Sam’s face fell as he didn’t have a comeback for that because it was true. When I stepped outside it was raining which was just great, as it totally added to the crying I was trying not to do. By the time I got back to the store I had to excuse myself to the ladies' room and fix my makeup before I was presentable again. I threw myself into my job and tried to put any thought of James Buchanan Barnes out of my head.

That lasted another week until I was on the late shift, helping to close down the store at 9 pm. As a manager, it was my responsibility to go through the various departments, confirming that every till was closed off, the empty cash drawer left open to indicate the employer had bagged the money, minus the float, and taken both upstairs, where another manager confirmed they turned both amounts in. Security had already shooed the customers out, although there was always one or two who showed up with a minute or two left until the store closed, insistent they could get what they wanted quickly and at no inconvenience to the staff. Fortunately, the security staff were under strict orders to refuse entry to anyone arriving up to 5 minutes before closing, citing store security policy. A few years before someone had showed up, then hid in a storeroom and waited until they were certain they were alone, in an attempt to rob the safe. They weren’t alone, as the security system picked them up as soon as they exited the storeroom. By the time they made it up to the office the police were waiting with drawn guns.

It was 9:30 by the time I finished my duties and grabbed my purse and jacket, ready to take the train to my apartment, almost an hour’s ride away. I was tired, both emotionally and physically. After saying goodnight to the security guard on duty while he let me out, I headed towards the subway station when I heard my name being called. Turning around I saw Bucky, leaning against a car that was parked on the street. With a sigh, I approached him.

“What do you want?” I asked, knowing I was sounding abrupt, but I was too tired to care.

“Just to talk,” he said. “Get in, I’ll drive you home.” I looked around, trying to think of something, anything to say to him, as to why that wouldn’t be a good idea. “Please.”

He held the door open for me, waiting to make sure I was buckled in before he closed the door then he got behind the wheel and started up the car. Smoothly, he pulled into traffic and headed towards Queens. The sound system was on, connected to one of his jazz playlists. Turning it down so that it didn’t overwhelm us he drove quietly for a few moments.

“How are you?” he asked, finally.

“Fine.”

“Sweetheart, I know that fine means a lot of things, but it usually isn’t something good. Please, talk to me.”

“Alright, if you want to know the truth. I’m not fine. I work, I go home, force myself to eat something, then I watch TV until I fall asleep in front of it. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and drag myself to bed and other times I don’t, waking up in my clothes the next morning. Then I shower, force myself to eat breakfast and go to work. That’s my life. Satisfied?”

He breathed heavily, almost angrily, although his face seemed more upset than angry.

“Sam told me he talked to you.”

“And? What more do you want me to add, Bucky?”

“It wasn’t my idea to go out to these events,” he said. “It’s an obligation I would rather not have.”

“Right, yet you still do it. I only asked for us to go out on occasion like a real couple and you didn’t feel any obligation to do it for me, but you’ll do it for PR people. Did you not want people to know we were a couple?”

“Did you?” he countered. “I noticed that you didn’t say anything to the people you work with that we were a couple once upon a time. Were you ashamed of me?”

“No, I wasn’t,” I snapped. “I didn’t say anything to them because they’re a bunch of gossips who would have bugged me constantly for any juicy tidbits about the Avengers.” I looked out the window, shaking my head, while I trembled inside. “I didn’t need that in my life.”

Bucky looked away for a moment before looking at me. “What did you need? Because I feel there were a whole lot of things that I obviously didn’t know you wanted or needed. What did I miss?”

I knew if I started listing things that I would start crying so I said the only thing I could think of. “Everything.”

He looked stunned before he pulled over to an open spot, parking the car. Then he turned to me.

“Darlin’, look at me.” His voice was so silky and soft. When I turned towards him, I could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks, unchecked. “I’m so sorry that I hurt you. I honestly thought I was holding you back.”

“You see, this is why … I couldn’t do it anymore,” I cried. “You were so unavailable to me, even when we were in the same room. You didn’t tell me things; didn’t say anything about your thoughts or fears. I thought I wasn’t that important to you. I thought that what we had was physical more than anything. So, I withdrew as well, trying to protect myself from how much it hurt.” I looked at him, feeling the pain on his face in my gut. “Aren’t we a pair?”

“Is there any chance to make it right? I don’t want anyone else; I never did.”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I want to believe that I matter to you, I really do.”

I undid my seatbelt and opened the door, unable to take any more of it. Before I had even gone ten feet, Bucky was in front of me, blocking me from going any further. Every move I made to get past him; he countered it. It was too much, and I broke down completely, wailing like a baby. He enclosed me in his arms at that moment and held me, stroking my hair and rubbing my back, just letting me cry it out until I was spent. When I stopped crying, I didn’t know what time it was, or where we were. All I was aware of was the warmth of his body and the sound of his heart pounding as I laid my head against his chest. Then Bucky murmured something, and I wasn’t sure I heard him right, so I looked up at him.

“What did you say?”

“I said, let’s go home,” he repeated, looking into my eyes.

“Which home?”

My place was still quite a drive away in Queens. When we broke up, he had been living in a small flat in Brooklyn. It wasn’t the nicest place, but it was what his Army pension and a government stipend could afford. With a smile he kissed me.

“I have something to show you,” he said quietly, gazing at me with those blue eyes. I started to ask for details, but he placed his fingertips on my lips. “Let me show you, then you can ask me anything.”

Just the way he was looking at me, so softly and sweetly, I knew it was something important. We got back in the car and were soon on our way to Brooklyn. On a street in Prospect Heights, Bucky slowed up, then parked in front of a brownstone that had scaffolding set up in front of it. He turned the car off and pointed to it.

“With what I make with the Avengers and my lawsuit settlement finally coming through I decided to invest in a home. It needed some work as it was used as a rooming house for a long time. New plumbing, flooring, HVAC, windows, and then when it’s finished, painting and furnishings. Would you like to see it?”

I could see that it meant a lot to him, so I nodded, and he came around to open the car door for me, offering his hand to help me out, still very much a 1940s gentleman. He followed me up the steps then entered a number in the keypad which unlocked the door. Turning on the entryway light he stepped back to allow me to enter first. The floors were covered in a layer of protective paper. The walls had been refinished but still needed a final coat of plaster, then paint, and the windows needed trimming, but the lighting fixtures were up and as he turned them on, I could see that it would be a lovely home. He showed me the kitchen and unlocked the door to a terrace that led down to a small patio area with a shade tree. Returning back to the house we went upstairs to the second floor which had two bedrooms, one of them a large master with an ensuite bathroom and walk-in closet. The stairs led to a third floor with two more bedrooms. All of them had hardwood floors and had been painted in a soft grey colour. As we headed back down to the living room area, he told me more.

“The basement has an office and a workout room. I’ll need somewhere to stay fit.”

I looked at the back of his head, as he descended ahead of me on the stairs, puzzled by the last comment because I knew that Stark Tower had the best in terms of fitness facilities.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Why are you showing me this now?”

He stepped out into the living room area, took a breath, then placed his hand on mine, playing with my fingers.

“When I agreed to be part of the Avengers, I never envisioned being in a relationship with anyone,” he began. “I thought it would be enough to pay back society for what I did as the Winter Soldier, maybe date a bit, and then someday, buy a bar somewhere on a tropical island and finish out my days there. Then I met you, and it threw me for a loop. I didn’t handle it well, convincing myself that you would realize I wasn’t a good bet. So, I held myself apart from you. I guess I was deliberately sabotaging our relationship, trying to see how far I could push you away before you left. Well, I found out and I hurt you in the process. I hurt us both because I rationalized that it was all for the better. Then I saw you again, at the store.”

“Sam told me you were there deliberately, to see me. You bought those boots on an impulse so you would have an excuse to come back.”

He didn’t deny it. “All those times you offered to help me buy a nice suit and I turned you down because I thought you were just being polite. Then I needed help for real and you were so detached and professional, that I figured it really was over between us. When the PR people said they wanted me to be out and about, showing how I had evolved from this jeans and T-shirt guy to someone who could represent the organization I said yes, thinking I should be a better team player. The others kept telling me you were hurting after the first PR pictures and videos came out. They could see it every time one of them came into the store then you admitted how much you were struggling to Sam. It just all came to a head how unfair I had been to you.”

“Tell me,” I demanded. “Tell me how you’ve been unfair. I want to know if you realize what you really did.”

He had the decency to look embarrassed. “I know that I wasn’t good at telling you how much you meant to me. When we were on missions, I know I should have called you or texted you more, just to say I was thinking of you and couldn’t wait for when I got back. It wasn’t fair asking you to look after me when I was hurt. I tried to rationalize it by convincing myself that because I would be healed the next day that it wouldn’t bother you, but it did, didn’t it?” I sobbed out loud then, and his face broke. “I guess the worst thing is that I was being selfish when I didn’t want to go out. Part of me tried to say it was time devoted to you, but the truth was that I was afraid to be out with you; not just because I was afraid of people judging me, wondering why I should have someone like you in my life when I’ve taken so many lives. There was hate mail, threatening to hurt my loved ones.” I stopped crying, as this was the first that I had heard of it. “So, I rationalized staying home so I could protect you, not thinking that it made you feel trapped.” He touched my face with a worried expression on his. “How am I doing?”

“What does this have to do with buying a house?” I asked. He took another deep breath.

“I’m retiring from active duty,” he said. “They’re recruiting a bunch of new people, some of them kids but with powers that make me look like a stick in the mud. In many ways I am a stick in the mud. I like my 40s music, I don’t get reality TV, and I haven’t had a break since 1943. I think I’ve earned the right to have a private life. I’ll still help train these new kids, and if there’s a big mission, I’ll consider going on it, but I want a home, and a family, with a wife and kids, and a dog, and a cat … all of it.”

“What else will you do?”

“Get my GED, go to college,” he replied. “Maybe be a house husband, cook the meals, clean the house, and look after my kids while my wife continues on her career, if that’s what she wants to do. I’m in a new century and there are parts of it I want to embrace as long as I have the right person with me.” He was touching my face again, with his fingertips just brushing against my jaw. “I asked you earlier what I could do to make it right. I already knew the answer. I make you the focus of my life. It’s all about you and should have been from the start. Let me make you happy, let me show you every day how much you matter.”

I wanted to believe him and by the look on his face he wanted me to believe him as well. He bought a house, a big one, to fill with love and laughter, children and pets, and he bought it for me. Not only that, but he was also willing to retire, and start doing something else with his life; embracing the life he wanted in the 1940s but wasn’t allowed to have until now, if only I was willing to embrace it with him.

“You know, I was thinking of getting out of retail,” I said. “The hours aren’t great for relationships, from Thanksgiving on through the New Year the crowds are ridiculous, and customer service isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be. I’m at a point in my life where I’m ready to try something different.”

“Like what?” he asked, a soft smile on his face.

“Like marriage and a family, and a husband who adores me.”

“I can provide that,” he murmured, his arms moving around my waist. “If you’re sure that’s what you want, then I’m more than willing to help you get it.”

“Is that a proposal?” It became very still at that moment.

“No, but I can do that, too,” he said, not missing a beat. “That’s a promise.”

Our lips met then, and he poured every bit of his love for me into that kiss. We stood in that unfinished living room, the smell of plaster still in the air from the first coat put on the walls. There were no window coverings so anyone passing by would have seen Bucky Barnes and some woman kissing like there was nothing else in the world pressing upon them. When I got into his car after work, I was certain that this was it, the end was coming, and whatever was keeping us apart was too big to overcome. Instead, I found someone who wanted what I wanted, and was willing to change his life to make me happy. If he was willing to do that, then so was I. I never wanted him to quit the Avengers for me, but it was always going to be an option now, a choice that we could make together, when the time was right. The timing was perfect.

Short Fiction Masterlist

Please reblog if you liked this.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #sam wilson #reconciliation #kiss and make up #james buchanan barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #buckybarnesshortfic #bucky barnes short fiction

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secretdonderwolk · 21 days

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hello tender stroopwafel gate anon here. popping back in to say that you nailed their chemistry on the head!! yesss they are not husband coded because they ARE husbands. there’s something so deeply intimate between them, the way they move think talk laugh the same, the way they simply exist in this absolute harmony, the way they gravitate towards each other always. soulmatism is slapping us all in the face tbh.

anyway back to that day, the one thing that’s somehow most husband-y to me is how max keeps complimenting daniel every .5 second. calling daniel’s ugly ass first stroopwafel “a whole artwork”?? even when daniel pronounced the damn word stroopwafel max went “that’s very good”??? the patience the uplifting tone the encouragement?? like my hubby is a bit silly but i love him so much and i’ll hype him up to the end of the universe. and yes you’re right he kept looking around grinning like an idiot like 🔫I SAID LIVE LAUGH LOVE DANIEL🔫 it’s the little things like these that makes me wonder how can anyone look at them and go oh that’s 100% platonic frfr

stroopwafel video......we meet again..............i think that's the thing that i like the most about the daniel/max dynamic is that there is something very genuine and real and '''old''' there. like that's history!!! you can tell they 're incredibly comfortable with each other and just enjoy.....existing in the same space....all the pretense gone all the trying hadand the figuring each other out, it's not necessary anymore... my big hc about max is that he enjoys a certain type of buzzing around him. just wants to be in a house with people, finds comfort in the sound of someone turning the tap on, walking around, having interaction without pressure etc and i think daniel gave and gives him that! home away from home. just a nice buzzing that max can tune into when he wants to! no because max always hyping daniel up is soooo important to me. daniel's so gorgeous so beautiful so fast so funny such a beautiful smile.... and it's funny because obviously we know daniel wants/needs to be showered with praise but i don't think that's why max does it even? like idk max does not strike me as someone who goes out of his way to people please to put it lightly lmao not even for daniel so it's just..... that's what i mean they match each other's wants and needs because it matches their own wants and needs... max likes complimenting people daniel likes compliments... daniel likes a grateful audience who fully buys what he's selling max enjoys being in the audience and and buying into what someone's selling... something really fun about their dynamic is they're doing it for each other as much as they're doing it for themselves you know? it's jus that that's a really really good match

#ask!#max/daniel

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c-cw-f-saeko · 3 months

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tesso's bingo card for infinite wealth

i will explain each category as if he was in ichiban's party 💔

__________

Life Hack: Acupressure

Tesso says acupressure can help with some types of pain and a good alternative to acupuncture. In his opinion, knowing certain pressure points is a good thing to keep in mind in a pinch.

Surprising Fact: Has a daughter

I've said this before (LOL) but Tesso has adopted one of the kids of Restaurant Row. Her name is Yua. This isn't quite expected from an assassin of the Liumang...

Bad Habit: Cooks everything on high heat

Literally cooks on a fire engine. It looks scary the first time you see it, but he assures to have never come close to burning down his house. Seonhee doesn't like this at all.

Likes: Playing Mahjong with Seonhee

She's a though match and tends to win often. Tesso tries very hard to beat her.

Special Skill: Can fall asleep anywhere

Tends to not sleep at night, so, he tried getting rest anytime he can during the day. He even fell asleep standing up one time (without falling).

Currently Hooked On: Manga

He checked out what one of his subordinates (probably Yeona) was reading and he ended up really into it. He recalled giving manga not much attention when he was young, so he regrets missing out on it a bit.

Hobby: Gardening

Grows radishes and cabbages on the rooftops of some Restaurant Row buildings. Uses it exclusively for Seonhee's kimchi, Yua's dishes or meals for his subordinates (so he's not selling these, family only!).

Wants To Learn: Dancing

He got curious from hearing Yagami being an advisor at Seiryo. He thought it might be worth trying as a workout since it looks fun.

Last Thing He Bought: A drone

Kaito and Yagami gave him the idea. Totally frivolous since he has no real use to it, but worth it since he had never seen Restaurant Row from above.

Kid Tesso: Had a Hip phase

Long ago, he was all about dressing stylish and a so-called streetwear enthusiast. Took good care of his shoes even to a ridiculous degree ("Gotta keep my AirForce Ones white no matter what"). Looking back, he finds it funny that he doesn't really care about that sort of things anymore.

When He Can't Sleep: Goes on a long walk

On nights he can't find sleep, he just walks the streets of Yokohama to clear his mind. He challenges himself to memorize as many details about the streets as possible. It's useful at times.

Embarrassing Moment: Bleached his hair blond after losing a bet

Sugiura dared Tesso on a drinking duel out of the blue and lost terribly. To celebrate his win, Sugiura suggested Tesso tried out his hairstyle just for fun to see if he liked it. It was supposed to be dark brown but ended up leaving it for too long, so he was blond instead (like a #27).

Tesso hid his head under his jacket hood the entire following week, waiting long enough to dye his hair back to black. Since no knows it happened (Sugiura kept a lot of pictures though), they both could laugh about it. Tesso is just glad to not have gone bald.

Knows A Lot About: Shops in Yokohama

As per the long walks, he memorized many shops of Yokohama. For most things, he can always give a recommendation of where to look.

Favorite Food: Anything Zhao cooks

Seonhee is trying hard to make him admit it, but he just can't do it. Between her cooking and Zhao's cooking, deep down, Tesso likes Zhao's a little bit more. Nostalgia is a bit at play here since his food is very reminiscent of his uncle's old restaurant. However, Zhao is just that good of a cook, what can he say!

Current Dilemma: Buying dinner for all of his subordinates

Since the merge of the Liumang and Geomijul and being the second officer in charge, his number of subordinates pretty much doubled. It's nice since he gets along with them well, but it can be tricky and hard on the wallet to treat them all to dinner. Finding out something everyone will like is always a challenge.

Chronic Illness: Early-stage arthritis in his fingers

He is quite young for arthritis, but his gloved claws and stiff articulations of his hands make things worse. It's bearable for now, but he's unsure of how he will handle it in the future.

kasuga and tesso would get along so great actaully! im dying on that hill!!!!

#tesso #bingo #ichiban kasuga #seonhee #sugiura fumiya #tessohui #yua #zhao tianyou #im insane wooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#but i gotta put ichiban and tesso on dondoko island in blender!!!!!!!!!!! brb!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#actually i gotta finish that tessohui headcanon post im almost done #but ive been procrastinating........#my art

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jampc · 1 year

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angeleyes ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

ʜɪ ! ɪ ꜱᴀᴡ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅʙᴢ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴛᴀɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜ :) ɪ ᴀʟꜱᴏ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴ ᴀᴅᴜʟᴛ ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇʟɪɴᴇ ᴛʀᴜɴᴋꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ꜱᴘᴏɪʟɪɴɢ ʜɪꜱ ɢꜰ (ʏᴋ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ʀɪᴄʜ) ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀ ᴇᴛᴄ !! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴍ <- anon

pairing: trunks/f!reader

words: 1,224

content warnings: none.

tags: fluff, drabbles, romance, sfw.

rating: G

a/n: so fluffy it might make you explode. or at least cause massive amounts of eye rolling 😭. hope you enjoy it nonetheless ⋆˙⟡♡✧˖°

"I've told you before, it's my money. I can do whatever I want with it!"

"But-"

"And no buts! This is my house and if I say we're going out to the fair then that's what we'll do." The young man smiled down at his girlfriend as she pouted up at him in a sulk.

She knew how much he loved this time of year, when all the local businesses would set up stalls around the town square for people to come along and buy their wares from them.

It was like Christmas on steroids, with everything being open until late into the night every day of the week. There were rides, games, food stalls and so many other things to see and do.

“But you know I don't like crowds," she whined. "And there's bound to be lots of drunk people who might try something."

"I promise I won't let anyone take advantage of you while we're here. And besides, everyone knows me. They'd never dare mess with us." He gave her a kiss on the cheek before standing up and pulling her up by the hand. "Come on, let's go."

She sighed as she followed him out of the door and towards the car. He had a point though; he could probably handle any trouble that came his way if it did arise.

Even now, they only needed to look at each other for a few seconds and they both knew exactly what the other one was thinking.

They drove through the town centre and parked up near the edge of the market area.

“We should get some tickets first," he said as they got out of the car. "That way we can ride all the rides without having to wait in line."

"I suppose so," she replied. "But you know I'm not really that fond of rollercoasters or anything too fast."

He laughed as he took her arm and led her over to the entrance gate.

A few moments later, they were inside the grounds and walking amongst the stalls which lined either side of the walkway.

Most of them sold clothes, jewellery and other accessories but there were also plenty of food stands selling hot dogs, chips and candyfloss.

"It looks busy already," he commented as they made their way slowly through the throng of people.

"I think we're going to have to fight our way through. But I think I know a shortcut."

"Oh goodie!" she replied sarcastically. "How exciting! Let's go."

The finally found the ticket booth.

“Two please," he said to the lady behind the counter. "For two adults."

She handed them each a paper ticket as well as a plastic bag containing a pair of wristbands.

He slipped his on and watched as his girlfriend did the same.

Once they'd put their bags back in the boot, he looked around and spotted a small kiosk on the far side of the field.

"Come on," he said excitedly. "Let's go on the merry-go-round."

He grabbed your hand and pulled you along after him as he made his way across the grass.

You could hear the music playing as you walked towards the brightly coloured horses.

When you got to the front you realised there was a queue leading onto the ride itself and several more queues waiting to get on once the previous ones had left.

"I knew i should've bought out the fairground earlier," he muttered.

"Oh hush, it doesn't matter," she whispered sweetly in return. He started pushing the people in front of him aside until he reached the head of the queue.

As soon as his turn arrived, he held your hand tightly as you stepped aboard the ride.

You held on to his waist firmly and gripped tight the metal bars above your head.

Then, the whole thing began moving round and round, faster than you thought possible.

Your boyfriend's hands tightened even further as you squealed with excitement whilst trying desperately not to lose grip of the bar.

After about five minutes of dizzying motion, the ride stopped again and you felt yourself start falling forwards as it slowed right down.

Luckily your boyfriends strong arms kept you from plunging off the seat completely, although they couldn't keep hold of one hand for very long.

“Wheeee!! That was fun," you cried breathlessly. "Let's do another!"

“We should go on one of those little bumper cars next," he suggested with a chuckle. You nodded your agreement eagerly.

They headed towards the exit and went outside where there were dozens upon dozens of these miniature vehicles racing around a large wooden track.

You choose a vehicle and climbed inside. Your boyfriend choose one nearby, hopped in beside you and wrapped his arms around you protectively.

"Hold on baby," he growled softly in your ear.

"Ooohhhhhh!" you screamed in delight as you careered around corners, narrowly missing other cars on numerous occasions.

You bounced up and down against the seat as you spun around, laughing madly, feeling safe in your boyfriends embrace.

Eventually he released his grasp on you suddenly and you fell forward as you tried to grab the steering wheel. The force sent you hurtling off the seat and crashing to the floor, hard enough to knock the wind out of you.

"You alright?" he asked, looking concerned.

"Y-yeah I think so," you stammered between gasps for air.

“I love you," he told you as he leaned down and kissed you tenderly.

After a moment you recovered your senses enough to smile at him and reply.

"I love you too."

A short time later, you were sat back down enjoying yourselves on one of the benches whilst he was feeding you ice cream.

You were giggling like children, holding hands and talking about all the stupid things that happened to you during the day. Eventually, the sun started setting and the crowd started thinning away.

“I know sometimes we argue but it makes me happy to spend time with you," he told you earnestly.

"It does make me happy too," you admitted. "I wouldn't want to change a thing."

"You’re so beautiful," he continued dreamily. "So caring and compassionate too. If you weren't so shy, I could tell you how wonderful you are to me."

You blushed deeply, embarrassed at having been spoken to quite so openly.

But still you felt your heart begin to beat faster as the words sank in deep within your mind. He leant in closer, his voice dropping even lower.

"I've fallen in love with you," he mumbled quietly into your hair. "And I intend to marry you someday."

You froze up instantly and stared wide eyed at him. His face dropped slightly and he cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Well, it’s getting late we better head home," he said with forced jollity. "It's a long drive tomorrow."

You nodded dumbly and allowed him to lead you back towards the car.

Once they were both seated safely inside, he turned towards you with a big grin plastered across his handsome features.

"So..." you murmured uncertainly. "Are you sure...you meant that...?"

His mouth split into a huge grin and he shook his head playfully as he spoke.

"Yes, of course. What kind of idiot do you take me for? Now buckle up, sweetheart, 'cause it's gonna be a bumpy ride!"

#trunks #trunks x reader #dbz x reader #trunks dbz #trunks sfw

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schoopsahoy · 1 year

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riding on the line

steve harrington x fem!reader inspired by orange show speedway by lizzy mcalpine “riding on the line between acceptable and angering your girlfriend”. friends to lovers, a winter fair, borrowed sweaters and unspoken confessions. no use of y/n.

You really hadn’t meant to intrude. Third wheeling your best friend and his date wasn’t exactly your idea of fun anyway, but the fair had always been yours and Steve's thing. Ever since you were kids and your parents would palm you off with a bundle of dollars to spend on cotton candy and rides on the ghost train, the fair in Hawkin’s had become tradition.

So when the deconstructed rides had started gathering in the same field and posters had begun popping up around town advertising the winter fair,you hadn't given it a second thought when Steve had told you to be ready for him to pick you up that Friday evening. It wasn’t until you went to get into the passenger seat of his car that you’d realised that this time was different.

You tried to hide the surprise on your face as you moved your hand away from the passenger side door handle, instead opting (through no choice of your own) for the backseat, plastering on a smile as you got situated in the car.

“Hey,” You greeted your friend, before quickly turning your attention to his date. “Hey, Maggie, how are you?”.

You knew Maggie Gerrard from school, you’d been in the same grade but barely interacted due to floating in different social circles. But she always seemed nice, nice enough to not want to cause any tension for your best friend. You’d lost count of how many girls had given him grief over your presence, always complaining that you were too close, not willing to accept that you came part and parcel with Steve. He was always adamant that he didn't care, and that you were more important to him than any of those girls anyway. It always made something swell on your chest, hearing those words, as much as you tried to ignore the feeling.

“I’m good, how about you?” Her voice was coated with sweetness. Probably the superficial kind but it was easier to not read into it and pretend she was genuinely interested, not at all irritated by your presence in what would otherwise have been a romantic night.

You just nodded, humming a response as you buckled yourself in. Your eyes flickered up to Steve who was watching your every move from his seat, the look in his eyes somewhat of an apology for the surprise and a question of you sure you’re good?. After over a decade of friendship you gained the ability to say so much without saying anything at all. You just blinked back, nodding once again and giving him your best smile. He didn’t seem entirely convinced, his gaze holding for a moment before he pulled away from the curb outside your house and drove towards the fair.

And at first it was fine. The fair was jam packed with kids, families, other teens, just about the whole of Hawkin’s it seemed. The mash-up of excited cheers and christmas songs elevated any awkwardness that had filled the cramped car on the ride over, stepping out into the sweet smelling air seeming to clear it all away.

Steve and Maggie walked hand in hand, you always a few steps ahead as you looked around like a kid in a candy shop. After a good twenty minutes of meandering around the stalls, stopping to look at the various festive goods some were selling without actually ever buying any, you stopped at one of the food trucks. It was cold out, probably below freezing, and the perfect excuse to get one of the overly sweet hot chocolates.

Before you could even finish ordering your own, Steve had stepped in and asked for another two. Handing over the money despite your protests that you could pay for yourself.

The first sip felt like it warmed you from the inside, the cup radiating its heat through your gloves as you clutched it with both hands.

“Woah, slow down, you’re gonna get sick on the rides if you drink that too fast.” Steve teased, watching you practically down your drink as he sipped his own.

“Don’t be a killjoy Harrington.” You mumbled, barely taking the cup from your mouth to speak. “Besides, I thought it was you who got sick on the waltzers that one time?” You raised an eyebrow at the boy, who quickly looked between you and his date and shook his head.

“Hey no fair, I was a kid! And they totally picked on me, I practically broke the sound barrier with how fast they spun it.” He huffed, feigning annoyance at your confession.

“Sure, whatever you say.” You rolled your eyes at his poor defence, finally taking a break from your hot chocolate. It was pretty sickly, not that you’d ever admit Steve was right.

“You’ve got a- ah c’mere.” Steve stepped to you as he spoke, your brow furrowed with whatever he was trying to say in so little words. It wasn’t until his thumb was brushing over the corner of your mouth that you realised, staring up at your friend through your eyelashes as he studied your face. Your breath was held in your chest, scared to even exhale as he finally moved his hand away. “Chocolate, s’gone now.”

“Guess I did get a bit too excited with it.” You shrugged, heat washing over your already cold bitten cheeks. At least that made the fact you were blushing easier to hide.

You glanced over to Maggie, whose tongue was inside her cheek as she watched the pair of you interact, and quickly tried to move the conversation onto something else. Anything else.

You stayed a few steps ahead of them as you kept walking around, their muffled conversation easily drowned out by the noises of the fair. But every time you stole a glance behind you, you could see the girls slightly irritated expression as Steve clearly tried to dig himself out of whatever hole he was in.

The second incident, if you could call it that, was after you spent most of your money and far too much time trying to win an oversized teddy bear from one of the games stalls. You’d never been all that good with hand eye coordination, which was abundantly clear from the multiple failed attempts at knocking all the stacked bottles over.

After another missed shot you tipped your head back and groaned, turning back to look at Steve who was far too amused by your attempts.

“This is rigged.” You stated, folding your arms over your chest as you glared at the bottles that mocked you in their untouched state.

“It’s not, you just suck.” You jutted your bottom lip out at Steve’s response, knowing that he was right but not willing to admit it. “Let me have a go.”

“Fine, but you won’t win, because it's rigged.” You stepped aside to let him up to the counter, the smell of his cologne instantly hitting you as his body was next to yours. It was warm and woodsy and familiar, he smelled like comfort and home and all the things you’d grown to associate Steve with. You were so preoccupied with mentally arguing with yourself about how you shouldn't think these things that you barely noticed Steve successfully knocking down the bottles until he turned to you with a grin.

“So it’s not rigged I guess.” His voice snapped you out of your trance, his smile instantly causing your own to appear as you squealed and hugged him tightly.

“Get your girlfriend to pick what she wants.” The man running the stall grumbled, clearly tired of your complaining that he’d been hearing for the last ten minutes.

“Oh she’s not-” Steve started, but the man was too preoccupied with resetting the bottles that any protests were pointless. But you could hear Maggie scoff from behind you, left in the same spot that she’d been with Steve before he came to your rescue.

You offered him an apologetic smile, as if you’d really done anything wrong. But these situations were far too familiar, almost routine at this point. Sorry smiles and furrowed brows seemed to follow you and Steve whenever either of you had a date.

You picked out the giant panda teddy that was practically the same size as yourself, clutching it to your body as Steve no doubt went to apologise again. You felt bad for him, always having to defend himself. Defend you.

But the final straw that night was when the sun had fully left the sky, the navy blanket of night engulfing the air around you and dropping the temperature even more. You were quite grateful for the oversized bear in that moment, holding it to yourself conserving some heat as you shivered whilst waiting in the queue for the ferris wheel.

“You cold?” Steve’s voice came from behind you, your neck craning so you could peer back at him.

“Nah I’m okay.” You lied, your skin flushed from the air and your teeth chattering despite your best attempts to control them.

“You’re not.” Before you could open your mouth in protest, Steve was peeling off his coat so he could remove his sweater.

“Steve, I’m fine, really.” You were practically begging at this point, already knowing the simple act of kindness would cause him trouble.

“Just take it.” He held it out in his hand, the yellow sweater hanging there waiting to be claimed. He raised his eyebrows at you as you stood motionless, teeth tucked over your bottom lip.

You exhaled, finally reaching out to take the sweater from him. The hassle of having to place the stuffed toy on the ground and fumble out of your own coat made the whole thing feel worse, dragging out the tension that was building as you pulled the sweater over your head. You did instantly feel warmer, Steve’s body heat lingering on the wool.

“There, looks better on you anyway.”

And that was it. Those few words were the final straw. One final sigh of irritation coming from Steve’s date before she began storming away. “God, why don’t you just date her?”

You looked at Steve, wide eyed and a small frown tugging at the corner of your lips. “Go.” You nudged your head in the direction of where Maggie was heading, making good ground with the pace she was walking.

Steve sighed, running a hand over his face. “You wait here, okay?” You just nodded at him before he half jogged after Maggie.

You stepped out of the queue, finding somewhere to sit close to the ferris wheel as you sat waiting for your friend's return. Your prize teddy sat next to you, an unfortunately big reminder of the night.

It wasn’t Steve’s fault. He was always too sweet with you. A hand on your back as you crossed roads, an arm over your body if he ever had to break hard in his car, eyes always reading your emotions without you even having to say anything.

It felt like an eternity had passed by the time he returned, head hung low and on his own. When he finally looked up to find where you'd gone you gave him a small wave, that same sorry smile on your lips as he took a seat next to you.

“She went home, said she didn’t want to be a third wheel on her own date.” He let out a sad laugh, shaking his head at the whole situation.

“I’m sorry Steve.” You nudged his side with your shoulder, your hand reaching over to squeeze his.

“She’s kinda right though. This does feel like a date.” Steve was looking at you now, the bright lights around you dancing off his deep brown eyes and lighting up his skin with warm colours.

“What? A date? Like, for us?” You raised one of your eyebrows at him as you forced the words out, hoping that he couldn't feel the thumping in your chest with him sitting so close to you. Your body's reaction a dead giveaway for how you feel.

Steve nodded, not breaking his eye contact with you. “Don’t you think?”

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, your brain screaming at you to just confess how you really feel. Begging you to just be honest. If only it were that easy.

“I guess, maybe. Minus your actual date.” Steve chuckled at your words, this time moving his hand to your own and hovering over it for a moment before taking it in his own.

“Yeah, minus that.” It felt like the noise and chaos around you had vanished, all other distractions muffled by the blood that was thumping in your ears. “Everyone always says we should just give it up and get together.”

You swallowed, mouth becoming more dry with each word your best friend spoke. You’d heard the same thing before, of course. From your ex boyfriends, all of your friends, even your parents. But you'd always brushed it off, dead set on the fact that Steve didn’t feel the same.

“But what about you? You’re not everyone.” You weren’t sure where this bravery was coming from, words you'd been dying to say for years suddenly spilling from your lips.

The way Steve smiled at you made your heart melt, made your chest ache and heat up despite the winter air. “I d’know. Would be nice to end the night on a positive note, don’t y’think?”

You could feel your mouth open a little, as Steve looked at you waiting for a response. “Yeah, yeah it would.” You averted your eyes from your best friend as you spoke, staring down at your hand that was still in his.

“C’mon then. There’s a ferris wheel with your name on it over there.” Steve stood up and tugged on your hand to raise you out of your seat, not letting go once you were up. You couldn't fight off the grin that was spreading over your face, your eyes brighter than any of the lights at the fairground.

“The bear is sitting in the middle.” You teased, glancing over to the teddy that was still leaning against the wooden bench you'd been perched at.

“It’s absolutely not.” Steve grinned, picking the bear up and holding it under his free arm. You both stood still for a moment, just taking each other in. His eyes full of something soft and lovely, the same way he always looked at you really.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington blurb

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