#not true I've written two fics with him now that I remember | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

erwinsvow · 6 months

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𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞, 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐬

summary: aaron hotchner is a lot of things. in love with you is one that you never saw coming.

word count: 7.1k

author's note: bau!reader + hotch is my favorite combo ever. i haven't written and posted in, like, two years so please be nice :) i've written so many other versions of hotch but this one just wrote itself. inspired by the amazing @luveline and so many breathtaking hotch stories and isabel (alisdas on ao3, not on here anymore i think :( ) who wrote of terrible coffee and late-night rides which i think started all of this and my immense aaron brain rot when i read that fic, like, three years ago. enjoy!

This was wrong, Aaron thought to himself. He seldom committed acts that others might say were wrong, or argue they could potentially be wrong, but this was different. Aaron felt wrong, a feeling he was not used to.

“I’m worried about you, that’s all,” you had said quietly on the jet early one morning. You two were sitting across from each other on the flight back from the team’s latest solved case, an excruciating long ride home from the coast of Oregon.

Your book laid open on your lap, unread and a bookmark tucked between the earlier pages. The spine was cracked, like you’d read it a hundred times before. He knew that wasn’t true though, it was just a used novel probably from the thrift store around the corner of your apartment.

You had told him once, back when you first started—back when he was still married and you were less affected by this job—that you liked finding used (pre-loved, you call it) books and picking the most worn out ones to take home. You said it means that someone used to love this book.

It felt wrong because you were too young for him, and too innocent to be mixed up in his life. What could you know about his thoughts? About the love of his life that divorced him and his son he only sees once in a while.

The rest of the team makes jokes with you, in particular JJ and Penelope. He’s even heard Emily pitch in, about your not-so-secret fondness for your boss. For him.

Back when you had first started, it was nothing. Passing glances, working extra hard to please him and earn his praise—which was never given out generously. He hadn’t even taken the time to notice, never paid more attention than any other member of the team. What he did notice was your work ethic.

Being among the youngest of the team had instilled a drive in you to prove your worth. You always stayed an hour extra, came early, and spent nights working the case even when you were yawning every few minutes. The most attention he’d given you back then was commenting that you’d had a good insight into the unsub, commending you on well-written reports and briefs, and offering you a cup of coffee when it was just you and him left in the sheriff’s office. He’d be rereading seemingly endless pages of the case reports and you’d be diving headfirst into the victim’s lives.

Your specialty was always understanding why the victims did what they did, figuring out their routines and ascertaining important details from their personal belongings. He was used to you flicking through diaries and boxes of mementos that were once treasured by another young girl, not so much older than yourself.

He’d be lying if he hadn’t thought it was impacting you—reading through the journals of dead women who had been very similar to yourself, with similar hopes and dreams. It was depressing, he knew, and yet if you were bothered by it, you didn’t show it in the slightest. At least not to him.

And back then, he’d never notice the sweet smile that always graced your face when he was asking you if you’d like coffee. You’d shake your head no, and take sips of water between your yawns. You didn’t even tell him that you don’t drink coffee until a few months later, after he asked if you’d ever like a cup when he offered. He can remember it clearly even now.

“Actually, Hotch, I don’t drink coffee.” Your cheeks were tinged with color like you were embarrassed to even be admitting this to him.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner? I would have stopped asking three months ago.” If he sounded stern, he didn't mean to. The burning on your face deepened.

“I didn’t want to be rude. I drink tea though, but I didn’t think to mention it. It’s not as easy to make.”

“Well, let me know if you need a cup of hot water then.”

You had smiled at that, and he had turned around to take another picture on the bulletin board. He smiled a little too.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he said, maybe a little too gruffly. He didn’t mean it, again, but it just came out that way. He thinks some part of him is trying to warn you to stay away before you get too close.

“We’re all worried. You went through something really big and didn’t tell any of us and even if you don’t care about us like that, I care about you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Aaron’s gaze casts around the rest of the jet. Derek has his headphones in, staring out the window and trying to resist sleep. JJ and Emily are playing cards—they should be sleeping, but they had a little too much espresso a few hours before. They’re too far away to hear you and Aaron speaking, but he notices JJ’s eyes darting over every once in a while. Spence is asleep, and he realizes that’s why it’s so quiet. Dave is reading a book, too, but he’ll stop and interject into JJ and Emily’s conversation.

He looks back at you, sleepy-eyed and wrapped in a warm, boxy pullover from your alma mater. He thinks a little bit too much about you these days, and he can’t get it to stop. He shouldn’t profile anyone on the team, they have a strict moratorium on that, but especially not you.

You, who never fails to try to make anyone feel better when they’re down. You, who doesn’t make it seem like you’re analyzing their behavior, but rather observing and offering comfort in hard times. You remember everything the team tells you about their likes and dislikes, never forgetting a birthday or special occasion. He can distinctly recall fresh chocolate chip cookies on Derek’s birthday, carrot cake from the Italian bakery Rossi loves to celebrate when his latest book became a bestseller, and a new knick knack for Penelope’s office after a particularly brutal case.

You say it’s all in passing, but he knows it’s not. You’re trying your hardest to keep the team together in the little ways, strengthening bonds that extend beyond coworkers. You want to fit in and be accepted, and you worry so much that you won’t. This is your way of trying to show that you’re a part of this team too, not just the new girl and one of the young ones.

Aaron blinks twice. You’re looking at him expectantly, and he wishes you wouldn’t. All he’ll do is disappoint you.

“You don’t need to worry,” he repeats. “I’ll be fine.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say that. Why is it so bad for us to worry about you?” You look like you’re starting to get upset—it hurts Aaron more than he realized it would. It’s not bad for the others to worry, it’s bad for you. If you get attached, if he lets this get unprofessional, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself. Hurting himself is one thing; hurting you is another entirely.

“Let it go, Agent. Try to get some rest.” He looks out the window. He can see the sun coming up, and realizes he hasn’t slept since the night before last. He still needs to drive home—not really home, he remembers sadly, his empty apartment— and work on reports before he can even see Jack. He doesn’t think resting now is a good idea, and yet his body is so tired.

When he looks back, you’re reading your book again but your eyes are really paying attention to the words on the page. You’re just skimming, and blinking rapidly, and he realizes then he’s made you tear up.

His phone goes off—Haley, and he feels guilt building up in his chest, almost overwhelming him. He steps away to answer and talks quietly. He doesn’t want you to overhear and worry even more. When he comes back to his seat, you’ve fallen asleep. He takes the book from your hands gently and puts the bookmark in, closing it and resting it on the seat beside you. He watches you sleep and wonders if he’s making a mistake trying to hide from you. He thinks, and not for the first time, that you see right through him.

The plane lands an hour and a half later, and everyone is beyond exhausted. Even Spencer, who normally doesn’t need much energy or caffeine to start talking fast about something interesting he noticed about this case and this unsub, is unusually quiet. They’re all running on fumes, staying up two nights in a row profiling and then catching the unsub with the latest victim at one in the morning, and then boarding the jet soon after.

Aaron makes a decision, everyone can work on their notes from home and the report is due no later than day after next. Derek pats him on the shoulder and says no one is to call him for the next twenty-four hours. JJ and Emily exchange a laugh. Y

ou, he notices, though he wishes he wouldn’t, go up to Spencer and talk with him quietly. When you’re done, he beams at you and you at him. He wonders what you two talked about when they’re all heading out, listening to Spencer ramble about how the unsub’s use of his childhood spots as disposal sites offers insight into the abuse of his youth. Prentiss tells him to save it for the report.

He and Rossi are walking back to their cars when Dave speaks up for the first time.

“You’re wondering what she said to him, aren’t you?”

Aaron stops for a moment.

“You should know better than to profile me.”

“Oh, I’m not profiling. This is just me being observant. You should stop fiddling with your ring finger when you talk to her. It’s a dead giveaway.”

“Dave, I don’t need to tell you that this conversation—“

“I know, I know. I won’t mention it again if you don’t want me to.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow, Aaron. And by the way, she offered to write his notes for him if he wanted. He said it’s hard for him to write about unsubs with schizophrenic tendencies and she said she can try to help, if he wants. That’s all. Let me know when you’re ready to talk about this.”

Aaron gets in his car and doesn’t stop thinking about you the entire ride home.

You wish you could make it stop. The way you feel about your boss. It started so long ago, it’s almost a part of you now. Aaron is stern and his disposition is frightening, to the say the least. But only at first, you’ve realized, after so many late evenings spent discussing the case with him, breaking down the tiniest details, and him paying attention to your every word when you discuss the victim’s demeanor and behavior to try to figure out what had really happened.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, you thought. You had gone to the overpopulated state school with the hopes of entering the medical field. You were a true empath, and there was no one’s suffering you couldn’t relate to, no one that you wouldn’t try to make feel better. All your life, people cried on your shoulder while you offered up words of comfort. And because of this, everyone thought you were a shoo-in for nursing or medical school, where you could help people through the worst days of their life.

All it took was a few days at the hospital where you had been working, a string of murder victims being wheeled in one after another, for you to reconsider your life’s work. None had survived the incident, but the killer let them live just long enough to be seen by the doctor, who then had to declare them legally dead.

Something about the victims seemed familiar to you, how they’d all come from wealthy families and were sliced up in their expensive clothing, expensive jewelry and watches smashed to bits instead of being stolen. You mentioned it to one of the officiers, who told someone else, and somewhere in that chain of events, your insight helped them catch the killer.

It was then, you thought, that maybe you should be working on the other side of these situations. Stopping the killer before it ever got to this.

Then you’d done a one-hundred and eighty degree spin on your career, electing to pursue becoming an agent. You had been young, and motivated, and you chose to overlook when everyone told you this job might become your whole life, leaving no time for a husband and kids and a family.

You had ignored it all, working your way up from the local field office to child crimes in just a year and a half. The transition out of sex crimes to homicide was disturbingly hard, because at least before you’d had a victim to interview. You were no expert, not yet, but a unique asset altogether, combining a true mission to uncover the best in each victim, and figuring out their behavior patterns from bedrooms and diaries.

It was a unique skill-set, acquired mostly because a lot of traumatized children didn’t offer much to go off of. You had to turn to their childhood homes, toys, and scribbles to figure out what had been going on in the first place.

You reflect often on why you decided to leave child homicide when news spread that the BAU had an opening for one more agent. Truthfully, you hadn’t considered it at all, since you were more than happy with your current position and coworkers. You were solving cases, delivering justice, and bringing whatever comfort you could bring to grieving families.

In fact, you had been requested specifically. You, out of a hundred or more well-established, intelligent agents that could be a huge asset to the team. You were never special, and you didn’t like to think of yourself in that way either, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt to hear that the team wanted you.

And when you transferred over, everyone was so nice. The team was inviting, they respected your opinion, and especially in cases with younger victims, they revered your knowledge. You felt included, and invaluable, and as hard as you worked, you wanted to work even harder.

Your boss was a brilliant agent and profiler, and so hardworking that you wanted to do anything you could to make his workload a little easier. You wrote the most detailed reports, so he would have to edit them as much.. You offered to pick up extra briefs, so he took home a couple less papers. And no matter what you did, acknowledged or not, you knew you were making the kind of difference you’d always dreamed you would.

Aaron—he was only ever Aaron in your head, and Hotch the rest of the time—liked you as an agent, and it made you happy. A little happier than you should be, considering he was happily married with a toddler and a perfect life outside of work. It was almost wrong, but it didn’t stop you from trying to impress him with your work ethic.

You always put aside your other feelings and focused on the team, and somehow in all of that, you felt like you were finally making your difference. You were close with the team and close enough with Aaron, that you hadn’t been worried to start that conversation on the jet now that all these circumstances were changing. Haley had asked for a divorce and he hadn’t muttered a word of it to anyone.

He’s so tired, you can see. You wonder if everyone else notices it too, or if it’s just you observing so closely. He has dark circles now, because he never sleeps, always working, and the furrows on his forehead are seemingly etched in and permanent. He misses his wife and his son, and you know it, and maybe it’s wrong to care about your boss so much that your heart hurts when you see him glancing at the framed photos of his family on his desk, or the tiny polaroids in his wallet, but you do. You think you’re in love with Aaron Hotchner, and you don’t know how to make it stop.

You’re gonna get hurt, you remind yourself every now and then.

Aaron and Spence have just come back from the prison, where they had an encounter with Chester Hardwick that they won’t really talk about. You’d been with the rest of the team in Indiana, and then two days later in Oregon.

Aaron and Haley were divorcing, and it hurt him so much, you knew, because it wasn't for a lack of love. It was a lack of time, a shortness of hours in the day. He couldn’t be the husband Haley wanted and the father he thought Jack needed while being an agent for eighteen hours a day. It hurt you too, seeing him like this. You wish he felt better.

The days and weeks seemed to blend into months. Somewhere in between Hotch’s divorce and JJ’s pregnancy, you had become complacent with your relationship with Aaron. Walking in together from the parking lot, leaving together at the end of a long day—usually alone and sometimes joined by Emily or David. Sometimes you’d have a frothy drink from a nearby coffee shop in your hand—to which you always hear, “My coffee’s not better than that stuff?”

“It’s not coffee, remember-”

“I know, you don’t drink coffee. That stuff is full of sugar. I don’t need you bouncing off the walls like Reid and Garcia too.”

You laugh, and then you wonder if it’s because he really cares or if it was just a passing comment. You share a lot of little moments like that.

When his eardrum was nearly blown out after New York, you almost offered to drive back with him from Ohio to Virginia. It was instinct, because you just didn’t want him to be alone. You had exchanged a glance when he handed you the plate of brownies from the victim’s mother, and you knew he had read your mind. But he didn’t say anything, and you left it at that. You’re not nearly stupid enough to think that your boss reciprocates your feelings for him. Hell, most days you don’t even know what feelings you have for him.

Your seats on the jet are almost permanently fixed; near the coffee machine towards the cockpit. You sit across from each other, and sometimes you don’t even speak. He’ll bring you a cup of hot water, and he doesn’t ask if you need a tea bag from the make-shift coffee station, because knows they’re in your go-bag.

When it’s his weekend with Jack after two weeks of back-to-back cases, Aaron is always working on the reports on the jet. It’s because he’s trying to reduce how much work he has to do at home, and even when everyone’s fallen asleep and your eyes are close to shutting, you get up and make him a cup of coffee. He’s never once told you how he takes it, and he doesn’t know if you’ve seen him make it either, but somehow you know, and it’s always right. When you offer him the steaming paper cup, he looks up at you with an entirely new look—something you’ve never seen before. You two don’t exchange so many words.

He says it all with his eyes, sometimes, even when you’re not looking. It’s gratitude. (When you get off the jet a few hours later, you tease Morgan about his snoring. Derek asks you where his cup of coffee is, and you shove his arm so hard he almost drops his bag.

In the end, it was you who had figured out there was something wrong with the Reaper’s last few victims.

“Why would a nineteen year old girl date her teaching assistant?” You had questioned, looking through a file that everyone’s eyes had already seen. “An honors student, a freshman, I mean, none of this points to an illicit affair with faculty. She knew it was against the rules and her roommates said she’s never so much as skipped class.”

“That could have been because she wants to see him,” Derek interjects. “If they were truly in love like Foyet said, she’d take every opportunity to be with him.”

“But in an environment where no one can know you two are together? I mean, if she was in love and close to getting engaged, wouldn’t she tell her best friends? Her parents? How many teenage girls keep something like that just to themselves?”

The pieces of the puzzle that had once fit together so nicely were coming undone. It felt like the blink of an eye, from catching Foyet to him escaping. Everyone was on edge, no one more than Aaron, and your empathy still knew no bounds. Where you had once been able to focus on work and dedicate all your thoughts to the cases, you now were distracted and distant. Every other thought was about Aaron, as wrong as that might be.

Canada had been something else entirely. It was difficult for the entire team to fathom, but nearly impossible for you. You had lost your temper twice—something you’d never done before— and thrown up when the team discovered all the shoes. JJ had run after you but in the end, Aaron was the one who found you outside.

“I’m sorry, JJ, I’ll be fine—I-I just need a minute,” you breath out, chest heaving and tears brimming.

“It’s okay,” Aaron says, “take your time.”

You turn around so fast, your breath catching, and you hate this situation. You could never hate Aaron but you hate this, you hate that he followed you and that he’s seeing you like this. You look weak, after two and a half years of trying to prove to him that you’re strong—strong enough to handle this job, do what needs to be done, and not cry at a crime scene.

“I-I’m sorry, I-”

“Why are you apologizing?” He doesn’t sound mad, or like he’s belittling you, and you don’t know why that’s what you expected. This is Aaron, your Aaron, and even though he’s not really yours it doesn't seem to matter much right now.

“I’m making a scene. I-I shouldn’t be throwing up on the job or screaming at those unsubs or anything else-”

“It’s okay. It happens.” Aaron says it so concisely, you almost feel better for a second. Isn’t this what it’s always come down to? You need Aaron like air, and somehow he always knows what you need to hear. He doesn’t treat you any differently compared to the others but it feels different today. You can’t describe it in words. If JJ or Morgan had followed you out here, you would have said the same things, but you wouldn’t have felt this way. Like if you crumble here today, Aaron will be there to pick you up.

“Take your time, please,” he repeats. “I know you think you have something to prove to me, but you don’t. You’ve proven it already, to all of us. Admitting that all of this gets to you isn’t a bad thing. That’s what separates us from them.”

At that moment, a dam bursts. Tears flow down your face like they haven’t in so long, as long as you can remember. You think you should feel embarrassed, crying in front of your boss, but Aaron takes you into his arms and you can’t remember the last time you felt this safe. Cheesy, you think, but this is everything I thought it would be and more.

You’re not sure how long he holds you there, but eventually once the front of his shirt is covered in your tears and he offers you a tissue (Does he just carry this around waiting for one of us to cry?) and you head back together. This is the embarrassing part, you think, bracing yourself and biting your inner cheek. But if the team is judging you at this moment, they certainly don’t show it.

You join JJ and Emily inside the house, who ask you if you’re okay when you sniffle for the last time. Spencer asks you later, on the way home. Derek tells you to call him if you need anything. Dave tells you, “You’ll be okay, kid,” and somehow, you believe him. Penelope texts you once on your phone, checking in and promising a distracting, gossip filled girl’s night out soon.

Aaron walks you to your car, and says goodnight. You’re delusional, you think, once you're back at home. You’ve taken the longest, hottest shower imaginable and your record player is emitting the scratchy sound of your favorite Beatles album. You’re in a big shirt that’s getting wet while you brush your freshly cleaned hair and all you can think about is how it felt to be wrapped in Aaron’s arms a couple hours ago.

You are delusional, you remind yourself. You’re checking your phone every couple minutes like a love-sick teenager. You think Aaron’s going to call you to check in, you almost feel it in your bones. You leave the ringer on incase he calls later—maybe he showered and sat down to work on some reports before sleeping. You fall asleep thirty minutes later, exhausted down to your bones, and wake up startled by your phone going off. In your sleepy delirium, you answer without looking who it is—assuming it’s Aaron.

“Hotch?”

“Hey, sorry it’s JJ. We have another case, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, JJ, um, okay, I-I’ll be there in ten. Text the address, okay?” Your cheeks burn at the slip.

“I sent it just now. Listen, I’m sorry, but can you try Hotch’s cell? I called and texted and he’s not answering.” You feel your stomach turn, first because Aaron isn’t answering and he always answers, and second because JJ thinks he’ll answer if you call.

“I’ll try him now. I’ll call you back.”

You try him twice while changing and another time in the car. Your only explanation is that maybe he went to see Jack and put his phone away, but even that doesn’t check out.

When you get to the scene, you inform the others about Aaron not answering.

“Alright, let’s split up for now and I’ll keep trying Hotch,” Derek says. They don’t seem that worried, and maybe that lulls you into not worrying either. After all, they’ve known him a lot longer than you have.

You end up with Spencer and Emily at the doctor’s house, combing through patient files Garcia sent over. There’s tens of dozens, and even though you want to go with Emily to Aaron’s place to get him, you know your experience with kids and in the hospital is vital. You and Spencer start working, but something feels off. You just can’t place it.

In the end, you attribute it to your nerves from the last case. Your fear of embarrassing yourself carried into today, and even though you know no one judged you for losing it in Canada, the feeling lingers. Spencer answers the phone from Emily and says that Hotch was busy with something at the bureau that now requires Emily too. In the end, you and Spence figure it out just in time. Your body is so tired, it hurts, and then on top of that, Spencer gets hurt. You can barely process what’s happening, and you don’t feel better until the doctor says it’s through-and-through.

“God, Spencer, never do that again,” you say, your hands wet with the blood from his wound. You wipe it on your clothes, thinking you’ll change soon.

“Guys, guys listen to me, something’s happened to Hotch.” The blood drains from your face and your breath stops in your throat.

“What?”

“Emily told me not to say anything until we got the unsub, but he’s in the hospital.”

The next hour is a blur. You all show up to the hospital, and Emily is talking to a bunch of agents. Their faces are blurred because you can hardly think straight.

“Em? Is he okay?” your words must be coming out frantically because everyone’s looking at you like you’re about to crumble.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t say anything because I knew we wouldn’t be able to think straight about the case, I know it’s wrong but-”

“Is he okay?” You didn’t mean to cut her off, it just happened like that. Your mind is so clouded right now with a petrifying vision of Aaron dying alone on the floor of his new apartment that he hates so much, while you were waiting for a call for him.

“He-he hasn’t woken up yet.”

You sit on a chair by Aaron’s bed. He looks like he’s sleeping, and a part of you had always wanted to see him like this. It would be comforting, if he actually was sleeping. You’d imagined it a little differently—you thought for sure he snores and sleeps on his side. You always notice sleep lines only on one arm when you guys have just woken up and continue working on the case. You stare extra hard when he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt on particularly hot days. Everyone would moan and groan about another case in the heat of Texas or Arizona, but not you.

It seems like those memories were a million years ago.

When he wakes up, everyone pours in and it distracts you for a few heartbeats. When they realize what Foyet is actually after, the terror is apparent on everyone's faces. You realize how long it’s been since you last saw Haley and Jack when they finally step into the room. You and Emily leave to give them privacy.

Later that night, you’re back in that chair. Aaron wakes up for a few minutes at a time, and when he finally stays awake, he notices you.

“How long have I been out?”

“Thirty minutes. Give or take.”

“Is there water?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You scramble up to get the pitcher and pour him a glass. There’s a straw too, which you put in the cup and hold still for a second so he can drink.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.” He can see all your emotions on your face. It doesn’t take him long at all, not anymore. You’ve been crying and your clothes have blood on them. He’s alarmed again.

“Is that your blood?” he asks, swallowing hard.

“No, no, Hotch. We had a case, the-the unsub shot Spence. He’s okay though, it just got on me and I haven’t been back home to change yet.”

“Why don’t you? Go home?”

“I didn’t want to leave you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I let you go home alone yesterday and look what happened.” You smile meekly at your own joke, hoping he appreciates it. He lies still though, not smiling.

“I think you should go home. Get some rest after everything.”

“You know, Hotch, only you would tell me to go home and rest up when you’re the one who’s currently in the hospital.”

“I just think-”

“Do you want me to leave? If you do, I will. I swear.” There’s silence between you two for a moment.

“No.”

“Good, because I wasn’t going to.” The corners of his mouth turn up a little. You barely even notice it. “I can’t leave now. I don’t want you to sit alone here.” You should stop talking, you think to yourself. But you don’t. “You know yesterday, I got home and the whole time I sat there wondering if you were gonna call my cell. I even turned the ringer up all the way so I didn’t miss it. And I know that’s stupid because why would you call me? But I had this feeling. And now all I can think is why didn’t I call you?”

“Don’t think like-”

“Don’t think like that? Yeah, I knew you would say that. But if I had called you like I wanted to, and asked you to come over like I wanted to, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. But I didn’t because I was scared and I don’t want to be scared anymore. And I know this is the last thing you need to hear right now, but I guess I can’t hold it in any longer.”

You want to clamp your hand over your mouth. Your favorite cheesy rom-coms have infiltrated your brain, and you can’t fathom how stupid you must sound right now to Aaron. He’s just almost died and the kid who was the last to join his team is declaring love for him on his hospital bed. But it won’t stop coming out.

“Can I tell you something Aaron? I mean, more than I already have? Emily said she didn’t tell me you were hurt because she knew I wouldn’t be able to think straight about the case anymore. About anything, anymore, if I knew you were missing or that you were hurt or dead. And I’ve been trying to hide it for so long, because I know you don’t need any more complications in your life right now, but, I think I have feelings for you, Aaron.” Hot tears stream down your face. You try to stop them but you can’t. They’ve been building up for two years.

“Please don’t cry. I don’t have a tissue for you this time.” You smile through your tears, but your entire body is still tense. It’s because you’re still expecting bad news, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Do you want me to leave? I can call Emily, she’ll sit with you if you don’t want to be alone.”

“I don’t want you to leave. And you don’t have to tell me these things, I already knew them.” Another few tears drip down your face. Aaron’s chest hurts more than it has ever before. He thinks back to your conversation on the jet that day, when you told him you cared about him and he hadn’t said much of anything at all. “I hope you know that I have feelings for you, too.”

“You mean you care about me and the team?” you question half-heartedly. You think you’ve already gotten your answer. “I mean I care about the team a lot. And I care about you more than I should, more than what’s right. More than a superior should care about one of their agents. And I think if this hadn’t happened, I would have called you last night. Not because of the case, because of you. Because I need to make sure you’re okay.”

Your heart thumps uncomfortably in your chest. Aaron reaches out his hand a little, and you take it into yours. You sit like that for a long time, and you know there’s so much else going on, but a small part of you sighs in relief. Aaron is okay, and he feels about you how you do about him, and maybe everything will be okay in the end.

The months after Haley’s funeral are tough for everyone. It’s weird going to work and not seeing Aaron. Sometimes you inadvertently make a cup of coffee how he likes it and have no one to give it to. You started drinking some, even though it tastes bitter and terrible, it makes you feel close to him.

How stupid is that, you wonder one day, sipping the coffee and looking over files with JJ. If the rest of the team thinks you're stupid, they haven’t shown any signs of it yet. You’re sure they mostly feel bad for you and your pathetic behavior. You’ve gotten sloppy because you can’t stop thinking about how Aaron is doing.

You and the team will go visit him and Jack at his new place. You make cookies, snickerdoodle for Aaron and oatmeal raisin for Jack.

“What kind of a kid are you?” you questioned, helping Jack scribble in his Captain America coloring book. He’s munching on a cookie while you try to figure out what part of the shield is blue and what part is red. “I mean, who likes oatmeal raisin cookies at the tender age of 5?”

“I did,” Spencer says, taking another one out of the tin.

“You don’t count, genius,” Morgan says, and then directs his gaze at you. “And I mean come on, no chocolate chip for me? None at all? That hurts.”

“I made you some like two weeks ago! I have a job, you know,” you fire back. Aaron laughs, eating the snickerdoodle after dipping it in milk. It’s so domestic, you feel yourself staring. You only turn away when he catches you looking.

When he comes back, you wonder if it’ll ever feel normal again. That silly routine you two had, the chairs on the jet near the coffee machine that you still sit in, walks to your car.

At first, it just feels strange. So much has changed yet the team’s dynamic remains the same. You get through cases with the same ferocity you had when you first started, eager to prove your worth again. Your reports detail every detail and then some, and you stay even later than Aaron some nights. You need something to focus on, and your cases seem like the best option. The other option is to have another conversation with Aaron about your feelings and you think you might die if that happens.

When it finally does happen, it’s plenty embarrassing. You were so sure about your theory about this unsub, so sure that he would confess if he was confronted about his crimes and reminded of the humanity of his victims—three little kids, all under ten. Maybe that’s why it bothered you so much, and that’s why you stormed into the residence even though the rest of the team was screaming at you not to. In the end, you talk him down, but Aaron runs in behind you anyways and nearly spooks the unsub into suicide.

“You do not have the authorization to make calls like that,” Aaron yells at you, and though you had once thought you would die if he yelled at you, it’s all too easy to yell back.

In that moment, when you had known what would happen, dealing with your area of expertise, he stormed in and questioned you and your abilities as an agent and as a profiler.

“I don’t need authorization, I knew what would happen, and I knew how to talk him down without this ending in gunfire—”

“I don’t care what you think you knew. This is a team, and we don’t make decisions that jeopardize a case without agreeing on it!” “You mean you have to agree with every decision I make? I had it handled, Hotch, you almost blew that whole thing up because you didn’t believe in me!”

“That’s not what this is about,” he fires back, and it feels strange to be yelling at you. He can’t recall the last time he’s ever done this. The rest of the team is just packing up in the police station, trying not to overhear but not really having any choice in the matter.

“Yes it is! You don’t trust me! Not to make decisions for this team and for our cases, or for anything. You just proved that back there. You don’t trust me.” It’s happening again. Tears brew in your eyes. They spill down before you can stop it. Aaron softens before your very eyes at the sight of them. “Stop! Stop feeling bad just because now I’m crying, they’re not tears for you, they’re angry tears and I can’t control it-”

“Of course, I trust you.” His voice has dropped from a yell to just above a whisper. “How could you think that I don’t?”

“I’m not stupid, Aaron. I know what I’m doing. My plan was going to work and you shot me down in front of everyone because you didn’t believe in me,” you say between tears. “Nothing’s changed.”

“And what do you think would happen if you stormed in there and I lost you too?” His voice is gentle. You hadn’t noticed that he was so close to you now. You can see the eyelash on his cheek and feel the heat radiating from his body.

“That’s not what this is about.”

“That is exactly what this is about. You think I don’t trust you, so I won’t let you walk into a confrontation alone? That I think you don’t know how to profile, how to handle these unsubs, so I get into a screaming match outside a crime scene? Tell me, does that check with any of my behavior in the years I’ve known you?”

“I don’t know, Hotch, I don’t profile you.”

“You call me Hotch in front of everyone, and especially when you’re upset with me. When it’s just us you use Aaron. You know how I take my coffee even though I’ve never told you, because you pay attention even when no one else is looking. Cases with children affect you the most, especially when it takes us longer to work them, because you think you should be quicker and figure out the unsub faster since you worked with kids before joining the team. You remember the little things everyone says because you don’t want them to think you’re not paying attention to them. You cry about cases when you feel like there’s something more you should have done, even though there’s nothing else any of us can do. And you cry about me the most of all, that time on the jet, in the hospital, and just now because you think I don’t share your feelings. You think I know all this because I’m profiling you, but it’s not. It’s because I pay attention to those whom I love.”

Shell shocked. You are shell shocked at Aaron’s speech, eyes wide and mouth open. You’re sure the rest of the team, hidden behind a bulletin board and the conference table is much the same.

“I’m going to kiss you now. And that’s the end of the conversation about me not trusting you, okay?” You nod dumbly. Aaron’s lips are sweet and taste like his coffee—black, with two sugars. You feel another tear falling but it’s only because you hadn’t expected any of that.

“That took long enough,” David says from behind the partition.

and voila <3

#spent my sunday writing this while rewatching season 3 #putting off prep for my grad school interview b/c this is so much better <3 #hope everyone likes it #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotcher imagine #hotch #hotch imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction

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freelancearsonist · 3 months

Text

Whole

Steve Harrington x fem!Reader

Rated MA for the most long-winded poetic smut i've ever written jfc 🤦‍♀️ slow burn fluff with a couple sprinkles of angst for flavor, reader uses fem pronouns and is described as having female parts, it's dirty y'all but at least they use protection

7,470 Words

A/N: you all know my mo by now i disappear for a year and then come back and lay down some god damned PORN. this fic is no exception to the rule. @shakespeareanwannabe requested this back in july and she literally just asked for a cute moment between steve and dustin, sorry you got 6k words more than you bargained for 😂 but also thank you for betaing and the constant validation you're the best ily 🖤

Steve’s not sure how it even worked.

He can still remember the look on Robin’s face when you agreed, how she was speechless for almost ten minutes because she couldn’t process what had just happened.

Steve’s reaction was about the same as hers, in all honesty. He’s gotten so used to striking out that asking people out has become something of a game to him. He knows he’ll get a no, and he knows Robin will laugh her ass off at him. But what can he say? He likes putting a smile on his best friend’s face.

Needless to say, you’ve shaken him. In the best possible way. Because your answer was three letters instead of two.

And now, he's a little bit in over his head.

Or, to be more accurate, a lot in over his head.

It seems like it’s been ages since he’s gone on a date, even though it’s only been a few months at most. He feels lost, like he’s completely unlearned everything he ever knew about girls.

He hates it, despises it with every fiber of his own being, but he also knows it’s true; he needs advice. And although he’ll never admit it to the little shithead’s face, there’s no one better he can think of going to than his very own protege. Who better to remind him of his own prowess than the person who learned everything they know from him?

One look at Dustin’s smug little face and Steve almost regrets it. Almost.

“Just can’t stay away, can you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve rolls his eyes and gives the younger boy a little shove, camouflaging it with an affectionate pat on the back. “This is strictly business, Henderson.”

“Oh, is it now?” The younger boy’s voice takes on a smug tone as he folds his fingers together and leans back in his chair. “Well then, why don’t you have a seat? Step into my office.”

Steve rolls his eyes and slides into the booth, shooting a smile and a “thank you” to the kind waitress who delivers two milkshakes to their table.

Dustin takes his time and makes a meal of unwrapping his straw, feeding off of Steve’s clear impatience Steve’s fingers tap against the table, reminding himself that patience is necessary when you come to someone for a favor. It’s just that it’s Dustin, and Dustin knows exactly how to get under the older boy’s skin in the most annoying-yet-oddly-endearing fashion.

“So…” Dustin finally says after a lengthy sip of strawberry milkshake. “What brings you so humbly to me?”

“I’ve got a date.”

And Dustin, the little bastard–he laughs. A deep, rumbling belly laugh, so pure and unfiltered that the three other occupied tables in the diner pause their conversations to get a look at the boy clutching his sides.

Steve’s a little embarrassed by the attention, but even more embarrassed that Dustin’s reaction is so genuine. The fact that the idea of him having a date is so laughable is a bit of a punch to the gut. It hasn’t really been that long, has it?

When Dustin’s laughter finally dies down he realizes Steve’s face is completely serious, and it makes him giggle even more.

“Wait, you’re actually serious? Who on earth did you manage to pull?”

Steve’s nearly bashful as he says your name, and even more bashful when Dustin’s jaw visibly drops.

“No fucking way. I’d believe anyone else, but her? She’s like… hotter than Phoebe Cates. There’s no way you wouldn’t strike out with her.”

Steve’s immediately on the defensive. Is it really so hard to believe that he, former king of Hawkins High, could pull the most gorgeous girl in town?

But that’s just it. There’s really no one like you, not in his eyes. He’s admired you since freshman year and never once even tried with you because he knew he wasn’t worthy. You were always in the background–a beautiful, kind, smart, funny girl just out of his reach. Part of the reason he even asked you out was because he was so sure he would strike out. In the end, losing his confidence was exactly what he needed to pull the girl of his dreams.

And that’s why there’s so much riding on this. You’ve always been his biggest “what if”, the girl he wonders about when thinking that maybe not trying has been holding him back. And apparently, it has.

“Look, I don’t even know how it happened, okay? But she said yes, and… and I really don’t want to blow it.”

“Well duh. You’ll have to leave town if you blow it with her, you know that, right? If she doesn’t think you’re worth it, no one else in this town ever will again.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of!” Steve groans, slouching down so far in the booth that Dustin can just barely see his poor, overwhelmed face.

“Steve, listen…” Dustin’s voice takes on an almost fatherly quality, an omniscient tone that gives off the illusion of great hidden knowledge. He gets like this sometimes, and Steve’s not always sure that it is just an illusion. “Don’t let this go to your head, but you’re, like, one of the coolest guys I know. If she doesn’t like you… that’s her problem, not yours. Okay?”

Steve straightens in his seat, a little shocked to hear such kind words from a friend that he’s used to being mercilessly teased by.

“No, no, no, it’s going to your head. I take it all back. Forget I said anything.” Dustin’s hearty giggle makes Steve smile as he sets a wad of bills on the table and slides out of the booth.

“You’re not so bad Henderson, you know that?” He gives the younger boy’s full head of curls an affectionate ruffle. “Thanks, kid. I’ll radio later.”

Not that Steve didn’t have total faith in his young protege, but it’s still a relief that the pep talk turned out to be exactly what he needed to hear. Dustin’s right, after all. Steve’s worked hard to become the man he’s always wanted to be. He may not be dripping charisma or sex appeal the way he used to, but he’s much more comfortable in his own skin. That’s what counts, right?

And you really are his dream girl. The opportunity to take you out tonight, even if it ends up being your first and only date together, is an honor. He’s much less focused now on all the ways he could screw up, hyper-fixated on putting the effort in to make this the best night of your life.

That effort comes out in the carefully selected suit jacket he dons over his white button-up, the extra spritz of cologne, the careful touch-up shave to vanquish his five o’clock shadow, the extra ten minutes using the perfect amount of product in his hair so that it stays in place yet is still soft to the touch.

By the time he gets to Enzo’s (half an hour early, mind), he’s practically vibrating with nerves and anticipation. He’s never been much of an overthinker, but he sure is tonight. Is this place too much for the first date? Would you rather do something lowkey, like catch a movie or go for a walk in the park? He has to remind himself a couple of times that you agreed to this, that you wouldn’t have said yes if you weren’t interested in the arrangement.

To say he’s prepared for this is putting it lightly. He’s run through every possible scenario in his mind, gone over conversation starters and questions he wants to ask you over and over again until he knows exactly how he wants to phrase each thing.

And still, nothing could prepare him for when you walk through the door.

He has to physically restrain his jaw from dropping because in the moment he sees you, every well-planned thought and all etiquette is flushed down the proverbial pipes. You’re nothing short of breathtaking in a dress that hugs all the right curves and shows just enough cleavage to have him imagining what else there might be to see. Your hair is pinned back out of your face, eyes framed by just the slightest bit of makeup to make the color of your irises pop. He swears he’s never seen a shade quite like them. It’s like you move in slow motion as you approach him–he sees the entrance of the smoking hot love interest in every romantic comedy, complete with smoke and fireworks, as you move towards the table.

And then some sense of decorum returns to his addled brain, and he quickly shoots up so he can pull out your chair for you like a proper gentleman. He catches just the slightest whiff of your perfume, and he’s a goner. He’s ready to sign his life away to you, to yank his own heart out of his chest to offer to your careful hands.

He has to give his head a shake to compose himself before he goes any further off the deep end. No one’s ever thoroughly shaken him the way you have, and it’s been a matter of thirty seconds. It’s almost intimidating, the effect you have on him.

“You look… incredible,” he fumbles as he takes his seat across from you. “I mean, you always do, but… wow.”

The shy giggle you emit tugs at a heartstring he didn’t even know he had.

“Thank you,” you tell him with a genuine smile. “You clean up very well yourself.”

“I do like to put in some effort every once in a while.” He flashes the most charming smile he can muster, and just like that he’s back. His resolve to impress you is reinforced tenfold. You’ve shaken him, and it’s such an unfamiliar feeling that he’s practically bumbling. He wants to shake you just as badly.

The food’s delicious, and the conversation’s even better. He has a track record for taking out a more–for lack of a better term–bimbo-y type, and that’s definitely not you. You’re smart, you’re witty, but you don’t make him feel like an idiot. He’s so taken with you that he doesn’t even notice that three hours have passed until he looks around the room and notices that every table is now empty and bussed.

The waiter delivers the check, and Steve notices you gnawing on your lip.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks, trying not to be too prying.

“I don’t want this to be over yet.”

Steve smiles. He’s got you; hook, line, and sinker. He’s never been so sure of anything, and that surprises him. He’s used to dates who are easy to read and even easier to take home, and those aren’t the impressions you’ve been giving him. To know that you’re feeling exactly what he’s feeling is a huge confidence boost.

“I don’t either.”

Your hand is so small compared to his. That’s all he can think about as he strolls next to you, his fingers intertwined with yours. He’s always considered hand-holding to be child’s play, it’s never excited him before the way it does in this moment with you.

It’s pitch black in the park and he can hear the overlapping chirping of summer cicadas and grasshoppers, the perfect background noise now that the conversation has died down. It’s less about getting to know each other at this point and more just basking in each other’s presence, prolonging the inevitable because neither one of you can bear to call it a night when it’s been such a good few hours.

You’re shocked, to say the very least. Steve certainly has a reputation, and it’s not for being a romantic. Yet everything tonight has flown in the face of all the rumors you’ve been hearing since junior high. You figured he’d be a fun fling, and probably only one night at that–you’d made your peace with the idea. To find that he’s kind, considerate, funny, and can match your intellect and quick wit… it’s a very pleasant surprise. And that’s what has you out well past a decent hour, giddy over simply holding his hand like you’re a damned school girl all over again.

“I should probably let you go home,” Steve sighs wistfully. He hates to be the one to bring it up, but you’re on your fifth lap around the park and about to circle back to where your car is parked so now seems the best time.

You’re chewing your lip again, a thoughtful habit that makes his heart pound just a little bit harder.

Here’s the thing: you’re really not the bold type. You act confident, sure, but in practice it’s a lot more difficult for you. So no one’s more surprised than you are when you say, “You could come home with me. If you want.”

Steve’s definitely shocked, too. Less shocked at your proposition and more at the fact that he’s tempted to decline. Because no matter how much he’s been running through the back of his mind what you might look like under that gorgeous dress, he doesn’t want this to end there. For the first time in his life, he wants to find more meaning than sex out of a relationship. He doesn’t want to take you home and never see you again. He wants to take you out again, and again, and again, and again after that. He sees a future, for once, that doesn’t look dim and hopeless. That fact alone scares the shit out of him.

He realizes he’s waited way too long to reply and fumbles for an answer. “Of course I want to. I’d be an idiot not to. But…”

You chew that cursed bottom lip of yours again, and Steve has to focus on the obvious cue you’re giving him rather than the fact that he wants to be the next set of teeth around that lip.

He stops in his tracks, gently pulling on your hand to face him so he can take your other hand in his free one. “It’s not a bad but. I mean, I’m going to go home kicking myself for saying no because I really honestly do want to… well, y’know. But… I want to do this right with you. I want to take you out again. I want to get to know you and see where this goes. I can’t… I don’t want this to end tonight.”

He’s eternally grateful for how dark it is as he feels a flush consume his face. He can’t remember a time he’s been so honest and open, especially on a first date; but the look on your face tells him he’s done something right.

“Okay,” you tell him, squeezing his hands in yours. “You… honestly have no clue how nice it is to hear that.”

“Of course,” he continues, “if you just want me for my body, no hard feelings.”

You laugh at that, genuinely laugh, and Steve thinks it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

“No,” you reassure him. “No, I… I wanna see where this goes, too.”

You’re stopped only a few paces from your car, and Steve knows with a twist of his gut that this is the end of the night. It makes his gut turn with disappointment, but also with anticipation of when he’ll see you next. Already, his mind is flooding with ideas of where he can take you and what you’ll do together.

You drop one of his hands so you can walk but keep a tight grip on the other until you get to your driver’s side door, hesitating outside because you’re still not ready for this to be over. It takes every ounce of restraint he has not to kiss you, unsure of if that would be moving too fast.

Thankfully, you make the call yourself. Leaning up on your toes, hands against his chest for balance, you press your lips against his and he has to summon every mite of strength not to moan. No one’s ever tasted so sweet, molded against him so perfectly. His hands drift from your shoulders down your arms, coming to rest on your waist as he pulls you just a little bit closer. It’s a fight of will not to overstep, to break off the kiss before it can become too heated. His mind is spinning by the time you break away. He’s aching for more, and he hopes you are too.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

Your sweet voice replays in his mind all night, long after you’ve gotten into your car and driven away, long after he’s returned to his own vehicle and pulled the radio out from under the driver’s seat to check in with Dustin, long after he arrives home and soaks in a cold shower for longer than he probably should. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get your voice out of his head, and he couldn’t be any less upset about it.

He practically counts down the minutes until he sees you again. This time, he has a little less restraint. He greets you with a kiss–a sweet peck and a hand on your waist that leaves you aching for even more.

It’s a movie this time, a chance to enjoy each other’s company on a night you’re both too tired from working to engage in heavy conversation and getting to know each other further.

It starts with sharing popcorn, then holding hands, then somewhere along the way the film is completely forgotten in favor of your lips meeting his. His breath grows heavy as his hands hold your face, committing you to memory while resisting the urge to explore further. Your hands, meanwhile, are firmly on his thighs, gripping tightly to keep yourself steady as you do everything you can to keep yourself from crawling into his lap.

He whispers your name, and your grip on him tightens.

“W-we shouldn’t…” he murmurs, then gives up on the futile attempt at finishing his sentence so that he can pull you even deeper into the kiss as his tongue sweeps across your bottom lip.

It takes everything in him not to moan when your lips eagerly part to accept him.

Needless to say, once the credits start rolling you’re both more than a little hot under the collar.

“Let me buy you dinner,” Steve suggests as he woefully unwinds himself from you. Declining doesn’t even flicker through your mind as a possibility.

It’s not Enzo’s this time, but it doesn’t have to be. He could set a soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of you at this point and you’d still thank him for it. This time around, you’re not really as interested in the cuisine as you are just simply getting through this meal to what’s next. Because what’s next is all you’ve been thinking about since you walked through the doors the night of that very first date and saw Steve Harrington wearing a blazer for you. It’s a level of effort he’s definitely not known for–in fact, he’s built a reputation for putting in so little effort that it nearly made your jaw drop to see him trying. And it certainly made your heart skip a beat.

But then again, the Steve before you carelessly wolfing down his bacon cheeseburger seems very different from the Steve you knew in high school, even if you didn’t know that iteration as intimately as this one. That one was cool, collected, snarky and pompous and maddeningly desirable.

This Steve, your Steve, is nearly an exact foil. Much less cocky, a little less confident but more self-assured in the ways that actually hold meaning, less worried about what the people around him are observing of him than what you’re observing of him. He seems happier, more carefree, more eager to please others than simply himself. He’s grown so much in such a short amount of time, and you feel proud just for having the honor to witness it. Significantly more proud to be on the receiving end of his affections now that they hold the kind of value you’ve always wished they would.

He looks up and notices you staring at him while lost in thought, a small smile spreading across his lips as your eyes quickly dart away.

“What’s on your mind?” He questions as he licks a stray bit of ketchup from his thumb.

“Just… happy I’m here. With you.” It brings heat to your cheeks to admit it, but you don’t want him to go unappreciated in this moment.

It’s the right thing to say, because his smile grows even wider. “I’m happy too,” he admits. “I… I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while. Could never work up the courage, I guess.”

“Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington was intimidated by me?” You say it with a mock gasp, but your shock is more genuine than you give off. Never in a million years would you have thought that he, the man who could have whoever he wanted, would be worried over you saying no to him. It’s almost comical, especially considering the way you practically threw yourself at him on your first date. Of course then, you had no clue how much he’d developed as a person. You’re almost ashamed of your behavior now, as if you might’ve inadvertently been taking advantage of the new and improved Steve who isn’t just into you for a hookup.

He shrugs, nearly bashful at your teasing. “Never figured I was good enough for you. So I didn’t bother to try.”

You’re genuinely curious now, leaning in a little closer and brushing your fingers against his hand resting atop the diner counter. “What made you change your mind?”

“Honestly? I was so sure you’d say no that I asked just to give Robin a chuckle. She loves watching me get shot down.”

That makes you frown, and he’s quick to backtrack. “I wanted to! I just… I’ve had a bad track record lately. And you’re… you’re you. You’re the last person I should be worthy of.”

His eyes are quick to avert from your gaze, bottom lip tugged between his teeth as he contemplates whether he’s said too much.

“Steve…” you properly grab his hand now in the hopes that it’ll bring his eyes back to you, and it works. “You’re the only person I’ve deemed worthy in a long time, honestly.”

Steve Harrington is scaldingly warm. It’s one of many sensations forcing your mind into overdrive as he lays you delicately across the backseat of his beemer, one hand cushioning the back of your head while simultaneously deepening the already heated kiss and the other balancing his weight to lean over you in the cramped space without completely crushing you.

Your fingers tangle themselves into his soft brown locks, tugging ever-so-slightly as his tongue slips between your parted lips. He’s an eager explorer and you’re more than happy to let him take the lead, to show you all the skill you’ve heard so many whispers about.

You let out an involuntary moan as he wedges himself even closer to you, his body heat soaking through all the layers of clothing between the two of you and warming you all the way to your very bones.

You’re practically aching, ready to beg, and he knows it the second you wrap your legs around his waist in an attempt to get him even closer. If there’s one thing Steve Harrington’s good at, it’s assessing your needs. He pulls away just the slightest bit to adjust his position so he can get closer, wedging a knee between your legs to press right against your core, and it makes you jolt back against the car door at the same time his head hits the roof just a bit too hard.

You both pause for a moment, the reality of your situation hitting you simultaneously, and then you’re laughing. It’s light and edged with unresolved want, but it’s enough to fracture the tension of the moment.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Shouldn’t have gotten so carried away. This isn’t how I want to do this.”

“No?”

“No. You deserve way better than this old beater,” he chuckles, then leans down to kiss you. This kiss is lighter, no longer edged with tension and lust. He kisses you just to kiss you–there’s no end goal to it this time.

“What could be better than a BMW?” You tease lightly, trying to reassure him that you’re less disappointed than you really feel.

“You know. Something romantic. A proper bed, rose petals, maybe a few candles…”

“I don’t need all that,” you try to tell him.

“I think I do,” he admits. And that’s enough to pull you back, to remind you that you need to be patient and grateful that he values you so much as to want to do this whole thing properly. That his affection is something to be cherished, not taken for granted.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to be pushy.”

“Please don’t apologize.” He hesitates to untangle himself from you, even though he knows he needs to. “I want this just as bad. I just… I need it to be right.”

“As long as I have you, it’ll be right,” you reassure. “I hope you know that.”

He presses his lips to yours again, a slow and passionate kiss that he hopes communicates every bit of adoration he feels for you in this moment.

“It’ll be perfect. I swear,” he vows. You’ve never believed anything more whole-heartedly than you do this promise.

~~~

“Wait, you’re telling me that you literally had her under you and you stopped?” Robin’s halfway through chewing a mouthful of popcorn and the absolute carnage inside her agape mouth makes Steve give her a light shove.

“It’s not polite to talk with your mouth full, y’know.”

“It’s not polite to blue-ball either!” She shoots back in utter disbelief.

“How do you think I felt? I was this close,” he holds his thumb and index finger barely millimeters apart, “to sealing the deal.”

She just shakes her head. “You, Steve Harrington, are a genuine, bonafide idiot.”

She’s not telling him anything he doesn’t know. It’s been three days since the aborted fling in the backseat of his car, and he’s barely thought of anything else. Especially since you’ve been away from home both of the past nights when he’s called. He’s starting to worry you’ve gotten the wrong impression, that he’s not interested or that he’s toying with you. It’s the exact opposite. He wants nothing more than to know you in the most intimate way he can know you. But he needs it to be flawless. He needs it to be well thought-out and precisely planned, the most romantic event in the history of copulation. He won’t settle for anything less, not with you. You deserve perfection, and he won’t give you anything less.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he tries to explain. “I want to more than anything. But if you’re gonna go to town on a goddess, you need to do some worshiping, y’know? I don’t feel like I’ve done enough.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you hear this admission. You weren’t sure what to expect–worried that maybe visiting him at work was an overstep–but hearing him call you a goddess certainly wasn’t on your radar.

“You’ve done more than enough, Steve.”

The sound of your voice makes Steve jump and whirl around, oblivious to Robin’s sly smirk and mumbled excuse of needing to attend to something in the back room.

“H-hey!” He squeaks, then clears his throat in an attempt to get his tone back to its normal octave. “What… what’re you doing here?”

“Oh, just came to pick up a tape,” you tease. “But mostly I came to see you.”

“Me?” He takes a moment to ground himself, loosening his too-tight grip on the counter. “I mean… I tried to call you last night. And the night before?”

Your brow furrows. “Really? I didn’t get your message.”

Because he didn’t leave one. He clears his throat and says, “I just figured you were busy.”

“Oh, well, I volunteer at the animal shelter on Wednesdays, and last night was my friend’s 21st birthday. I’m sorry I missed you, though.”

He can tell that you’re really remorseful, and it makes his heart squeeze in his chest a little bit. He plays it off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “No, it’s fine, it’s… are you free tonight?”

You giggle at the abrupt redirect, but he’s played directly into your hand.

“Yeah, actually. I was hoping maybe you could help me pick out something for us to watch tonight? If you’re free too, that is.”

His dark eyes blink slowly, wondering if you’re aware of the implication behind your completely innocent words. You. Him. A movie. Alone. It’s enough to make his head spin.

“I’ve never been freer.”

Conveniently, you’ve come in close enough to the end of his shift that by the time you’re done combing through Family Video’s vast selection for the perfect film to use as background noise, Steve’s ready to clock out. And since you walked over after finishing your own shift at the local dollar store up the street, it works out perfectly that he can give you a ride straight to his place.

You only glance in the backseat once, but it’s enough to get your mind churning. Remembering the feeling of him, of what could’ve been. Anticipating what will be.

“Parents home?” You ask as he pulls into his driveway and parks, trying to sound casual and utterly failing.

“Nope,” he answers easily. “Took a detour to Cabo on their way home from Hawaii.”

“Sounds glamorous. You opted out?”

“I’d rather be here in Hawkins with you than on a beach alone anyday.”

He must know the effect his words have on you. Surely he can hear the way your heart picks up pace as he looks at you with those dark, affectionate eyes.

“So… this is home.” He waves a hand around the entrance hall like it’s a shabby nightmare, not the grandest house you’ve ever been in.

“I’m starting to understand why they used to call you King Steve.”

He’s almost embarrassed at the mention of that old high school nickname. “Trust me, this isn’t why.”

“Well, a palace does befit you,” you tell him with a smirk.

“Stop, you’re gonna make me blush.” The wink he shoots you makes your gut erupt with butterflies, a sensation that would normally make you a little uncomfortable. With Steve, you’d take the butterflies all day long.

He gives you a cursory and oversimplified tour of the ground floor before leading you upstairs, and suddenly he’s sheepish. It’s been a few moons since he shared his room with a girl, so the nerves are justified. But that’s too simple an explanation. You’re not a girl. You’re his dream, his muse, his–to re-quote himself–goddess. No one he’s ever cared about more has stood where you’re standing, and it terrifies him.

He hides it well, though, busying himself with making a comfortable nest for you in his bed before setting up the television set on the dresser against the far wall. If ever there was a time to regain his confidence, it’s now. He curses whatever god there is that he feels like a fumbling virgin in this moment when nothing is even happening, when just the anticipation is enough to make his hands tremble.

There’s no more stalling once you’re comfortable and the tape is set to play. His heart pounds to the steady and frantic rhythm of one of those heavy rock songs Dustin listens to now as he sits next to you, hands itching to take a hold of you but also eager not to move too fast.

Almost as if you can sense his hesitation, you reach over and take his hand. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

And so he does, and the second his lips slot to yours all the worry and anxiety is gone. He’s Steve Harrington, and he knows what he’s doing. You’re you, and he’s wanted this for so long. After years of being lost, he deserves to finally find the love he’s been looking for. He’s never been so sure of anything as he is, in this moment of initial clarity, that he’s in love with you.

He can’t say it, not yet. He’s sure it’s too soon, and the last thing he wants is to scare you off. But he’s determined to prove it to you, and the only way besides words is action.

He can handle action.

There’s no more restraint or hesitation behind his touch. This is it, this is what you’ve both been waiting for. There’s no way in hell he’s not going to deliver now. He’s desperate for you, and it shows in the heavy way his hands drag along your curves whilst committing you to memory; the way his tongue languidly swipes across your bottom lip; the way he shifts effortlessly to hover over you even while deepening the kiss.

He’s overwhelming every single sense of yours in such a sudden fashion, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. Especially not when his hips meet yours in a deliciously slow grind and you finally get your first little taste of what’s to come.

He keens at the little breathless whimpers that leave your mouth, reading every single signal you provide him with and accommodating each. Moaning? He continues what he’s doing, intensifying if deemed necessary. Whining? He adds something, because he knows it’s hard to use your words when you’re wanting so badly. Squirming? He pays attention to the direction of your movement and pulls away or presses closer depending on necessity. It’s down to science for him; he only really cared about extracurriculars in school anyway, and this was certainly his favorite.

But then he comes to his senses–while he doesn’t pull away completely, he needs to clear his mind and he does so by letting up a bit, allowing the kiss to become languid and the heat to extinguish a bit. It only makes you whine more, and Steve curses his damned formula. You shouldn’t be part of an equation. You’re everything he’s ever wanted, and every aspect of your relationship so far has been a new experience for him. He needs this particular activity to be different too. No formulas or calculations. Just you and him and whatever happens naturally.

Clearly you can hear the cogs in his mind turning. You pull away with a concerned look on your face and ask, “what’s on your mind?”

Now’s not the time to hide anything from you, he reasons with himself. He wants to be authentic with you, and part of that means telling the truth, even if it’s not something particularly comfortable.

“I’m… falling into a routine. And I don’t want to,” he admits. He sighs and leans back, one hand dragging through his shaggy and disheveled hair, sure that he’s going to ruin the mood if he carries on like this. But he refuses to back away from the truth now. “This… it’s always been like…. Like a series of checkpoints. Boxes to check, y’know? Kiss you, take your clothes off, make you come, fuck you, say goodnight. And I don’t want… I can’t let it be like that with you. I need this to be… real. Not just some list to cross shit off of. I don’t–”

Steve takes a long, shaky breath before he can ramble on anymore. Never has someone so thoroughly gotten under his skin. He’s never felt so insecure, so unsure. It’s terrifying. The most terrifying part of it all, though, is that he likes it. He loves the feeling of the unfamiliarity, of doing this right. In a way, it’s almost like he’s doing all of this for the first time all over again. You’re his first date, first kiss, first time. All because he’s changed so drastically, because he’s not even remotely the same person he was just a year or two ago.

Your hands are so gentle as you cup his face, tenderly forcing his eyes to meet yours.

“Steve… we don’t have to do this, not if you’re not ready. I want to be with you, not just for this, but for everything. Everything that comes with you… that’s what I want. There’s no pressure. I would wait a hundred years for you to be ready so long as I could still have you.”

Steve’s breath shakes a little as he comprehends the gravity of your words. There’s nothing he can say that can properly convey the gratitude he holds for your words, so he says nothing at all.

In his silence, you continue. “You’re more than a body, you know that, right? You’re funny, and kind, and smart. Yes, smart, don’t look at me like that. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted to be close to. I just… I want to spend time with you. I want to watch stupid movies and eat diner food until we get sick and laugh at your stupid jokes… and maybe make love with you, sure, but that’s pretty low on the list as long as I just get to be with you.”

He doesn’t notice the tears until it’s too late–by the time you’re wiping them from the apples of his cheeks it’s far too late to take them back or hide them. With anyone else, he would be angry; at himself, for allowing himself to be so vulnerable. For allowing himself to be so emotional. With you, though… with you, his emotions make him feel strong.

For the first time since you walked into his life, he’s not scared of losing you.

“I love you,” he tells you. His voice is firm, as fierce as the kiss he presses to your mouth, as powerful as the waves of emotion vibrating through his very soul. “I love you so much.”

He barely gives you a chance to reply, as keen as he is on physically proving his love to you through myriad passionate kisses that leave you breathless. But when you finally get the chance to use your voice after a barrage of kisses that start to trail down your neck, you whisper, “I love you too.”

Four words, and they’re all he needs to quell every worry or fear he’s had over doing this relationship properly with you. Why should he have to worry, after all, when he’s already succeeded?

“I love you,” he whispers as he trails down your neck and to your chest, leaving tender love bites on the tops of your breasts once he’s properly liberated you from your shirt.

“I love you,” he mumbles through sucking a mark a few inches north of your navel.

“I love you,” he murmurs when his lips meet your waistband. His fingers make quick work of your pants as he scatters kisses over your stomach, unable to part his mouth from your skin for even a moment.

“I love you,” he affirms as his mouth meets your hot and waiting core.

There’s no more checklist. Because this isn’t simply sex, as it always has been for him in the past. This is love-making: the kind of sappy shit they talk about in all those Hallmark movies that he rolls his eyes at the sight of. It’s like losing his virginity all over again.

He understands the old adage of “the other half” now. You’ve ripped him to shreds and sewed him back together with strands of yourself. The end result is better than the original ever could’ve even dreamed to be. He’s sure he couldn’t possibly live without you now, that losing you would be like ripping out fresh and unhealed stitches.

You’re not sure how long he camps out between your trembling thighs, but it’s long enough for you to lose count of the number of times he pulls you apart–first with his languid tongue; then his long, curved fingers; then a combination of the two. It’s like he loses himself completely in your pleasure, not a single thought in his head except what he can do to bring you to the edge again, and again, and again.

You’re trembling with oversensitivity by the time his own needs overtakes his desperation to unravel you. So out of it that you feel drunk, like Steve’s laced you with absolute bliss so pure you can barely stand it.

You’re hardly present enough to appreciate the adonis before you when he finally undoes his own jeans, and that’s a damned shame because he’s so damned pretty. Long and thick, flushed at the girthy tip from his hitherto unacknowledged arousal. His lean thighs are pure muscle, and the dark thatch of hair that trails south from his navel makes your mouth water. He’s everything you dreamed he’d be and so much more.

“Steve…” You don’t know what else you can possibly say. All you can do is vainly hope that one whine of his name can convey all of the heat, frustration, tension, and above all longing, swirling through your head in the moment.

He breaks from his lustful reverie for a moment to smile as he leans in for another heated kiss; you think it’s safe to say you’ve gotten your point across.

He slows from his mania for a few moments, lips tender as they explore against yours once more. These kisses are languid, slow, yet no less heated. Even now, he’s trying to prove his love to you. As if you could somehow not believe him after everything that’s happened, every small moment you’ve spent with him witnessing how hard he’s trying for you.

Somewhere in between kisses he manages to wrestle a condom out of his nightstand, miraculously without ever breaking from your lips.

Now is where you cut in, finally fading out of your over-pleasured fugue and back to reality. You take the little foil packet from his hands and tear it open, eager for this small chance to finally get a hand or two on him.

He lets out the most gorgeous noise you’ve ever heard as you roll the rubber down his length; a deep, earthy, diaphragmatic moan just from the simple touch of your hand. You want to touch him even more, to wrest out more of those sounds from him; to see what other undiscovered responses you can pull from him as you pleasure him. But you know that now, he needs to set the pace. He believes he has something to prove, and you’re more than happy to let him prove it. There will be plenty of other opportunities to have him completely at your mercy, anyway.

There’s no way to describe the feeling as he slides into you. It’s more than bliss, more than euphoria, more than earth-shattering toe-curling mind-altering pleasure. It’s nothing more than feeling whole. Of never knowing you were missing a part of yourself until it’s suddenly returned to you. Of never knowing what home felt like until this exact moment.

Maybe it’s overdramatic. Maybe it’s outlandish and outrageous and a million other adjectives to feel something so overpowering and overwhelming from such a seemingly simple physical act. But in this moment, you know you’ve never felt anything as right as being connected to Steve in this way.

His lips hardly leave yours while he rolls his hips against you, easily finding the perfect angle to make your breath hitch and your hands scrabble for purpose.

It admittedly doesn’t last long, but it doesn’t have to. Once you start to tighten and pulse around him, he’s a goner–deep purposeful thrusts turning to hard, arrhythmic plunges in desperate search of release.

You’re still shaking from your high when he slowly pulls out of you. He keeps you close, arms linked around your waist and dragging you to lay on his chest as he flops back against the pillows.

You’re not sure how long you lay like that, with Steve whispering sweet nothings into your hair and pressing absentminded kisses to your face. All you can really focus on is one all-consuming, life-changing fact.

“I love you, Steve Harrington.”

“I love you too,” he whispers back. He kisses you again, just a simple peck on your lips, and you know that he’s telling the truth. It’s an eternal truth: one that can’t be changed or altered in any way. Steve Harrington loves you with every fibre of his being, and he will for the rest of his life–even if you’re both blissfully unaware of it for now.

THE END

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#cece writes #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things smut

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buckyseddie · 8 months

Text

always hold you

pairings — tasm!peter parker x bff/gf!fem!reader

summary — in which, she needs her boyfriend's support more than anything else, after another particularly bad fight with her father.

word count — 2.6k.

warnings — a little bit of angst, use of pet-names [dove, sweetheart, darling, love, bug], reader calls peter pete, lots of fluff and this is basically just a hurt/comfort fic, protective/soft!peter, this is also sort of similar to my other peter fic (take as a part two that one), peter comforting reader, mentions of the reader's low self-esteem issues and it being explained a bit more, both physical and emotional abuse (manipulation and gaslighting, but not from peter), hugs and cuddles, forehead kisses, peter just taking care of the reader and showing her the love that her family refuses to do, gwen is in here for a second and being the comforting platonic best friend that she is to reader, peter comes off as a little harsh and scares reader a little bit but he makes up for it in the end.

notes — hi! so, this is really more of a vent fic. i know i've written in the past about dealing w/ a toxic family member and how i really enjoyed writing fics similar to my experiences with my favorite comfort characters to comfort the reader because that would usually help me deal with everything. but recently, the abuse that me, my mom, and my brother have been experiencing has become a lot more complicated and traumatizing for me to deal with. and things have only gotten worse. so, i figured i'd do another comforting fic like the other peter fic i wrote about going through that said abuse. i really just feel that it's important to not hide my true feelings and act like everything's fine behind a screen and i just want to be able to talk about this topic a lot more (especially in my writing), because it's so serious and not nearly talked about enough. but, nonetheless, if there's anyone out there that sees this and is a victim of abuse (whether it's emotional/mental or physical abuse, or both) please don't feel obligated to read this. i really don't want to trigger or upset anyone who's dealing with this situation in a very heavy and overwhelming way. just remember though, no matter what anyone says or does to you, you ARE strong and deserve the entire world. i love you all <3. anyways, i hope this makes up for the lack of posting anything (i've been really struggling with a lot, but i'm trying!). gif and divider creds to owner!

p.s., feedback is very much encouraged and appreciated <3.

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IT'S OBVIOUS NOW THAT SHE was stupid to think that he could change. it was even more stupid of her to go back to that apartment.

but, she's always been one to see the best in people — in her case, it's come to bite her in the ass.

even now, as she awaits her boyfriend to return home from his nightly patrol around the city, [y/n] knows that she should've known better.

she trembles as she sits on their shared bed, one of her legs bouncing anxiously — the thought of how peter will react to her foolish decision and the outcome from it is stressing her out, beyond words.

after how he responded the first time he found out about the truth about her father's cruelty and what she'd had to go through, she's worried of how he will react this time — it took almost everything in him to not confront her father, when he first found out.

she abruptly jumps when she hears the front door of the apartment shut softly.

a shaky breath leaves her lips, wondering if it's too late to try to hide the marks on her face and body.

but, when she hears him call out her name from the living room, she knows that it's too late — there's nothing she can do now to hide this.

and even if she wanted to for a split second, she promised peter she'd never lie to him again — after the last time, they promised each other that they'd never hide anything from the other again.

so, with another shaky breath, [y/n] sighs and hesitantly pulls the bedroom door open.

she keeps her head down, her hair falling around her face and covering the marks as she walks out and into the living room.

"sweetheart..." peter's voice trails off, eyes wide with shock and worry.

her breath catches in her throat as soon as she finally looks up at her boyfriend and sees the intense, protective look in his eyes.

"i—i'm sorry, peter." she whispers, voice too raspy to get any louder.

a flash of anger fills his eyes. "please... tell me that you didn't go back to him!" he exclaims in a quieter tone of voice as he pinches the corner of his eyes.

[y/n] flinches at the amount of frustration in his voice.

"peter, i—i'm sorry... " her voice trembles, guilt and regret quickly filling her — she just feels so stupid.

peter sighs, regretting taking his anger out on her.

his eyes immediately soften. "sweetheart, i'm sorry." he murmurs, before starting to walk over to her.

but, before he can reach her, she flinches and winces.

he stops short, freezing in place. more guilt fills him as he realizes that in this moment, she's scared of him.

"look... i—i know that i shouldn't have gone back," she whispers, tears clouding her eyes as she remembers the anger and hatred in her father's eyes.

peter's silent for a moment, waiting and giving her time to explain more — if she's able to.

"i'm... i'm so stupid, peter." she whispers, too ashamed to talk any louder.

peter's eyes widen in shock, not expecting that statement to come out of her mouth. "w—what? darling, that's not true."

this time, a tear falls down her cheek. "yes, i am. peter, who's stupid enough to choose to believe that their abusive, monster-of-a-father can change? me — it's me!"

the rambling and the self-loathing words coming out of his girlfriend's mouth becomes incredibly clear to peter as he walks over to her.

this time now, he doesn't hesitate to pull her into his chest as her voice becomes more trembling and wavering, "this is on me — it's my fault."

"it's okay now, love. don't blame yourself." he murmurs as she stops holding herself back and breaks into breathless sobs into his chest.

after a while, her crying slows and quiets down with her tears now dried on her cheeks.

she faces him and takes in a deep, calming breath as he wipes away the remaining tears away and looks over her bruises more intensely.

"i wanna kill him for doing this to you — again." the venom in his tone sends shivers through her spine — knowing what he would do to protect her comforts her.

but, on the other hand, she also knows that hurting her father isn't going to do anything for them or fix anything.

"no, peter. i know you don't mean that." she murmurs seriously.

an angry frown places itself over his lips. "no, i do."

she sighs. "okay, maybe you do. but, it won't fix anything and we both know that," she says, moving one of her fingers up to smooth out the crease in between his very furrowed eyebrows.

"it's okay now — i'm okay." she whispers seriously, grabbing his hand and rubbing soothing circles over his thumb.

you'd think from how she's comforting him that peter was the one that got hurt, not her — that's just how she is; she always finds herself taking care of everyone else, when she really should be taking care of herself.

maybe that's why they're such a good pair — while they're taking care of everyone else and their loved ones, they can trust the other to take care of the other.

"that's the thing, love. it's not okay! you shouldn't have to go out of your way to avoid him, just to protect yourself." he exclaims, ripping his hand out of hers and this time pacing around the living room with his hand now gripping his hair in frustration.

she sighs, frowning — this is exactly why she didn't want to tell him because she hates worrying him like this.

"it may not be fair, but if it's what i have to do to protect myself, then that's what i'll do — i should've kept doing that, instead of being an idiot to believe he'd change." she admits, shrugging, trying to play this all off, as if it's not that big of a deal.

"don't say that — don't do that!" he abruptly yells, turning around to face her defensively.

she flinches — once again — at the volume of his voice. "don't do what?" she asks meekly, her voice too soft.

he sighs in regret. "i'm sorry. i'm not trying to scare you." his eyes are downcast at the floor, before he looks up again, the guilt clear in his irises this time.

"it's okay, peter." she gulps, berating herself for some part of her being afraid of him — after all, she has no reason to fear him because he'd never intentionally hurt her.

"it's not. i shouldn't have gotten so angry — i'm not mad at you, i promise," he says in a much more quiet voice, sighing as he sees that look in her eyes — the one that she always has when she feels like a burden and feels like she should be apologizing.

"sweetheart, don't even think about apologizing. none of this is your fault."

[y/n] sighs in exasperation. "maybe it is. i'm the one that is always making a fool out of myself by believing in the best of everyone."

she sighs when a flash of irritation shows in his eyes. "what?" he whispers, his eyebrows furrowing together.

she takes in another breath when he walks over to her and hesitantly places his hands over her cheeks.

[y/n] sighs again.

"this isn't your fault, love. know that," he murmurs, his eyes searching hers for some kind of understanding. "please, tell me that you know that."

she sighs again, noticing the tears filling his eyes — it becomes incredibly clear to her how much the man in front of her cares about her.

"peter... " her own eyes fill with tears, even spilling to her cheeks.

without another thought, he gently wipes away her tears. "promise me that you understand me."

she sighs again. "y—yes, i understand," she murmurs, hating the hope that fills his eyes. "but, i just don't believe it."

he opens his mouth to object, but she interrupts him before he has the chance to say something, "i want to. but, i can't just shut off the way i feel — i was raised the way i was and with the trauma i have gotten along the way, i can't just forget it."

more tears fills his eyes, before he moves incredibly closer to her and brings her close to kiss her forehead. "knowing you want to believe it is good enough for me."

when he pulls away from her he smiles warmly at her. "let's go cuddle now, yeah?"

the softness in his voice makes her smile. "sounds like a plan, pete." she murmurs with a nod and leads him to their shared room.

once they're inside of their bedroom, [y/n] walks over to their shared bathroom, to change into her set of pajamas she set aside earlier in the day, after she had just gotten back from her father's home — she used to call it her home, but that all changed once her once-very-close relationship with her father changed.

after she changes and brushes her hair and teeth, she takes in a deep breath and tries to mentally prepare herself for the rest of the night.

but, when she shuts off the light and opens the door, she comes to realize that the bedroom is empty.

she walks out of the bathroom and looks around, her eyebrows quickly knitting together in confusion.

and just as she's about to call out her boyfriend's name, she hears hushed voices outside of the room.

with much more confusion filling her body, she slowly walks out of their room and into the living room, only to see peter standing at the door, talking at the door in a hushed voice.

"pete? is everything okay?" she asks as she walks up from behind him.

he jumps a little in surprise, before motioning towards the door.

the blond hair of their current guest surprises her.

"oh, gwen. hi." she greets her best friend and then her boyfriend, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning into him with her chin resting on his shoulder.

"what are you doing here?"

gwen shrugs. "i just wanted to check up on you — your dad called me, yelling at me because he thought that you'd left to go hide at my apartment."

the words that come out of one of her best friends' mouth shakes [y/n] to her very core — anytime she hears anything about her father, she gets easily nervous and scared.

in a matter of seconds, [y/n] slowly pulls away from her boyfriend's body.

she knows that she should try to pretend everything's fine and as if her friend's words don't affect her, but she can't help it.

if she had a few more seconds, she'd probably fall into a state of mind where she'd completely shut down.

but, when a light touch to her shoulder by peter shakes her out of her daze, she sighs and nervously finds her boyfriend's eyes on her.

"what's going on, guys? did something happen?" gwen asks worriedly after seeing the tense look on [y/n]'s face.

peter doesn't speak. he doesn't even look away from his girlfriend — his eyes simply say that the decision is all hers.

despite the fact that him and gwen are pretty close friends, he's always respected [y/n]'s choices.

with a sigh, [y/n] turns to gwen. "i kind of had a run in with my dad earlier."

as she hears that statement, gwen begins to notice the bruises on her best friend's face.

she frowns. "are you okay?" she asks, but after a moment, she groans and rolls her eyes at herself.

"i'm sorry. that was insensitive — of course you're not okay."

[y/n] laughs, despite the seriousness of the situation. "it's okay."

gwen gives her a pointed look, not believing for one moment that what she asked was okay.

"really, gwen," she says, finding some courage inside of her. "i'm probably not okay. but... " she trails off, suddenly feeling like everything is going to be okay with the ones that truly love her by her side.

"for the first time, i think i'm going to be okay — that everything will be okay." she says confidently, moving even closer to peter and practically burying herself into his arms.

gwen smiles. "good. i'm glad."

—————

AFTER A LITTLE BIT MORE of talking, they all finally say their goodbyes and peter shuts the door gently.

they move over to the couch, peter covering them — mostly [y/n] — with one of the fuzzy throw blankets that was lying over the front of the couch.

"you doing okay?" he asks softly as she lays her face into his neck.

she smiles, feeling reassured for the first time.

she lifts her head back up to look at him.

"i know going back was stupid. i do—" before she can continue, he interrupts her with guilt evident in his brown eyes. —"i'm sorry, bug. for how angry i got earlier."

she tilts her head in confusion. "what do you mean?"

"i shouldn't have gotten upset with you. and i'm sorry for startling you. i was just worried." he murmurs seriously, frowning at her confusion.

"i just... every time i think about your dad being near you or hurting you, well, it drives me crazy, sweetheart." he says, trying to ignore the anger in his voice every time he thinks about the type of person his girlfriend's father is.

"pete... it's okay. i'm not going to go back — i learned my lesson." she says, cupping his jaw with one hand, in order to try to calm him down.

he sighs, leaning into her hand and covering it with one of his own.

"that's the point, sweetheart. you shouldn't have to be cautious and scared to avoid him, so that he doesn't act like that. it's not okay."

she frowns, wishing that she could stop him from worrying.

but, she also knows that he needs to get these feelings out and off of his chest.

"tell me, peter. what is it?" she asks, being the understanding girlfriend that he loves — no matter how cliche that actually sounds.

"i love how good-hearted you are, sweetheart. the way you always see the good in everyone, despite what they've done to you — it's amazing," he starts, pulling her hand away from his jaw to hold over one of his legs.

"and i never want you to stop being that person. but, i also hate that you have to avoid him. you shouldn't have to give up your happiness and peace."

she nods in clear understanding.

he groans again, leaning his forehead over hers.

"it's okay, peter."

he pulls away and opens his mouth to say something in defense, but she stops him by speaking before him, "peter, i know it upsets you that he doesn't get to be punished for his actions and i get that."

he stops short, giving her a chance to finish talking.

"i know you hate that. but, i know that you love me more than any urge that you have to give him what he deserves — and that's what i need you to do, okay? love me more than you hate him." he frowns at her words.

as if noticing his hesitation, she says, "for me. please?"

he sighs in defeat and nods. "fine. for you." he murmurs as he pulls her closer into his embrace and body.

she smiles in victory as she lies her head on his shoulder. "i love you, peter parker. you know that?" she murmurs, cuddling up close to him.

"i know i can always count on you." she says, once more, smiling as he chuckles and stretches over to kiss her on the forehead.

"good. because i love you more and i'll always hold you when you need it, dove." he murmurs, smiling at her calm and at peaceful face.

and like that, they cuddle until they fall asleep with peaceful expressions on their faces.

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maple-the-awesome · 2 years

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A Boy? ||

Pairing: Platonic! Matt Murdock x Reader x MCU! Peter Parker

Words: 3,416

Overview: Matt isn't sure what to think when you ask him to be your friend's lawyer; surprised someone's actually wormed their way into your heart or protective because it's a boy. This is honestly one of my favorite fics I've written in a while. Matt would definitely be able to multitask between being a really good lawyer and a protective dad 😍

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"I...need your help."

It's not unheard of for you to visit Matt at the firm every now and again, especially in recent months where you've almost become comfortable with the idea, so when he first recognized the pattern of your footsteps approaching the door, he thought nothing of it and instead prepared himself for one of your typical yet playful insults; the closest form of affection you've ever been know to show.

Even if taking a moment to consider the chance that you might be here to ask for something, he would've figured it to be something simple that comes with a stubborn bite to your words. Perhaps you lost your key to the apartment and have come to him for a spare or maybe you just need a few dollars to buy lunch. Aloud both outcomes do sound unlikely since Matt knows you're rather organized and calculated with your money after having a childhood of nothing, but he can't imagine any other reason you'd be requesting his help right now.

To his surprise, there's a noticeably quickened pace to your heartbeat and a quiet hesitation with your movements as you shut the office door behind yourself. You're afraid not embarrassed which isn't an emotion you don't often allow yourself to show and it's this awareness that raises concern in Matt.

Matt has known you for about two years now- seven years if you count the time passed during the Blip not that you were around for it-, but he'd be reluctant to say you're close, at least in a mutual sense.

You're dangerously headstrong, as he's learned, especially when it comes to your goal of being entirely self sufficient. You hate to admit weakness in any form, both physically and emotionally, thus you've developed the terrible habit of distancing yourself from others even if they have nothing except good intentions. While Matt can't justly critique you on a practice he himself is guilty of, he has tried his best throughout the years to earn your trust while reminding himself never to take your pushback personally.

You're rather young, only just hitting eighteen yet you've arguably been through more heartache than even he has which is certainly saying something. Orphaned then trained to basically act as a child soldier, it's safe to say you never had a normal childhood which ultimately influenced your personality and difficulty relating to others. When Matt- or better put Daredevil- first met you, you were barely more than a feisty teenager accustomed to only relying on yourself and living life at the mercy of none other than Wilson Fisk. You were cold just as those around you, but at the end of day, you were also just a shattered kid trying to survive; a little example of what's wrong with this cruel world.

You understandably hated Daredevil in the beginning, seeing him as the enemy you've been conditioned to destroy. You both had a few small run-ins with each other before one particular fight that ended with the building exploding. All you can really remember of that night was being alone and heavily injured within the flames, your 'friends' having long saved their own asses by willingly leaving you behind to choke on hazardous smoke. Next thing you knew, you awoke in Daredevil's dark apartment, the man in question explaining the situation after calmly stopping you from attempting to stab him with the pair of scissors left on the table.

Even though you had run right back to Fisk by sunrise, Matt knew there must be promise in you since you never sold out his location and his faith would prove true when he slowly yet surely managed to gain enough of your trust to help you believe in his word that he'd take down Fisk in turn for your cooperation. He kept that word, too, freeing you from the chains that held you down to a life of crime, however the scars that remained took far longer to even begin the process of healing.

Matt generously took you in, although you still struggled with plenty of old habits, the worst being stealing and getting into fights on the street. Whenever he'd confront you on it, a heated argument would ensue until you'd eventually run off, forcing Matt to go out looking for you upon your refusal to return home on your own. There were also the nightmares that plagued your sleep each night, often frightening Matt when he'd be out as Daredevil only to hear your blood curdling screams from back at the apartment, but you've always refused to share those inner demons even now.

Matt must admit that those early days truly tested him. He hated himself for thinking it, but at times he'd wonder if you both wouldn't have been better off if he hadn't nudged his way into your life to begin with. Before you, he was a single man who couldn't even keep a girlfriend and had not an ounce of experience being any sort of role model or father figure. Maybe the words you tended to scream at him were right. You don't need him, after all, he's just as broken as you; two brokens can't possibly make a right, can they?

Fortunately despite his insecurities and worries, it got easier. He had the constant support of Foggy and Karen while Father Lantom provided religious reminders as guidance. Overtime, your behavior shifted even if slowly. You learned that the apartment is a safe place and that there's always food in the fridge, so no need to steal. As you bonded more, Matt taught you to meditate to better control your emotions which also seemed to help smooth your nightmares. You even began feeling comfortable while in the presence of his friends which was a huge step forward.

Ultimately, Matt's proud of you and everything you've managed to overcome. Of course, it's not to say rough spots don't still present themselves, in fact the Blip itself has backtracked your progress slightly, although no one can blame you for that. You were terrified to learn you had disappeared for five years, the only good coming out of that entire situation being the realization that your dusting had destroyed Matt. Foggy explained that to you one day when Matt wasn't at the firm during your visit. According to him, his friend barely ate or slept, blaming himself for not somehow protecting you as he promised even if it really was out of his hands. It was this knowledge that made you feel loved for the first time in your life and you've since allowed yourself to finally trust Matt's care towards you (not that you've ever found a way to tell him that yet).

While you can't seem to find the words to express your affection towards the only parent figure you've ever known, you've decided to go to him for help towards your current dilemma which is the reason for your visit today, but irritatingly despite your trust, you find yourself nervous, your past habits betraying you with the fear that perhaps there's a ever so small possibly Matt will turn you away.

"What's up?" He raises an eyebrow, sensing your nerves which confuse him. He's certain he would've heard by now if Fisk is out of jail and there's no way you'd let anyone else on the street push you around. Maybe it's school? You don't tell him anything about school other than confirming your grades are good, so he'd be a little surprised if you ask for help studying, but he would hope you know he'll be happy to help if it's that.

You're chewing on your lip, debating if you should continue with your request. You truly thought you'd have no problem coming to him anymore and you know he's a good guy who can help, after all he's already done so much for you by taking you under his wing. Still, what if he gets mad because he has done enough for you and you have no right asking for more?

"What's wrong?" Matt changes his question, his voice softer now as he finally sets down his papers. He's growing more concerned, although he fights not to show it in case the emotion might scare you away.

"Okay, so um...There's...This boy..."

His face scrunches, but he's not sure why. One side of him wants to immediately direct you towards Karen, insisting she'd be a much better option for that type of advice than himself, however the other louder side feels a curd of anger inside his stomach, wanting to press on about why you're mentioning 'a boy'.

What boy? Do you have a boyfriend? When did that happen? Yes, you're eighteen which many would argue is old enough to date, but it doesn't feel like it. You should at least be thirty before you date, right?

"A boy...?"

"Yeah- from school," that was a lie; a blatant one at that. You must've met him somewhere. Where? You refuse to say," he's not actually just any boy. He's...Well, he's my friend-"

Matt blinks, certain this is the first time he's ever heard you use the word 'friend' before. This 'boy' must really be something special to have you use such an intimate term towards him.

"-And he's run into some legal trouble recently."

Now Matt's lips are curled into a scowl he can't hide as he leans back in his chair with crossed arms. Oh no. A boy involved in legal trouble is not the type to be involved with you. Sure, you've had a lengthy criminal record yourself, but you weren't ever charged and are, what Matt would call, a victim. You're a good kid now even if you could still kick someone's teeth in if desired. No law breaking boy needs to be getting mixed up with you!

"What kind of 'legal trouble'?" His question is a little too stern not that he notices much, instead keeping his covered eyes directed to where he hears you standing. If he had a clear mind, he might've regretted that forceful tone once you begin fidgeting with your hands.

"He...Have you heard the news lately?"

So, this guy has gotten himself in enough trouble to be on the news? This conversation isn't going in a direction Matt likes," I have, but you'll have to be more specific. The news covers a lot of criminal activity."

"I wouldn't go as far as to call him a 'criminal'. He's innocent, he's just gotten the short end of the stick is all-"

"-And did he tell you that?"

"No- Well yeah, but I knew it already! I mean it when I say he's a really good guy, Matt. Like amazingly good; almost too good to be true, but he is! He'd do anything to protect this city because he's just that caring and sweet. He's...Well, he's, um..." Matt raises an eyebrow as you trail off, although he pays more attention to the way your body heats up and your heartbeat accelerates.

Oh...

Now Matt has a true dilemma on his hands. Until now, you've never mentioned having a single friend before, so one side of him wants to be happy with the knowledge that you, the most stubborn and distant person to exist on planet Earth (aside from maybe Frank), have fallen in love. Maybe it's not the most comfortable discussion and he can't deny he'd worry regardless of the circumstances, but if it's something that allows you to feel normal for once, then that's excellent. The only problem is he can't say he agrees with your criminal type. Why can't you be interested in someone law abiding?

Fiddling with your fingers, you miss Matt's silence as a sign of conflict and instead take it as him waiting for you to get to the point, thus you do with a quiet, meek voice,"...and he's kinda Spiderman..."

Matt blinks, caught off guard by your confession which had almost been muted by his inner thoughts," Spiderman...? The vigilante from Queens?"

You nod," I guess there's no harm in telling you his name's Peter Parker since the whole world already knows that now...Anyways I met him a while ago and we became friends, but...Well, you've heard what the news is trying to say about him, right? His identity got leaked and now they're trying to pin him as some sort of killer, but he isn't- I know he isn't. Peter's like you. He'd never kill anyone even if they're some crazed villain the streets would be safer without. I mean, you can tell he didn't do it just by how upset he is over all this!

"They're trying to ruin his life- not only his life, but also his friends' and aunt's...They won't let off and he doesn't deserve it. He needs a lawyer-a really good one at that. I thought that maybe...Maybe you could help him out, ya' know? You said us vigilantes have to look out for one another, right? So, could you help Spiderman? E-Even if just as one last favor for me? I swear I won't ask for anything else just...Can you please help him, Matt? Please..."

There's tears in your eyes at this point which is a rare occurrence usually only found on nights of particularly bad nightmares. This is one of those moments where it's clear you're only a kid. Standing in front of his desk, you keep your head bowed and hands clenched to the bottom of your shirt as you stubbornly fight to not get emotional, a fight nearly lost by that sniffle of your nose. Even after your nightmares or back before Matt saved you from Fisk, you've never been this scared. Of course, there's a clear difference from then and now.

This Peter Parker must really be something special. He must be able to bring a smile to your face by his presences alone, drawing hours of laughter from you over countless dumb jokes or helping you let loose by inviting you out with him and his friends, maybe even for movie nights at his apartment which might explain those few days over the last month where you didn't return home until after midnight.

Those nights he must listen to your worries, being the only person trusted with the details of your nightmares as he cuddles you close and promises to never let anyone hurt you again. He must make you feel like a giddy teenager, an experience that had once been stolen from you by people like Fisk. Around Peter, you aren't a child soldier or a dangerous killer or even a broken soul; you're (Y/n) (L/n), just a normal girl who'd do anything to protect the most precious thing she has to hold.

It takes you by surprise when Matt stands up suddenly, taking his cane from where it had been folded on the table and clicking it into place with a 'snap'," do you know his address?"

"H-Huh?"

"I'm assuming you know where Parker lives, correct? There's a lot to discuss if I'm going to help him with his legal troubles so it's best we get started immediately. Isn't that what you want?" Matt has a faint hint of a smirk pulling at his lips as he walks past you to the door, only stopping with his hand upon the doorknob.

Your eyes follow him, the wheels inside your head turning as you process his words. Soon, you're beaming, a noticeable uplift to your voice with relieved tears being blinked back in your eyes," thank you, Matt!"

"Take a seat, Mr. Parker."

When Matt had announced the charges against Peter won't stick, the teen had been endlessly thankful. Between you finding him a good lawyer that didn't dent his pockets and said lawyer being able to remove his legal troubles, he's been giddy with relief and saw no issue with Matt's request to speak with him privately before his departure, after all, it's the least he can do for someone who's already helped him so much during his greatest time of need.

Even after being told to sit back down, Peter does so with a unfazed smile on his face," is there something else I need to be worried about? You said the charges aren't going to stick, so I should be good, yeah?"

"Oh, I don't want to talk to you about anything related to the court."

Now Peter blinks in confusion, his smile taking a hit," oh?"

"I want to talk to you about (Y/n)."

"O-Oh..." Peter's confusion turns into a fiery blush, one that makes Matt's own face twist into a look of disgust he fights to hide.

"How long have you known her?"

"Um, about a year I think- Well, actually, I guess it's technically been about five years since we met before the Snap but-"

"-And has she told you about her past working for Wilson Fisk?"

Peter's heart noticeably skips a beat as he looks to Matt with wide eyes. His mouth opens in preparation to lie to his lawyer for the first time, denying that you'd ever work for Fisk because you definitely aren't some teenage vigilante he's been fighting alongside as Spiderman since the last year, however after giving his response some thought and studying Matt's careful expression, he decides to just be truthful.

"Yeah...Yeah, she has."

"Then you must understand how difficult it's been for her to trust other people after everything she's been through. I must admit I was surprised when she first brought you up. She was very adamant that I act as your lawyer and since then she's spent nearly every day asking about you. She's clearly extremely fond of you."

It probably isn't the best time for it, but a bashful smile crosses Peter's face, his gaze falling to his hands as he dwells on Matt's words. You? Fond of him? That's not allowed, is it?

Of course, Peter's always had eyes for you. Ned and MJ tease him about it all the time. Hell, it's why Spiderman even decided to approach you in the first place. He had been utterly starstruck to watch some super hot vigilante swoop in out of nowhere and apprehend a pair of criminals before he could. In awe, he just had to walk up to you and give some incredibly lame joke that successfully resulted in you giving a goddess's laugh that numbed his heart. Since then, Peter made sure to become your friend (and biggest admirer), so to think you might actually be fond of him, too? Well, he could never be luckier!

"With that said, I wanted to thank you, Peter," the young hero is taken back by Matt's sudden words of gratitude," you make her happy; happier than anyone else has managed. Hearing her talk about you is the first time I've heard her sound like a normal teen, and if you were to ask her out, I'm certain she'd agree. I'll even give you my blessing to do so."

"A-Ah! Thank...Thank you, sir!"

"But-" Matt adjusts his glasses before suddenly leaning forward, his hands cupped together as a shadow crosses over his expression,"- just know, that if you ever do anything to break my daughter's heart, I'll personally ensure you deal with the Devil."

The breath in Peter's throat catches, his mouth opening and closing a few times in attempts to grasp onto some quick response which he's normally talented in delivering, but alas, nothing comes. Spiderman really shouldn't have to fear a blind man, but there's something about Matt's tone that sinks into his bones as a frigid warning that begs him to be smart, not dismissive.

Grabbing his cane, the lawyer calmly stands and walks past Peter, only stopping to pat a stern hand on his shoulder," good talk, Spidy."

It's cruel; the way Matt leaves behind a shocked Peter Parker while wearing a smug smirk of his own. He's not even guilty in the slightest, shown by the way he doesn't even care to rid of his expression when noticing you leaned against the wall outside the apartment door with crossed arms. He assumes by the harshness to your voice that your eyebrows are pinched downwards as you glare his way- a glare he's too familiar with feeling at this point to be bothered.

"Are you serious?"

"What?" He gives a mocked look of innocents that you refuse to buy.

Instead, you suck in a breath, fighting to ignore both your burning cheeks along with your irritation towards the lawyer and his poor attempt at playing dumb. Marching on by, you purposely bump into his shoulder, hissing under your breath,"...that wasn't cool, dad..."

#peter parker x reader #x reader #reader insert #peter parker #mcu peter parker #tom holland #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman #marvel #daredevil x reader #daredevil #charlie cox #marvel x reader

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brownbearwrites · 1 year

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clean laundry | Carl Grimes

carl grimes x reader

warnings: angsty fluff, carl talks about lori. this is the first ever fic i've written for carl, so my characterization of him might be a little off!

You let out a content sigh at the feeling of soft cotton fabric slipping over your arms and torso, the clean scent of freshly washed laundry filling your senses. Alexandria was like a dream come true. After spending weeks on end on the road, not knowing if or when you’d next find clean water, something as simple as clean clothes felt luxurious to you. You’d been here for almost two weeks now, and still, you sometimes struggled to believe that this was all real. That you were actually able to take warm showers, sleep in a plush bed, and cook on a stove. That you could rest. Of course, you never knew how much longer this would all last; that threat always seemed to loom over you. Even so, you were hell-bent on enjoying life in Alexandria for as long as you possibly could.

Behind you, the door to your bedroom creaks open, interrupting your moment of peace. You turn your head, Carl’s eyes meeting yours from where he’s perched against your door frame.

“Hi,” he says, cracking a smile you can’t help but return.

You reciprocate his greeting, beckoning him into the room with a wave of your hand. “Weren’t you supposed to be watching after Judith?” you ask him.

Carl shakes his head no as he unceremoniously throws himself down onto your bed, “Michonne finished her watch early, so she came to take over from me. I thought I might as well come over and see you”.

“How sweet of you,” you respond, turning to face him. Carl reaches out to you, his hand resting at the juncture of where your calve and thigh meet. His thumb rubs the exposed skin below your shorts, his touch soft and gentle. He carefully tugs you towards him, and you easily allow yourself to be pulled down to sit down on the bed next to him. You brush some stray hairs away from where they were obscuring his eyes, tucking them behind his ears.

“Jessie has been trying to convince me to cut it off,” he confesses to you. You see the uneasiness on his face clear as day. Sometimes Carl was like an open book, you thought. It was just always so easy to figure out exactly what he was thinking. Or, more likely, you just knew him a little too well.

You shake your head, your hands inching up to stroke through your boyfriend’s brown locks, “You don’t have to cut it if you don’t want to, you know? She can’t make you”. You smile at him, leaning down to kiss him, “I think the long hair looks good on you, anyway”.

Carl laughs, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you toward him. You give in, letting your body slot against his, and your head coming down to rest on his chest. Like this, you can hear the gentle thumping of his heartbeat. For a while, neither one of you speak. The only sounds in the room are your soft breaths and the distant voices that drift in from outside through the open window. You allow your eyelids to slip shut, fully enjoying the peace of this moment.

Below you, Carl takes in a shaky breath. “It reminds me of my mom,” he softly tells you.

You let out an inquisitive hum, giving him the freedom to elaborate.

“She cut my hair for me back at the quarry. It was right after my dad found us again, remember?” he says, waiting for you to nod before continuing, “she used to do that for me all the time, even before all the walkers and stuff. She’d sit me down on the porch steps and just start chopping away at me. I used to hate it”.

You laugh, finding it surprisingly easy to imagine Lori struggling to keep a tiny Carl sitting still for long enough to finish a haircut.

“It’s just—”, he continues, his voice heavy with unshed tears, “It’s just that she told me that, one day, I’d be wishing that she could cut my hair for me again. And she was right”.

His arms wrap around you tighter, and you feel him shake with the effort it takes to not cry. You allow him his comfort for a bit, not daring to move except for where your hand has come up to rub his arm through the worn fabric of his shirt. You’re well aware of the fact that Carl hates it when people see him cry. You know that it makes him feel weak and vulnerable. Still, when you begin to hear the sobs rack through his body, you cannot help but untangle yourself from his arms so that you can sit up straight. You swing your leg over his hip, now sitting down on his lap. You lean your head down to meet his, your foreheads resting against one another. Carefully, you wipe the tears away from where they have begun to run down his flushed red cheeks.

“You’re allowed to miss her,” you softly say, “and you’re allowed to grieve her. But please, talk to me about it. You can’t keep pushing it all down until it explodes out of you. You’ll just hurt yourself doing that. You can share your pain with me, I’m here for you”.

At this point, Carl’s breathing has evened out a little. He shoots you a watery smile, leaning up to kiss you deeply and full of emotion. “You’re right,” he gives in, “I’ll be better. I’ll try”.

The smile you give him is warm, and full of love. You lay yourself down again, once more pressing the full weight of your body down onto Carl. You know that there is still a long way to go. But, with Carl’s steady heartbeat in your ear, his warm body pressed against yours, and the smell of clean laundry still wafting through the room, you allow yourself the benefit of the doubt. You’ll be okay. Both of you will be.

#carl grimes #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes fic #carl grimes imagine #carl grimes fluff #carl grimes angst #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x you #carl grimes x y/n #mine

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youchangedmedestiel · 2 months

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As promised I said I'll give you fic recs to celebrate the fact that I have more than 100 followers now. Again, thanks a lot! This makes me happy! :)

So now, here's my gift to you:

Every fucking fic by xylodemon

The writing is always perfect! I'm not kidding, this is my favorite writer so far! I've never been disappointed by their fics. NEVER! I haven't finish to read all of them but I certainly attend to.

Fics written by deancaskiss

If you like reading about Cas and Dean "just" kissing, then you should try reading those, if you haven't done it yet. I haven't read all of them yet, I read only around 10 fics for now, but same I'll attend to read more.

Then, more specifically:

Blackberries Wild by SaltyWords (agent4hire22) Angst, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Canon divergent after 13x12, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, brief mention of suicidal ideation - around 2500 words

This is so well written, the descriptions are everything, especially the ones for the kisses. It could totally happened like that. It's very true to their character if you ask me.

a kiss for every season (literally) by sobsicles and it is also available as a podfic here read by Scintillating Gatria (LadyLoralye) Canon typical level of violence, Canon Compliant, Brief Dean Winchester/Benny Lafitte - Freeform, Angst with a Happy Ending, Kisses, Smut - around 22000 words

The title says it all, a kiss between Cas and Dean happens every season and since there's never enough kisses between these two, that fic is therefore perfect.

People Who Are Good Like Pie by sobsicles Blowjob, NSFW, Castiel is a Little Shit, Dean is In Over His Head, Flustered Dean, Confused Dean, Creatively ties eating pie into sex, Sounds disgusting but it's really not I promise, it's hilarious, fluff and porn - around 1800 words

And it is indeed hilarious imo as well as very hot. It's short and easy to read, really different from the above. But it's human!cas and I'm weak for him in a sense that there is so much potential with him in a fic and that I love him.

You and I Know the Way by aishitara Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Series, Canon Compliant through 15x18, Fluff, a smidgen of angst, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Mentions of Blood, Mild Hurt/Comfort - around 4300 words

There is human!cas in there too, so yeah I'm sold. Plus some amazing, beautiful, stunning art from winchester-reload is included in the fic so it's even more perfect. This is smut yes, but, BUT you can really see all the love there is between them and that fucks me up. That's the type of porn that makes me cry. I never thought I could say that about porn one day. But maybe it's because it isn't, this is just LOVE!

Humans Do It Better by Hatteress Episode: s06e10 Caged Heat (Supernatural), Excessive Drinking, Light Angst, First Kiss, Second more heated kiss, Kinda Funny.

I invented the tags here because it isn't on AO3. I need to mention this fic because it was like one of the first fics I read. It was more than a year ago and I still remember it. Maybe because I wished it had a next FUCKING chapter. I want to read more about it. I want to see what happened when they meet again later. I want to see what's going on in Dean's mind the next morning when he realized what he did, thinking about how he corrupted a fucking angel. Feeling guilty about it because it's Dean. I - I, maybe I'll fucking write this second chapter one day. But I don't know if it's a thing, you know, writing a sequel to someone else's fic.

Anyway, I hope you'll like reading those if it's not already done. I for sure have more fics to recommend but I have to save some for the 200 followers I guess lmao. One can dream.

BUT if you need specific fics, like from an episode in particular for example, you can still ask me because I sort them by episode tag too.

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blackat-t7t · 21 days

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Another jangobi idea I don't think I've talked about anywhere:

Soulmates AU

Inspired a bit by this fic and this other one

(For some reason, this fic, or at least the first part, really wants to be written from Jaster's perspective, instead of Jango or Obi-Wan's 😆)

Fun ("fun") fact- according to wookieepedia, both the battle of Galidraan and Obi-Wan's time on Bandomeer take place in 44 BBY. (I love playing with this fact.)

So, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon are on their way back to Coruscant after Bandomeer, when the jedi council sends out a request for any masters or knights who are in the area and aren't otherwise engaged to join Dooku on his way to Galidraan as backup.

Obi-Wan is supposed to stay on the ship, but he feels the Force urging him to go out, and he's curious. When he sees the mandalorians and jedi squaring off, he recognizes his soulmark painted on Jango's armor, and he can't believe his soulmate would have done the things the governor has accused them of. He thows himself in between Dooku and Jango and begs them not to fight. Although they argue over Obi-Wan's head, the truth eventually comes out that the Jedi were told the True Mandalorians were killing innocents and came to stop them, and the True Mandalorians were set up by the governor and Death Watch. Some of them are sent out to secure the governor and any Death Watch still on the planet, and the mandalorians and jedi agree to a ceasefire while they sort things out. Jango (head of True Mandalorians' supercommandos) calls in Jaster (the Mand'alor) to handle the politics and negotiations.

Later, Obi-Wan sneaks into the mandalorian camp hoping to spot Jango again, and ends up hiding from a passing mandalorian in Jaster's command tent. When Jaster asks what he's doing, Obi-Wan swears he's not a spy, he was just curious. They end up discussing mandalorian iconography, the mythosaur skull and the variant that is the True Mandalorians' sigil, the shreik hawk that the Death Watch wear, jaig eyes, the journeyman protector symbol, etc. Jaster, of course, is happy to educate him. When Jango stops by, Obi-Wan asks about the lightsaber in the symbol on his armor, and Jango is kind of dismissive, says it's not a lightsaber, but the Darksaber. Jaster explains the history.

Eventually, Qui-Gon comes to bring Obi-Wan back to the Jedi ship because they're leaving. He didn't recognize the symbol on Jango's armor at first, but now he's remembered Obi-Wan's soulmark and put two and two together. He doesn't want anyone to realize Obi-Wan is Jango's soulmate, partially because of the political implications and the age difference- but mostly because, after Xanatos, he's convinced that any close relationships, including soulmates, can lead a jedi to fall, and he doesn't want Obi-Wan and Jango to become close.

Before he leaves, Obi-Wan asks Jaster to tell Jango he's sorry they couldn't get to know each other better. Jaster is confused at first, but he quickly realizes what Obi-Wan was saying, and why Obi-Wan was asking about the mythosaur and the light/darksaber symbols, which are both part of the soulmark. When Jango comes to see him, he asks if Jango has checked his soulmark. Jango does, and it's colored in now instead of in greys. The lightsaber has the unique shape of the darksaber, but it's blue, which surprises him. He says he didn't feel a pull to any of the Jedi he met, and asks why Jaster thought the color might have changed. Jaster reminds him of Obi-Wan, intervening to protect Jango and asking about the symbols in the soulmark. By this point, Obi-Wan and the jedi have already left, and Jango can't go after them because he has responsibilities in mandalorian space.

Of course, this is only the begining of the story. There's more, when Obi-Wan seeks mandalorian help while on Melida/Daan, and when he's on Mandalore to protect Satine. But that's the basic premise of the fic.

#jangobi #kenfetti #fic ideas #soulmates #soulmarks #star wars #a blackat-t7t original #blackat-t7t's fic ideas

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kitmon · 2 years

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Let's Dance! | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Chaperoning the middle school dance isn't what most would consider a weekend well spent and Eddie is inclined to agree. That is, until he formally meets you.

Pairing: Eddie Munson (Stranger Things, 2022) x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Tags: fluff, like the fluffiest fluff that has ever existed, vice president!reader, swearing (I genuinely don't even know if that's actually true, just assume that with all of my writing comes swearing), cringe? ok, some of what the reader does could be considered cringe but I DON'T CARE, IF IT'S CRINGE THEN I LOVE CRINGE, written out dance scenes (writing a lot of movement is hard, guys), that should be it, there's definitely no hard warnings for this, it is just pure, unadulterated fluff

Author’s Note: This idea came to me while I was listening to David Bowie's "Let's Dance" and maladaptive daydreaming hard. And it's been rattling around in my head for months and I'm glad that it's finally finished and it's way better than I could have ever hoped! @queenimmadolla did such an amazing job beta reading (she always does) and this is as much her work as it is mine and I would really love it if you could go send her some love because Tumblr's being mean to her right now and she could really use it. This is probably one of my favorite fics I've written and I really hope that you guys enjoy it as much as I do. I think that's all I have to say, as always, happy reading!

With your hands clasped in front of you, your hips sway to the beat of whatever mainstream, upbeat pop song the DJ was playing—the pristine white skirt of your dress shifting like the branches of a willow tree, caressed by gentle gusts of wind—you can’t help but admire your hard work; streamers and tinsel flow down from the ceiling, framing the slow-to-twirl disco ball that you stubbornly bartered for at a flea market in Indianapolis, and the glittery sign you painstakingly crafted by hand even though it took you all night and you’ve been finding flecks of glitter in your tissues every time you’ve sneezed for the past two days. Totally worth it, you think with a pleased smile.

You still remember your Snow Ball (though, arguably, it wasn’t all that long ago); December 15, 1980. You’d been stuffed into a poofy, absolutely ridiculous gown that you adored with all of your heart, dancing to the Bee Gees with Pat Rafferty, a foot-and-a-half of space between your bodies as you stepped, stiffly, from side to side. The scene had looked just like this, right down to the plastic flowers you arranged in the center of each table and, even though it’s entirely trivial, you remember that night being one of the best you’ve ever had. It was the sole reason you begged Principal Higgins to let you join the planning committee amongst the middle school staff and PTA. And now, here it is: all blue and white and shiny, having come to fruition.

Your smile softens as you lose yourself in the memory of that night but it isn’t long before you’re jolted out of the past when you catch a large, clumsy movement from the corner of your eye, followed by the sound of someone tripping and nearly falling. Your head whips around to find a man—definitely not a boy considering he stands at least a whole foot above the rest of the attendees—with his ankle caught around one of the tinsel cords. As you watch him struggle, you realize that you recognize him. It’s kind of impossible not to; the messy nest of hair, the randomly spaced tattoos along his exposed forearms. The only thing you don’t recognize is his attire, it’s still definitely… him. His lean torso is sporting a wrinkled dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and the slouchy pinstripe pants he’s wearing are assuredly a size or two too big on him. It’s a far cry from his usual harsh leather and denim.

He’s hopping a bit, trying to untangle himself and you figure you better step in before he falls and crashes into the concessions.

“Here! Just—Let me,” you insist, chuckling as you step closer and crouch down to unwind the ribbon from around his shoes, finding a mangled knot. Jeez, how did he manage to do all this just by tripping?

You manage to undo the binding and he steps free with a little bounce, stumbling a couple of steps. He clears his throat as you stand and pat your hands over your skirt, “Sorry about that, can barely see anything a foot ahead of me in here.”

“It’s okay,” you assure, giggling at the red hue that paints his cheeks, noticeable even in the dim light. “Can I help you with something?”

“Uh, yeah, actually,” he shifts his weight a bit, looking over his shoulder and licking his lips before continuing, “I’m supposed to be chaperoning, or something like that.”

“Oh!” You didn’t know any other high schoolers were chaperoning tonight—because why would they?—but it’s not like you’re going to refuse the help. “Well, you’re in the right place.”

Before he can properly respond, you shove your open palm towards the center of you both and introduce yourself with a confident flow of words. He’s a little taken aback by how quick and concise you are with your actions.

“Eddie,” he says as he accepts your smaller hand into his own, intrigued with how shockingly cold your fingers are.

Your handshake is a firm one and he takes a step back once you release his hand and clasp yours together, suddenly aware of just how in your space he’d been. You watch with an amused smile as he purses his lips, nodding his head and surveying the small array of finger foods.

“Soooo,” he drawls, lips still comically pursed, “what exactly do we do for the next three hours?”

“Well,” you sigh, “we basically just watch the concessions and stuff; make sure the punch isn't getting spiked or whatever happens in movies. Though, I highly doubt any one of these kids managed to get their hands on a bottle of booze.”

Eddie seems to get the gist of the job, looking out over the sea of children.

“Oh, we also have to make sure no kids are getting too handsy behind the bleachers—Jenny! Ryan!” you shout, having caught sight of the two eighth graders kissing a little too aggressively for their weight class. “I see you two!”

You jut your finger out and as the clap of your voice reaches them they scramble away from each other and hold their arms at their sides like they’ve been caught with their grimy mitts in the cookie jar.

“Got it,” he says, eyeing the eighth graders with a sideways glance.

You huff and look back towards Eddie, eyes wide and features soft as you ask, “How’d you get roped into this?”

He dips his head and stares at you from below his brow.

“No offense!” you’re quick to defend. “It just… doesn’t seem like your kinda scene. I’ve seen you around school, you know. You wear those band tees and the vest and, well, your hair. . .” You chuckle and mimic ruffling your fingers through your own mane.

“What d'you mean?” he starts, voice laced with sarcasm, “Chaperoning a middle school dance is my idea of a perfect Saturday!”

You cock your head and send him an unimpressed stare, blinking your eyes with a heavy slowness.

“Okay, fine, you caught me. I don’t actually like watching a bunch of preteens awkwardly shuffle to crappy pop music on the weekend. I made this stupid deal with Higgins so that I could start a club.” His arms are crossed over his chest as he stares down, face shrouded with his wild hair as he watches his toes nudge at the legs of the table.

“What kind of club?” you ask, angling your head to try and catch his eye.

Your question raises some suspicion in his mind, almost hesitant at your interest and he shakes his head before answering.

“A D&D club. You know D&D?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow. You shake your head slowly with an apologetic look over your face as you bite your lip and it’s clear that was the answer he’d been expecting from you but he isn’t upset, just a little disappointed.

“Well, it’s like a tabletop roleplay ga—actually, it doesn’t matter, all you need to know is that I came to Principal Higgins with it and he shot it down, as soon as he saw me walk in.”

That makes your brows furrow and your lower lip jut out as an unpleasant emotion settles in your stomach. That’s definitely something you’d have to bring up with your cohort of student council members later.

“He said, and I quote, the only way he’d let my ‘band of hooligans congregate’ is if I showed that I was ‘committed to the community,’ or something like that, which means… chaperoning the middle school dance.” He finishes and you nod your head in understanding, feeling slightly sympathetic towards his cause; it's a bit unfair that he has to go through all this trouble just to start a club when you were able to start up the Photography Club with no questions asked.

“And you?” He questions, causing your head to perk up and your eyes to widen, “What are you in for?”

You smile and respond with a cheeky tilt of your head, “I’m actually here of my own free will, if you can believe it.”

“Ohhhh,” he draws out, faux-interest candying his voice before it drops down to a playful dullness, “you’re right, I can’t believe it.”

“Hey!” A smile is consuming your face even as you realize you have to defend yourself against his teasing. “Some people actually like to give back to the community. Plus, it’s a part of my Vice Presidential duties; to show I care about stupid things like the middle school Snow Ball.”

You draw your stare down towards your toes and share a shy smile with yourself as you toy with your fingers. Eddie smiles down at you for a moment, his hands stationed along his hips before his gaze drifts to the scene ahead of him, taking in the neat decorations and the hordes of prepubescent children that jabber amongst themselves and it’s clear the awkward shuffling of feet on the dance floor is here to stay. Despite that part of it being unbearably hard to watch, the rest is quite impressive.

“You sure do know how to plan a party, I’ll give you that much. Looks way better than my Snow Ball.”

That causes your head to snap up and an entirely dumbfounded look to paint your face.

“You went to the Snow Ball?” you ask in disbelief.

You know better than to judge a book by its cover but it seems so out of place for him. You’ve heard all of the stories and the rumors; that he’s a shut-in who dedicates the weekends to his cult-leading responsibilities. You’ve never thought to believe them, even for a second. It just felt so thoughtless and cruel and a genuine waste of your time to be gossiping behind peoples’ backs just because you didn't understand them. It was beyond lame. But you’d see him at parties, all broody and intimidating in the corner with a rusty metal lunch box he’d pop open and not-so-discreetly demonstrate his stock. He never danced, never talked to anyone unless it was to discuss prices, and he never smiled, not unless he was flipping through his wad for the night and counting his bills.

“Mmhm,” he smiles, almost proud for dispelling any preconceived notions, “got all dolled up in a monkey suit and everything. Even managed to work up the courage to ask Andrews to dance; she did not seem too impressed, I can tell you that.”

“Paula Andrews?” Again, the disbelief laces your tone but this time for good reason. Paula Andrews was vile, not for her looks or anything like that—she was actually ridiculously gorgeous—but for her nasty attitude. Anyone with a cowardly bone in their body would turn tail and run at the sight of her for fear of being ridiculed for even breathing in her direction. Even now, she was catty and prissy and mean.

“Yup,” he sighs like he’s already predicted your criticism and agrees with all of it.

“Ugh!” You visibly recoil, squinching your nose and wrinkling your lip. “Why would you ever want to dance with Paula Andrews? She’s… evil,” you shudder. “She once put gum in my hair because I wouldn’t let her cheat off of my science quiz.”

“I dunno,” he chuckles before simmering down, his voice becoming uncharacteristically hushed as he twists his rings up and down his finger. “Because she was pretty… and popular.”

You can't really fault him for that; everyone either wanted Paula Andrews or wanted to be Paula Andrews.

“What’d that witch do?” you ask tentatively like you’re afraid of the answer.

“Oh, nothing original,” he reminisces, “called me a freak and cackled that witch laugh of hers before stalking off with her flock of flying monkeys.”

You snort and move to cover your mouth with your hand, giggling behind it, “She does kind of laugh like a hag, doesn’t she?”

He laughs with you until you both calm to huffs and gentle smiles.

“Well if it’s any consolation,” you begin, “I would have danced with you.”

He looks you in the eye for a moment before dropping his gaze and sucking his lips in slightly towards his teeth, nodding with a pleasant grin on his lips.

The conversation merges into a comfortable silence as the both of you assume your chaperoning chores, Eddie picking at the charcuterie platter, exclusively the buttery crackers and tiny cubes of American cheese, tossing the morsels into his mouth while you survey the room, both with the intention of monitoring any misbehavior and gauging the room’s energy. Your findings are rather disappointing; the dance floor is empty! Not a ghost town, by any means, a few couples took to dancing but the walls are much more saturated with middle schoolers than the actual space meant for dancing.

You watch as the boys chat amongst themselves, throwing a few fleeting glances over their shoulders towards where the girls are cliqued up every once in a while. It's obvious they want something to happen but lack the confidence to be the ones to start it. Why not give them that extra little push?

“Do you want to dance?” you hurriedly blurt out, twisting to face Eddie beside you. His eyes are glassy and saucer-ish as he stares at you, mouth stuffed full of crackers and cheese as he addresses you. He twists his head over his shoulder only to find the spot behind him empty, pointing to himself and humming a muddled question.

“Duh!” you giggle. “Who else would I be talking to?”

He swallows his mouthful with some difficulty and begins stammering for a response.

“I don’t, um, really think that’s a good idea,” he laughs with a nervous tinge.

“Come on! It’ll be fun!”

You’re already winding your fingers around his wrist and leading him to the dance floor, weaving past and around the few brave couples that were dispersed about the court.

He’s babbling the whole way, noncommittally digging his heels into the ground and leaning away to slow you and when you’ve found your spot on the floor, turning to face him, he leans forward and whispers to you, “I can’t dance.”

His words are panicked as his eyes flit around you, hyper-aware of everyone’s stare on the two of you. He’s less so worried about his reputation as much as he is yours; you’re a sweet girl, people like you, like you enough to have voted for you and he’s… him. And in this town, being him or anywhere near him is social suicide.

But his warning does hardly anything to stop you. You can't dance either but you keep your head held high and your back straight as you feign confidence to encourage him.

“You’re in a band, right?” It was an odd question for the situation but he knits his brows and nods anyway. “You like music, you go to concerts. What do you do in those situations?”

He thinks about it for a moment, turning his head to survey his memory but stops himself when he reaches a conclusion, not thinking it a good idea but you seem entirely oblivious as you hearten him with an eye-squinting smile.

He shakes his head, taking in a large breath before huffing it out. The calm, collected act is disrupted by his whiplash energy shift as he starts violently moshing, headbanging, flicking his hair all over the place while he jumps and kicks around. The sudden burst makes you jump in your spot and blink your eyes at him. You watch for a second or two, lips ticking up at the corners at his very… passionate expression and as much as you’d like to keep watching him bounce around, you figure you should start with something a little more… pedestrian-safe.

You cautiously reach your hand out, a little afraid to approach him in fear of getting taken out by a stray limb or a particularly aggressive clump of hair but you manage to touch your fingers over his shoulder without injury, halting him. He slows his movements to a controlled bouncing of the toes, breath panting, hair wild, and shirt wrinkled—well—more wrinkled than it had been.

“Maybe not like that,” you cringe with a bunched nose and lopsided twist of your lips. “Try this instead.”

You trail your hand that was over his shoulder down his arm to take his hand into yours, scooping the other one from his side to guide the both of them to your waist, coaxing them to mold there. He looks a little afraid, eyes owlish as his tongue sprints out over his chapped lips too many times in a single moment.

“And I'll put my hands over here,” you narrate, placing your forearms over his shoulders as you link your fingers together behind his neck. You begin shuffling your feet, your white mary janes clicking against the lacquered gymnasium hardwood as you foster some movement.

“See, it’s not that hard.” Almost like you’ve jinxed it, as the words exit your mouth he steps right over your toes, and your face twists with a wince you do your best to suppress.

“Sorry, “ he winces with you, his eyebrows bunching with an apologetic look.

“It’s okay!” You’re quick to reassure him, a laugh and a smile embossing your words. “Just—look at me; when you look down you only end up tripping yourself up.” You release your fingers and bring one of your hands from around his neck to cradle his jaw in your grasp and angle his face upwards so that he’s gazing at you with those large, glazed cow eyes. You smile when you capture his rich chocolatey stare. “There, much better.”

The two of you sway glacially, Eddie relaxing under your touch after meeting your eyes, the shy lilt of his lips making a warmth bloom in your chest. You stay like this for a while, remaining committed to your designated square where the two of you can rock from side to side without disruption before you attempt to perform something a little more difficult. You slide your hand down over his shoulder and along the cotton of his shirt until it's grasped in his own, twirling yourself and gracelessly switching your feet before stumbling back into his chest with an uninhibited chortle, head thrown back as you laugh at yourself. He’s laughing too, his eyes trained on your ruched nose and crooked smile as you press your forehead against his chest.

As the song builds in energy you separate your hands from his chest and step away, starting to clumsily dance. It’s a gentler sort of moshing, he thinks as he watches you hop in place and shake your head, completely uncoordinated but entirely adorable. His posture slouches to the side as he watches you move, wholly mesmerized.

“Come on!” you laugh, breaking him out of his trance, taking his hands and moving them to simulate dancing.

He smiles before he's splitting from you and doing his own goofy thing, illustrating a botched and lumberly take on The Twist as he shakes his mane of wild hair this way and that.

The two of you are one of four couples on the dance floor and the army of children that trace the edge of it and surround you throw their estranged glances your way and could you really blame them for it? You had two high school seniors—one the predicted Valedictorian of her graduating class and the other the school pothead and resident freak—tearing up the dance floor of the eighth grade Snow Ball. But as the chatter of your embarrassing antics grows louder, a few brave souls make their way to the dance floor to join you and Eddie, hopping and shaking and twirling like unhinged maniacs, but they were giggling and tittering and having fun and that’s all that really mattered.

As you dance with Will Byers, holding his small hands in yours as you twist and twirl him, Eddie smiles to himself and stands with his hands on his hips, admiring the precious sight. As he watches, a particularly rowdy couple crashes into him and sends him flying towards you.

Just as he collides with you and knocks you a bit off balance, the previous song fades into a brief silence, a slower, calmer, more romantic song following; "How Deep is Your Love" by the Bee Gees.

“I’m sorry!” he’s quick to remedy, stabilizing you by holding your waist.

You chuckle, clearly high off of the endorphins that come with exercise, “It’s okay—”

“Are you hurt? Did I step on your foot again?” He’s rambling now and chasing each worried sentence with another as he’s examining you for any hidden injuries that could come with being bumped and stumbling three steps.

“Eddie!” You raise your voice to grab his attention, that same laugh twining your words at his ridiculous worry as you place your hand over his bicep. “I’m okay! Promise. Scouts Honor,” you say sucking your lower lip in and holding up your first three fingers.

“Okay, good,” he sighs, relaxing into a smile, “Good.”

Will looks between the both of you and smiles with a glint of understanding in his eyes.

“Hey,” he touches your arm to grab your attention, “I’m gonna get some punch and sit down, you really wore me out with that last song.”

You smile down at him and ruffle his hair, “Okay, Little Byers, you let me know if you're up for another one, you’re probably the best dance partner I’ve had all night.”

Will flashes a toothy grin and exits, weaving his way past warm bodies towards the abandoned snack table.

“I cannot believe you just said that.” Eddie reclaims your focus.

Your brows furrow as an anxiety of misspeaking clouds your features, “What?”

“And to think I thought, for even a second, that we shared something special, dancing like idiots,” he says with a smirk, the sarcasm now dripping from his words.

“Oh, shut up,” you scoff, landing a punch to his shoulder.

“You wanna give me another shot at redemption?” he offers with a smirk, reaching his open palm out to beckon you towards him.

You smile, an air of bashfulness consuming your actions as you stare down at the floor before taking his hand and assuming the same position as before: your hands twined together, behind his head, fingers slithering under his hair as you play with the scraggly strands at the nape of his neck, winding and unwinding them around your digits.

“So,” you start, “how d’you feel about chaperoning now?”

“Mmm,” he hums, looking out at an unseen point in the distance to ponder on it, “still on the fence.”

You gape at him, “We just danced like crazy! You were laughing like a madman!”

“Well,” he laughs, “is chaperoning always like this?”

“Like what?”

“I don't know—fun, exciting, metal?”

You giggle as you stare down at your feet, lifting your head to send him a suddenly heavy look in your eyes, the rest of your expression at once sober.

“When you have the right partner.”

There’s a silence as he takes a moment to ruminate on your words before concluding, “Alright, tell you what: I’ll chaperone every dance if you're there.”

He looks down at you with fond eyes and you glow under his gaze, dipping your head to hide away from his abruptly intimidating stare and lay your temple against his chest. You can hear the rhythmic thumping of his heart against his rib cage and sigh at the comforting noise.

“That’s a deal, Munson.”

The air is empty and silent, a calm, welcome quiet that permeates after all of the kids have left and gone home, likely recounting the events of the night with their friends or family. You and Eddie, on the other hand, are working to tidy the place; you're climbing onto chairs and tables to swipe paper streamers and tinsel ribbons from where they’re taped to the ceiling and pillars, and Eddie sweeps up fallen snacks and any glitter that has trailed along the floor. You hum David Bowie to yourself as you crumple the paper and the plastic into your hands and toss it into the bin.

You do the best you can with only two pairs of hands and figure what you’ve accomplished is substantial for the night as you walk towards the bleachers, plopping yourself onto one of the benches and leaning back against the one behind you to rest your head in your folded arms. Eddie trudges towards where you sit, after tossing the broom into the corner, and slumps into the space next to you, propping his elbows along the same bench you rest your head on.

He slants his head to look down at your weary body and lets a tender smile pull at his lips and dimple his cheeks.

“You have a fun time, kid?” he appeals, luring you out of your burrow.

You nod into your arms and hum, turning your head so your face is revealed to him as you peel your eyes open and offer him a sleepy smile. You reach a groggy hand out and place it over his.

“Thank you for dancing with me.” It comes out hushed and a little raspy.

He takes a better hold of your hand, flipping his and wrapping his fingers around yours to rub his thumb over your knuckles and the soft joints of your fingers, the skin radiating a healthy warmth.

“It was my pleasure,” he smiles, before teasing, “Gave me a hell of a workout.”

You giggle at his joke before righting yourself and stretching your arms out in front of you like a cat, releasing his hand as you do it and scrunching your face as the tension releases from your body. When you finish, you stand, taking his hand back in your hold and encouraging him up with a ginger tug.

“C’mon, time to clock out.”

He complies and stands with some effort, creaky joints groaning as he places his free hand on his knee and lifts himself. As you walk to the double doors and click off the remaining lights you don't feel the need to let go of his hand, even if it makes locking up the gymnasium a little bit harder.

Taglist:

@guessthestrangers

@dadsbongos

@lunatictardis

538 notes · View notes

selene-and-the-cold · 7 months

Text

Taking a Ride (OCs, M/M)

Good evening, snzblr.

I successfully talked myself into fleshing out that Victorian carriage ride scenario a bit more. In a perfect universe, I would take enough time to make it the perfect fic. In that universe, I would write a first draft, then edit this, let it rest for a few more days, then re-edit, and edit some more until it was perfect, but since these past few weeks are the first time I've written anything in AGES and I don't trust this muse to be around forever, I am currently working on the premise: getting it done "ok" is better than getting nothing done at all.

Therefore, I do present the very fresh and un-beta-ed version of this little ficlet, featuring two spanking new OCs Silas and Albert, who did not exist 12 hours ago, yet here they are, making out in a carriage.

Thank you so much @empresskaze for solving my name-conondrum. I literally spent half the day not writing, but fussing over the name for one of the main characters and probalby wouldn't have gotten anything done if it weren't for your wonderful suggestion!

***

Taking a Ride

"Alright, but you've got to promise to be quiet, Bertie“ Lord Silas admonished, and was rewarded with another giggle from his dear friend the Honorable Sir Albert Percival Wardington. Perhaps they should have left their Gentlemen's Club one drink sooner when Albert had still been mainly sober. But it was no use lamenting now that the damage had been done and Albert sat opposite him in the carriage, all tipsy giggles.

"My coachman has excellent hearing, so we've got to be quiet to be discreet.“

"I know, I knowwwww, I'll be as quiet as a mouse, you can trust me, Sy, I promise!,“ Albert declared, then pretended to lock his lips with an invisible key, hiccuped and giggled once again.

“Alright, I believe you. You are in luck that I've been missing you so terribly while you were away on business in Cardiff, my dear Albert... Otherwise I might not have agreed to take you back to your town house in my carriage with me tonight.”

Albert sniffled thickly. “Mbuch obliged...”

“Ah, but I presume I have to come over to your side of the carriage, my dear,” Silas mused, “Otherwise this wouldn't be a true reunion, would it~ ?”

It was scandalous enough as it was that Albert was so visibly, undeniably tipsy, but now to be sharing his carriage with him, doing what they were... well... planning to do? Many a good God-fearing Christian matron would be utterly scandalised.

Fortunately, no good God-fearing Christian matrons were present at the moment, so Silas proceeded to sit on Albert's lap, straddling him, and holding his silken cravat as a kind of rein to keep himself steady.

„Now Bertie, that's much better, isn't it?“

Albert nodded, then sniffled suddenly and rubbed his nose against his palm before he answered.

"Mbuch better. You were so very far away all evening, especially during that awfully boring game of charades.“

"Alas, they assigned me to the other team or else we could have been seated next to each other,“ Silas agreed, making himself comfortable on Albert's lap. Albert grinned, his gaze only a little bit out of focus, then grabbed Silas' buttocks to steady him as well as to make up for all the time without the opportunity of touching each other. Silas gave a little high-pitched squeal, at which Albert tutted. "Sshhhhh.... you've got to be quiet, Sy, or your coachman will hear you! snfff Don't you remember?“

Silas playfully swatted Albert's shoulder at his reprimanding words. "Oh, you! Perhaps you should attempt finding a way to ensure that I'll be quiet from now on, then...”

"With pleasure,“ Albert murmured, his lips so close to Silas's that he could feel his hot, urgent breath crest against them. Albert smelled of brandy, lavender and sandalwood, topped off with some of the cigar-smoke that permeated the Gentlemen's club, and that special something Silas couldn't quite place, but that was Albert's very own scent, which reminded Silas of long walkds through the forest. In short – like a heady, absolutely delicious mix.

The next thing he knew, Albert closed the gap between them and kissed him passionately, hot lips burning against his, while Albert's fingers dug a little deeper into his buttocks.

Silas smirked into their kiss as he could feel Albert's reaction to his closeness grow underneath himself. It seemed that Albert could not restrain himself as good as he usually could while he was tipsy. Or perhaps Albert had missed him just as much as Silas had missed Albert.

“Careful, we cannot afford getting too carried away. You need to be in a state that allows you to leave the carriage as a respectable man once we arrive at your town house,” Silas admonished still the voice of reason despite how much he wanted Albert. It had been weeks since they'd spent a night together. Silas longed for Albert's familiar weight next to him in bed, but it was tricky to steal a night for themselves without it being too obvious. Fortunately, they were both bachelors, so there were only neighbours and servants to worry about, not wives.

“Mmhmm.. I don't want to be respectable,”Albert protested, sloppily kissing a trail down Silas' neck. “I want to be thoroughly wanton and outrageously indecent-...ehh....hehh... Heh'SSHHuH!”

Without much warning, Albert had sneezed all over Silas's neck, who sat stock-still for a moment, his pulse throbbing in his veins. Hell's teeth, this had felt surprisingly good.

“B- Bless you,” Silas stammered after a few moments, relaxing once more.

“I'b sorry...” Albert sniffled thickly against his neck, his voice sounding decidedly stuffy all of a sudden. “I think I caught a bit of a chill id Cardiff. It was ghastly cold 'n rainy while I was there.. Hehhh....ESSHhhTsshU! Ugh... pardon mbe.”

Another sneeze muffled right into Silas, who sighed in a sudden bout of pleasure, then pulled away afterwards to take a proper look at Albert's sniffly face. This close, he could see the dark circles under Albert's beautiful blue eyes, and the slight touch of pink around the edges of his nose.

“Mhm.. it seems you did indeed catch a chill, my dear Bertie,” Silas cooed, taking Albert's face in his hands to study it with more scrutiny. ”Judging from the way you look, it is no small chill, either... but don't fret, I'll keep you warm and distracted until you're home~”

With that, Silas tugged at Albert's cravat to reel him in for another kiss, deep and slow this time. A little voice in the back of his head told him that sticking his tongue down the throat of a sick man was probably not the best idea, but this was his Bertie, who had been gone for far too long and who was in dire need of some comfort, so sod all the qualms about getting sick as well.

The carriage rumbled over the cobblestone streets while the two men continued to kiss and caress in the back of it. Hands and mouths traveled through soft hair and warm skin, dipped under folds of expensive fabric to explore, tease, and tickle as the two men celebrated their reunion.

A few times, Silas had to shush Albert, whose usually calm demeanour somehow melted away in the throws of passion. So much so that Silas had had to resort to stuffing a cravat in Albert's mouth once before. Fortunately, no such measures had to be taken today, and Albert could be silenced by hushing and kisses alone.

As the carriage rolled over a particularly bumpy part of road, all the jostling created an interesting friction between Silas' and Albert's laps, their bodies rubbing delightfully against each other. Albert giggled yet again, then bucked his hips with Silas on top of him, before he asked with a most seductive little pout: “Dod't you think you could sndeak out of the carriage and come home with mbe, Sy? Just for tonight?”

Albert's voice was heavy with congestion by now, and he had barley finished his question, when a pitiful sneeze shuddered through him, sending both himself and Silas a little forward in his seat.

“Hehh'ERRrrSSHHU'!!!”

“Mhm, bless you again,” Silas purred, pulling a fine handkerchief from his suit pocket to dab at Albert's nose. It had started to run considerably at some point during their heated kisses, but there simply just had not been the right moment to take care of it. Silas had been far too distracted by Albert's hands, lips, teeth, and tongue all over him. Now that things calmed down a bit, Silas took a moment to take in Albert's features. He was quite pale, except for he wonderful blush that their shenanigans and perhaps the slightes touch of fever had painted on his cheeks. He looked utterly delicious and adorable and Silas regretted more than anything that he would have to decline.

“I'm afraid I can't, Bertie. There is an important meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning. My father wrote to inform me that he'll travel down from our country estate to meet me tomorrow morning. Apparently, he wants to have a word regarding some urgent business. I'm sure it's terribly boring, but I am obliged to attend.”

Being a second son, Silas mostly had the pleasure and leasure to do as he pleased. No one excpected him to marry and produce an heir. This was all taken care of by his older brother Reginald, thank God! In fact, no one expected anything much of him, but Silas was not the type of person to waste his life away in complete idleness, so he took an interest in the family affairs and supported his father and brother in running the family estate as well as managing their land and tenants.

“Besides, I do belive you should take some time to rest, my dear. If I were to join you, you'd surely not get remotely as much rest as this cold of yours demands.”

Albert pouted, then sniffled dramatically, congestion shifting audibly as he did.

“Promise you'll get plenty of rest tomorrow?,” Silas asked softly, cupping Albert's cheek. Their joined carriage ride was almost over as the carriage had just turned into Albert's street.

“Only if you prombise to visit mbe od mby sickbed as soon as that dastardly business with your father is done and dealt with.”

“I will, I promise,” Silas assured, then stole one last tender kiss before the carriage began to slow down.

The two men hastily smoothed away any signs of disarray from their clothes as well as their faces, so that Albert emerged a few moments later from the carriage with his usual mask of bland disinterest in place, seeming for all the world that nothing noteworthy had happened that night – except for a few too many drinks and the early stages of a terribly contagious headcold.

#Colds #Snz #Basically two guys getting it on in a carriage while one of them is coming down with a cold #my writing #Silas x Albert #OCs #tipsy snz #contagion

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scary-lasagna · 21 days

Note

KITTY!!! I humbly request a Zalgo and Slender fic 👀👀 smut if you may 🫣

I've never written smutty m/m but HOO

good golly

contains: sexual tension, a follow-up with nitty gritty in part II bc kitty didn't want it to be so long

also i am posting this now because I haven't posted yesterday nor today so part II will likely be following up this week :]

A Business Meeting [Zalgo/Slender - NSFW]

"I'm not quite sure that I'm following."

Slender sat at a six person table, a long elegant piece of granite. Zalgo sat at the other end, only two chair length's away, his hands clasped in front of him.

The demon had shrunk out of politeness, adapting to Slender's height versus the usual 12-foot stature he carried. Despite the rips and tears littering the webbing of his bat-like wings, they looked well-kept and proper for a demon of his status. Embezzled with jewels, chains, and gold clips for the rare occasion of a meeting with his enemy.

Slender felt wildly underdressed for the occasion, and he knew this was only one of the many mind games Zalgo would play on him. Even so, Slender couldn't help but adjust his 24k gold cufflinks out of a nervous habit.

Zalgo's wings fluttered as he straightened his shoulders ever so slightly, puffing out his broad frame. A sharp jawline, good figure, crooked nose, a dangerous look in his eye, and a bit of charisma were all Zalgo ever needed to get his way about things.

But Slender wouldn't be backing down this time.

Imagine spending one of your few days off, sitting on opposite sides of a table, in enemy territory, staring down this vile creature that refuses to wipe that shitty smirk off his face. Zalgo has Slender right where he wants him, and Slender knows, and Zalgo knows that he knows.

This is why Slender must win this little game of the King.

"Then perhaps I shall elaborate, dearest friend." The demon hummed, placing his elbows onto the black granite of the stretched meeting table. "Allow me to think." He pitched his fingers together in a tent and pressed his fingertips towards each other, grazing his knuckles with his claws. Zalgo closed his eyes briefly, his mind flickering with all the possible outcomes for his next arrangement of words.

Slender continued staring at the supposed king, taking in a sharp breath. This might have been the closest they've been in ages, alone. In fact, if he so wished, Zalgo was just a tendril length away from being choke-slammed across the room. Slender attempted to block the thoughts of what Zalgo would look like being choked. Alas, he failed and must advert his gaze to the webbed granite.

"I beg you to elaborate before I grow too old." Although the mental picture of Zalgo enjoying being choked occupied his mind, Slender must admit that his patience had worn thin since he stepped into Zalgo's territory. Besides listening to the screams of The Pit on his walk to the castle, the king's consistent mind games have been irritating him.

How Slender wished to shut him up with the taste of his-

"I'm terribly sorry to be the one to break the news, but you're already very old and decrepit."

"Considering how many years you have ahead of me, I suggest limiting time spent on your mundane activities such as thinking." Slender straightened his tie in an attempt to loosen the grip it currently had around his neck. Or maybe that was the phantom of the thought of what it would feel like had Zalgo been choking him instead.

Zalgo huffed shortly, irritated by such incompetence, "If you believe two minutes is a lengthy sum of time, I pity whatever poor creature must share the bed with you."

Slender's jaw tensed. This stupid, stupid demon. Sexy, too, but mostly stupid. If Slender ever wished he could express a face, he would have wished to smirk back at Zalgo at this very moment.

"Your Grace, you of all people should remember how that isn't true." Slender's voice lulled, a slow, captivating tone that dripped with condescendence.

Zalgo smoothly yet dangerously looked toward Slender. Had he really heard him correctly?

"I believe we vowed to not speak of it, my dear friend." Zalgo dropped his hands to the table, intertwining his fingers. His own claws scraped his midnight-tainted skin. Getting blood on his suit was the least of his concerns now.

"And I believe you vowed to keep your minions out of my territory unprompted, yet here we are." This was a clever retort. Slender hoped this would make Zalgo uncomfortable enough to drop the subject altogether. It was a pitiful prayer, but something that might just work. The Tall Man leaned back in his seat, flexing his hips to cross his leg comfortably under the table.

Zalgo was uncomfortable, alright. But it had nothing to do with the memory of so many nights ago. No, no. The tent in his pants has become absolutely painful.

He liked it.

"Slender, you are playing a very dangerous game that I am not quite sure you'd like to win."

"I would win."

A quiet yet dangerous silence slithered around them. A challenge.

Zalgo always enjoyed those.

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta imagines #creepypasta blog #slender #zalgo x slender #creepypasta x reader #spicy

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burgundybmw · 2 years

Text

Teenage Dream

Masterlist

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Hopper!Reader

Word Count: 8,643

Warnings: Smut (if you are under 18, or not a fan of it, don’t read in between the ***. this fic is mostly plot, so skipping it won't make things confusing moving forward), Drunk Fingering (I don’t condone this, but they’re the same level of intoxicated, and there is enthusiastic consent given the circumstances), Mentions of past bad sexual encounter (not SA, not Steve), Steve's shitty Dad (allusions to abusive parenting, very brief), This is mostly very fluffy!

Summary: Y/N Harrington, née Hopper, is trying to navigate her life as a newly married woman. Telling the people she loves how Steve and her got drunk and married in Vegas, figuring out what their next steps are gonna be, and moving the Byers to California. Steve and Y/N decide to follow them on the drive to help them move, and Y/N finds herself caught between falling for her husband, and guarding her heart from him.

Author’s Note: This is Part 2 of Waking Up in Vegas! I got so much love for that fic I decided to make this, and there will be a third and final part titled Dark Horse, so stay tuned for that!

Also, I originally wrote the smut scene in one shot, then Tumblr decided to pull some bullshit and deleted it. I spent over an hour trying to get it back with no success, so I had to rewrite it. I hope you guys like it, I’ve never written smut before, and now I've done it twice.

Y/N Hopper always had a vision of what her wedding day would look like. She imagined her dad walking her down the aisle, tears clearly visible in his eyes, but he would deny their existence. She would wear a beautiful white dress, lace, maybe some tulle. A full bouquet of flowers and a long veil covering her face. She imagined the ceremony out somewhere in nature, with flowers both natural and store bought surrounding them. Everyone she loves all gathered together, and the groom would wait for her at the other end of the aisle. Y/N didn't know if he'd be crying too, or if he would have a big giddy smile on his face, maybe a mixture of both. His eyes were always filled with love when she thought about it. They would say their hand written vows, a love letter to each other, before they would say I Do. There would be a kiss, and he would dip her with such flare like it was straight out of the movies. Well, at least the last one came true.

The night Y/N Hopper, now Y/N Harrington, got married she barely remembered it. A drunken fiasco in Las Vegas. Steve was her husband now, by law. Apparently, the state of Nevada doesn't accept severe intoxication as a valid reason to null the marriage. The newlyweds spent the Sunday after the wedding trying to figure out what their next move was. They both decided to wait until they got back to Hawkins to tell people what happened. From there they were sure the news would spread around town.

Steve insisted on replacing the class ring with two gold bands. He said that if they were legally married they should look married, and Y/N agreed. She asked him why he wanted to, considering they'd divorce as quickly as they could when they got home. Steve got quiet then, until he said that despite being near black out drunk when he did it, he made a vow to her. He would be loyal to her until the divorce went through, and he wanted other people to know that too. Y/N was speechless, she thought he wouldn't want to be tied down to her. Y/N told him he was free do whatever he wanted, that just because they were technically married that didn't mean she wanted to be his ball and chain. Steve looked offended when she said it, and he told her to never refer to herself as that again. They were friends, best friends, she would never be a ball and chain to him. They were partners in crime now, until they signed the papers that said they weren't. After they bought the gold bands she kept his class ring on a chain around her neck, she didn't know why, maybe for sentimental value.

The return to Hawkins was a nightmare. Steve called everyone and had them meet at his house, his parents were out of town and he had the space. That's when they broke the news about what happened. Dustin was the most upset, he said he wanted to be Steve's best man at his wedding, and was sad that he wasn't invited. It took 15 minutes for him to calm down, and Steve told him that he would be his best man the next time he had a ceremony. It was interesting, how he said it. Not a new marriage, or a new wife... a new ceremony. Y/N didn't know what he meant by that, but she didn't question it.

Robin couldn't stop herself from laughing, she was in tears, absolutely hysterical. She wanted to know all of the dirty details, and Steve told her he'd talk to her in private later. Y/N liked Robin, she was a cool girl, but she couldn't help feel a bit threatened by her. Steve and her got very close very quickly, and she felt like she was being replaced. She never told Steve any of this, and she never will.

Nancy had walked out of the room after Y/N and Steve had first said they were married, Jonathan following closely behind. Steve had watched her leave, and it nearly tore Y/N to shreds. She didn't doubt Nancy was happy with Jonathan, but there was a part of her that believed that Nancy might have regretted breaking up with Steve. That maybe he was the right person, but it wasn't the right time. He was her first love, and that kind of love stays with you. Y/N had a feeling, a rotten feeling deep down inside her, that as soon as the divorce papers were finalized Steve would realize that he should be with Nancy. That it would light a fire under his ass and he would try to win her back. She would still be friends with him if that happened, but it would gut her to see them together again. It took while for Jonathan to convince Nancy to come back, so they could finished explaining what happened. She didn't look upset, but Nancy was always good under pressure.

Eleven, Mike, Lucas, and Max were the most confused out of everyone. They gave Steve a bit of shit for it, but were overall quiet throughout the conversation. Joyce on the other hand had a lot to say.

Joyce told everyone to leave before she sat down and lectured the newlyweds. How much of a responsibility marriage is, how it's not something you can do on a whim. Y/N could tell she was disappointed in them, even if she tried not to show it. It was the type of concern only a mother would have for her kids, and she was a mother figure to Y/N ever since the demogorgon first appeared in Hawkins. When Hopper died, she checked in with Y/N daily. She told her that she could move to California with the rest of the Byers family, but Y/N turned it down. She couldn't leave the little cabin she lived in with her dad. Now with the money she won from Vegas, she could finally fix it up. It's what her dad would have wanted. In the end, Joyce told her and Steve she loved them both and would be there for them every step of the way, whatever they decided.

Murray had only one thing to say, and Y/N still didn't understand what he meant. He said "I was right before, and I don't doubt I will be right again." Murray had always been cryptic, so Y/N didn't waist energy trying to figure it out. Once they all left for the evening, Steve asked Y/N to stay. His parents would be home from his father's business trip in a couple days, and he still had no idea what he was going to say to them. Y/N could tell Steve was terrified of talking to his dad, so she stayed the night. They came up with a plan, and it completely went to shit.

The day the Harringtons came home Y/N and Steve were in the living room waiting for them. The other Mr. and Mrs. Harrington were puzzled as to why Y/N was there, Steve had told them to sit down, and that's when hell broke loose.

"I'll pay for it." Mr. Harrington had said, voice cold and unnerving. Steve hadn't even opened his mouth to tell them what happened when his dad interrupted.

"I'm sorry, pay for what?" Y/N asked.

"The abortion. I'll pay for it. That's what this is about right? My idiot son knocked you up? There's no shot in hell you're keeping it, so I'll pay for it to get taken care of." He said it with no emotion in his voice, like he was talking about doing his taxes. Steve tightened his grip around Y/N's hand, he had been holding it ever since they heard the keys jingle in the door.

"First of all, if Y/N was pregnant that would be her choice. Not yours. Ever. Second of all, she's not. That's not what this is about." Steve said with barely contained anger.

"Thank god, the thought of you as a father would make all the hair on my head turn gray." Mr. Harrington said in relief. Now it was Y/N's turn to get angry.

"Steve would be an excellent father. Now, a year from now, or 10 plus years from now. You should see how he is with the kids, he's amazing with them. He always makes sure they're safe and happy, and they all adore him. I am so proud to see how much Steve has grown over the past few years, and you should be too." Y/N said, her voice strong and unwavering. Steve looked at her like she hung the moon for him, and his mother saw it. Then she noticed the rings on their fingers.

"What did you two do?" Mrs. Harrington said in shock. She pointed the rings to her husband, and the man became as pale as a ghost.

"We're married. It wasn't planned, and we're still figuring it all out, what to do next, but we both thought you should know." Steve said calmly. The silence was thick around them, before Mr. Harrington stood up and walked to the kitchen. He poured himself a three fingers of bourbon and swallowed it all in one gulp.

"Y/N you should leave, I need to speak with my son alone." He sounded angry, a quiet angry, dangerous angry.

"Anything you can say to him you can say to me. We're in this together." Y/N stood up in front of Steve, who was still sitting on the couch. She had fought monsters from a different dimension for three years now, this man didn't scare her in the slightest.

"Go Y/N." Steve said quietly. She turned around, a protest at the ready on her lips, before she saw the look on his face. He had a thousand yard stare, looking into the distance like he knew what was about to happen, and he didn't want her to see it.

"But Steve-"

"Go. It's alright. I'll.. I'll talk to you later okay?" Steve interrupted. His eyes on her now, begging her to listen to him. Y/N didn't want to leave, she wanted to be there for him, but Steve was shaking his head at her. His pretty lips were sucked between his teeth, he looked scared. Y/N saw Steve walk into so many fights, ones where he thought he could win, and ones he knew he would lose, but every time he had a brave face. Not this time.

"Listen to him girl. Go. This is a family matter." said Mr. Harrington.

"I am family now. I married your son." Mr. Harrington looked vicious after she said it. "But if Steve wants me to leave, I'll respect his wishes." She got on her knees in front of Steve, she placed the hand where the shiny gold band rested on her finger on his knee, and looked up at him.

"Are you sure?" She asked, voice soft and patient. Steve nodded, and with a sigh Y/N got up to leave. She told him to call her if he needed anything and went to drive home.

A few hours later Y/N heard a knock on the cabin door, or what was left of it. There was plain plywood covering all of the holes, but you could still get in and out with little issue. She opened the door to find Steve standing there, his face was red and blotchy but he looked alright otherwise. Y/N let him in and gave him a hug, and the pained gasp he let out when she squeezed him tight made her heart break. Steve told her he didn't want to talk about it, but Y/N had an idea about what happened. They had banana splits for dinner.

Steve stayed inside the damaged cabin for a few days, and Y/N did everything within her power to take care of him. When he asked why she was doing so much for him, she said that's what wives do. They take care of their husbands. Steve went quiet, but when Y/N sat down on the couch after trying to turn the new TV she bought on, he wrapped an arm around her, and kissed the side of her temple. They didn't talk about it, Y/N didn't want to pry and Steve didn't mention it. Things got better after that.

Steve and Robin got hired at the Hawkins Family Video, Steve came home to Y/N with a giant smile on his face. Y/N had hired a contractor to fix the cabin, and she was assisting the process. They both decided it was cause to celebrate, so they went out to dinner to Enzo's. Steve talked about how excited he was to work with Robin again, and Y/N bit down the jealousy that rose in her throat. She was happy for Steve, truly and honestly, but she couldn't help it. Y/N told him she was considering taking up the newly hired Chief Powell's offer for being a secretary at the station. He told her that with all of the recent events Hawkins, they could use the extra help. Y/N knew it was because they pitied her, but she was gonna take it anyway. Steve was overjoyed, and that night they went back to the cabin and shared a bottle of Merlot he swiped from his Mom's wine fridge. They both ended up passing out in Y/N's twin sized bed, but neither of them complained.

It was a couple of months into Steve and Y/N's marriage, and the idea of hiring a divorce lawyer kept getting pushed back.

"We'll call them next week." Steve had said at the beginning of August. It was October now. Joyce had bought a new house in California, and they all helped the Byers, plus Eleven, pack up the house. Y/N had asked her sister if she wanted to stay with her in Hawkins, but Eleven had simply said that she was her sister, not her Mama, and that was the end of that.

Y/N was going to follow them on the road to California, and Steve didn't hesitate to come with her. It took a lot of groveling, but Keith gave him the time off. So now they were sitting in Steve's burgundy BMW, on the I-40 heading to Lenora Hills.

Steve was behind the wheel, fingers tapping mindlessly to a random Queen song that was playing on the radio. Y/N had her feet on the dash, the window was down so she could feel the cool desert night air on her face. It was day two of the drive, and they'd been on the road all day following behind the Byers moving truck. They were somewhere in New Mexico, maybe Arizona, Y/N had stopped paying attention to the road signs back in Oklahoma.

That was until she saw a sign that read 500 miles to Las Vegas.

"Should we take a detour?" Steve asked, eyes filled with boyish humor as he looked where Y/N sat.

"Oh ha ha, very funny Stevie." Y/N groaned, fiddling with the gold band on her finger.

"Just a thought, what's the worst thing that could happen?" Steve replied. Y/N looked over to Steve and watched him as he drove, his eyes were half lidded with poorly hidden exhaustion, but he had a small smile on his face as he looked towards the endless road in front of him.

"Well, I don't think we could get drunk married twice. But who knows where another night getting sloshed in Vegas could lead, I might wind up pregnant." Y/N said before she could stop herself. Over the course of the past couple of months, neither Steve nor Y/N brought up what happened that night, when they both got back to the hotel room. Both of them assumed the other didn't remember, but they both knew. Y/N thought about that night often, she could never forget it. That night was burned into the back of her mind forever.

***

Steve couldn't stop touching her. His hands were everywhere, gripping, pulling, caressing every inch of Y/N's body as he kissed her. Y/N had her leg wrapped around his waist as she ran her fingers through his hair, it was just as soft as she thought it was. They were both in the elevator heading back to their hotel room, the duffle bag of winnings kept banging into Y/N's hip, but neither of them cared. Their drunken minds too preoccupied with each other than their surroundings.

Y/N could vaguely hear the chimes of the elevator going up each floor, but she could barely pay attention to it when Steve started trailing kisses down her neck. Every nerve in her body was singing, she could feel the stubble on his chin drag across the plains of her skin. He started sucking on her neck, and Y/N couldn't control the moan that left her throat.

"Steve." Y/N whined, and he only stopped leaving the mark on her throat to groan as she said his name.

"Say it again." Steve ordered, voice husky and slightly slurred. He bit down on curve of her neck, and Y/N felt her knees buckle.

"Steve!" She moaned, so loud she was sure everyone in the building could hear what they were doing.

"Fuck, don't stop." Steve pressed his leg in between Y/N's open thighs, and that's when she felt it. The length of his hard cock was pressed against her, straining against his black dress pants. She slid her hips against it, heat pooling deep inside of her.

"Steve, Steve, Steve." She chanted as she rubbed herself against him. Steve started kissing her again, it was sloppy, wet, filled with tongue and teeth. Y/N didn't want it to stop.

The doors of the elevator opened, and he didn't hesitate to drag her across the hallway to the door of their room. They kept switching places with each passing door, with either Steve shoving Y/N against the wall or her shoving him. When they finally got to the door Steve let out a groan.

"We, fuck, we.. we never found my key." Steve whined.

"I have... I have mine. It's, uh, it's in my purse." Y/N replied as she turned away from him to open the door.

"You're a fucking genius Y/N. A goddamn, miracle." Steve said as he wrapped his arms around her middle, pressing his chest against her back. Y/N struggled to open the door, her mind fuzzy with alcohol and the feeling of Steve's cock pressed against her ass. She finally got the door open, and he all but shoved her inside.

It was a bit of a blur then, she remembers Steve throwing the duffle bag somewhere on the couch, and Y/N complaining that she felt sweaty. That's when she remembered Steve filling the hot tub, Y/N was on her knees trying to take off his jacket. She slowly peeled off every layer of his clothing until he was left in his boxers and socks. Y/N could see the tent that formed inside his white Calvin's, a wet spot at the very tip. She wanted to lick it.

"Turn around baby." Steve instructed. Y/N followed his order and turned away from him, he slowly unzipped her dress and lifted it over her head, tossing it somewhere in the room. She turned back around and Steve started kissing her again. The tub was full then, and he slowly stepped inside, leading her to join him. She didn't stop kissing him once.

The tub was warm and bubbly, Y/N was straddling Steve's lap, her hips grinding against him. She didn't know if it was her that was moaning or him, but she didn't care either way. She just had to keep touching him. She felt like if she stopped touching him, Steve was going to disappear.

"Can, shit, can I?" Steve asked, his fingers flicking the band of Y/N's bra. She nodded and started kissing him again, but he stopped her.

"I-I need to hear you say it. Please baby, I need to hear it." Steve begged.

"Yes, please, Steve, please." Y/N whined, kissing him between every word. She could feel him smile through the kiss as he skillfully undid her bra. She felt the straps slowly fall down her shoulders, before it started to float away in the jets. Y/N pressed her bare chest against his, not once stopping the slow rhythm of her hips as she grinded against him.

Steve had one hand gripping her hip tightly, while the other moved up to touch her chest. Y/N could feel the smooth touch of his fingertips as they lightly dusted across her nipple. She couldn't control the full body shiver she let out, and she couldn't control the loud moan that left her lips when Steve lowered his mouth to lick it.

Y/N let her head fall back with a whine, wanton and desperate. She arched her back, and Steve planted wet kisses across both of her breasts.

"Y/N, f-fuck, please. Can I please touch you." Steve begged in her chest, his kisses trailing upwards again towards her neck. "I'm gonna make a mess in here if you keep movin' like that. Please baby, let me touch you. I'll make it sooo good for you, I promise Y/N. Just let me in." She could hardly think, she was hot, too hot. All she could feel was heat, inside her, around her, just so much heat.

"Yes, yes please. I don't care if it hurts, just touch me." Y/N pleaded.

The first and only time Y/N had sex was when she was 17. His name was Sean McLaughlin, a rookie cop at the Hawkins police department. He used to flirt with her when she'd visit her dad at the station, he was freshly 19. He asked her out on a couple dates, and she hid it from her dad, his boss. She lost her virginity in the back of his pick up truck out by Lover's Lake. It hurt at first, and didn't feel very good throughout, but he said that was normal for girls. And she believed him. It was a week later that Sean announced he was leaving Hawkins for Indianapolis, she never heard from him again.

"Hurts? What, uh, what are you talking about?" Steve asked, his kisses coming to a complete stop.

"It's supposed to hurt for girls, I- I know. It's okay, as long as it's you." Y/N replied. She looked down to see Steve staring at her, his half lidded eyes sad and angry. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, caging her to him.

"I don't know who the fuck told you that bullshit, but it's not supposed to hurt. It's supposed to feel good." Steve replied. Y/N didn't want to ruin the moment, so she rubbed her hips against Steve's length, hard, and swallowed the choked gasp that escaped his lips.

"Then show me Stevie, show me how it's meant to be." Y/N whispered in his ear, pulling the lobe in between her teeth.

Steve wasted zero time in pulling her white lace panties off of her. She could feel the delicate fabric slowly inch down, before she was forced to lift her hips out of the water. He struggled to get them off for a moment, and it made Y/N giggle watching his face warp in frustration, like her underwear personally offended him. Once they were finally free off of her body, Steve swung the damp fabric around his finger, a smug smile on his face. He pulled the string back like a sling shot, and launched it to the other side of the room. Before Y/N could complain, Steve brought his lips against hers. Her head was spinning, and all she could focus on was the feeling of Steve’s fingers trailing down her middle.

His touch was feather light as he ghosted her skin, she barely felt him grace the trimmed hairs between her legs. Y/N desperately wanted him to move quicker, press harder. She tried to grind against his hand, but the firm grip he had on her hip kept in her place. She was stuck, and had to be patient.

Steve's fingers were slow, moving with a purpose. She felt them tread lightly against her pussy, warm and wet from the bubbling water around her. She was whining, begging him to do something. He chuckled, and finally gave in. She felt him flip his wrist and cup her right where she wanted him, his palm pressing hard against her clit.

"Yes, yes, more, please, please, please." Y/N was babbling, desperate and shameless with her begging. Steve kept his hand there, gently moving it up and down against her.

"You want some more sweet girl?" Steve hummed, perfectly content with keeping his pace. He was driving Y/N crazy.

"Yes, God, Steve, more I-I need more." That's when she felt it, his long finger pushing inside of her. Steve's thumb was rubbing gentle circles on her clit, pumping the digit slowly in and out, in, and, out. Y/N tried to lift her hips up, slide up and down on his hand, but Steve's grip never faltered. She loved it, she hated, she needed him to get a move on.

"Fuck, Steve." She whined, Steve finally letting up on his grip as he pushed another finger inside her. Y/N began bounding on his hand, back arched and chest fully on display in front of his face. He left kisses everywhere he could touch, maintaining a steady rhythm with his fingers.

Everything was too much, too much and not enough. She could feel her tits bouncing with every thrust of her hips, moans and whines escaping from her mouth without her control. She had never felt like this before, sexy, reeling with pleasure. Y/N ran her fingers through Steve's hair, and pulled.

"Fuuck, that's it Y/N, good girl. Keep going, s-shit, you're squeezin' the life out of me." Steve groaned, his pace growing faster and faster, pumping in and out of her. He could feel how soft, warm, and wet she was, how incredible she looked in the throws of ecstasy. He was sucking on her neck, gripping her ass as she rode his hand. Y/N didn't think anything could ever feel this good, that was, until Steve curled his fingers and pressed on something so deep inside her it felt like she was about to explode.

"Yes! Steve, Steve, right there. Don't stop, please, right there, right there. Fuck, don't stop!" Screw the hotel, Y/N was moaning so loud surely all of Las Vegas could hear her. Something was building inside her. Her pussy was pulsing, throbbing, with every thrust of Steve's fingers. A molten heat was spreading thick in her veins. She was on the razor's edge of bliss, she just needed a little more, just a little more and she'd be there.

"You close sweet girl? Gonna cum for me? You're doing soo fucking good, baby. Please Y/N, fuck let me see it. I need to see it. Cum for me. Let me see my wife cum on her husband's fingers." Steve begged, his fingers maintaining the same mind melting rhythm inside of her. A few more thrusts and she was over the edge, waves of intense pleasure washing over her. She was cumming harder than she ever had before, it just went on and on and on as he worked her through it.

"There it is, perfect, fucking sublime. You look so gorgeous like this Y/N. Oh God, I could do this all day, every day, all fucking night. Watch you cum over and over again, I'd never get tired of it. So good, you did so good for me." Steve praised, pressing gentle kisses on her face. She never felt this good before, didn't think she'd ever feel this good again. It was so much, it filled her, consumed her whole. The waves trickled down as Steve slowed his fingers, Y/N's body collapsing into him.

She remembers Steve pulling his fingers out of her, and asking her something. She didn't remember what he said, but she did remember him softly chuckling to himself as he clumsily carried her out of the tub. His legs wobbly and unsteady as he grabbed a towel for her.

Steve got her dressed and tucked her into bed, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead before he walked away. Y/N was barely conscious, but she would never forget watching him walk to the bathroom, sopping wet boxers clinging to his ass. She watched him slowly lower them onto the tile floor, before taking his cock in hand and finishing himself off. Y/N could see Steve's beautiful face through his reflection on the bathroom mirror, gorgeous chest and stomach on display, but not what laid underneath. She felt like a voyeur, watching Steve pleasure himself, but her drunken mind didn't care. She needed to see him cum, see what he looked like when he did.

After a few minutes she got her wish. Steve came into the palm of his own hand, his pretty pink lips in the shape of an 'o' as he did. He threw all of himself into it, head back, throat exposed, spine arched in bliss. Steve was vocal. Deep moans, whines and groans escaping his lips as he came.

It was rapturous, and Y/N passed out seconds later.

***

"Don't want to start on our six little Harringtons quite yet Y/N?" Steve jested as he drove. Y/N shook herself out of the fantasy, it wasn't the time nor place for a lustful stroll down memory lane.

"Please, I'm pretty sure we'd put your father in an early grave if I came home from this trip knocked up." She said with a note of relief. Y/N was grateful that their friendship hadn't been ruined, despite the colossal elephant in the room. Getting married was one thing, hooking up was something else entirely. You could write the marriage off as a drunken mistake, but the intimacy they shared in that tacky hotel room couldn't be, at least not for her.

Y/N wasn't naive, she knew Steve had experience. He had girlfriends, casual hook ups, a one night stand or more. It shouldn't bother her, didn't bother her, but it was different for Y/N. Her one experience was nothing compared to what she did with Steve. He took care of her, in more ways than one, and took nothing from her for himself. That night tilted Y/N's world on its axis, and the gravitational pull she felt for Steve only got stronger when her memories of that night returned to her. She feared that Steve was becoming her Sun, and she the lonely moon, basking in his light as she's drawn into him by a magnetic pull. Bit by bit Steve was placing himself as the center of her universe, but two celestial bodies don't make a solar system. She was just one fragment of Steve's life, and the thought ate away at her like an all consuming black hole.

"You're probably right. Wouldn't want to send my old man to meet his maker just yet, what a horrible tragedy that would be." Steve said, heavy sarcasm strung throughout. Y/N couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of her situation. Here she was, driving to California with her legal husband Steve Harrington, joking around about having kids and his shitty dad. It made her miss her own father terribly, and suddenly she didn't feel like laughing anymore. She took her legs off the dash and put them in their rightful place on the car floor, all of the easy going feelings draining from her as she sunk her head into the leather headrest.

Steve noticed her quick change of mood, of course he did. He reached over and lightly grabbed the inside of her thigh, just above her knee, rubbing soft circles with his thumb. An innocent touch filled with affection, but Y/N couldn't stop the brief shiver that traveled down her spine. It was so similar to how it was that night.

"Your Dad would be proud of you, ya know." he consoled, "How good you are with El, your work at the station, all that jazz."

"You'd think he'd be proud of me for getting wasted and hitched in Vegas?" Y/N mused, turning her head to face Steve once again. His eyes quickly switched from her to the road, but even in the dark she could see the top of Steve's ear turn pink.

"I'm pretty sure your Dad would have kicked my ass. Shit, I'm almost positive if Mike wasn't 14 he would have knocked him around a bit, so there would be absolutely zero hope for me." Steve began, "You on the other hand? I think he'd just avoid the subject all together and pretend it didn't exist. Hopper didn't seem the type do well with awkward emotional stuff."

"You're certainly right about that one. He had to consult Joyce on anything that required sensitivity after Mom left." Y/N chuckled, "There was this one time, I was around El's age, and I had a massive crush on this boy." Steve whipped his head to face her, eyes scrunched and moody.

"Who?" He asked as he nearly drove the car into the oncoming traffic lane. He adjusted quickly, but Y/N was too busy laughing at him to notice. He sounded like a startled owl when he said it.

"Don't get pissy at me when I tell you." Y/N chastised, even though she knew he would.

"Christ, who was it?" Steve groaned. A part of her didn't want to tell him, but it wouldn't be fair to keep secrets from her legal husband.

"Jonathan Byers." Y/N stated, and it took everything within Steve to not slam his foot on the breaks.

"Jonathan?! Seriously Y/N?!" He complained.

"I told you not to get pissy at me when I told you." Y/N said as she rolled her eyes, knowing the theatrics Steve was about to bestow upon her.

"What is it about Jonathan fucking Byers that gets him all this attention. I mean Jesus Y/N, he was a year below you, how did you even notice him?" Steve tried to control the obvious jealousy in his voice, but he was clearly failing at it.

"Nancy was a year below you and you noticed her." Y/N had a point there, so Steve thought it would be best to keep his mouth shut. "Besides it was 8th grade, that's like ancient history."

"What did Hopper ask Joyce about?" Steve begrudgingly asked, too curious for his own damn good.

"Well as I was saying, before you so rudely interrupted." Steve rolled his eyes, but let her continue on with her story. "I had a huge crush on Jonathan. It all started when he complimented my Science Fair project on general relativity."

"Was that the one where you made outer space out of yarn? With the lead ball and magnets?" Y/N was surprised that he remembered it. The Science Fair was mandatory for all 7th and 8th graders, only of handful of kids got really into it. She spent weeks weaving her own version of the fabric of space, finding different balls with various sizes and weights to display how mass affects gravity. Only a couple of kids showed up to her display, but she didn't remember seeing Steve.

"Yea, how did you know?" Y/N asked, pausing her story once again.

"My display was across from yours. I had the really shitty baking soda volcano, it barely worked." Steve reminisced, "Anyway, continue on about how Jonathan Byers stole your heart over Einstein." He sounded a bit too jaded, but it was too late to dwell on it now.

"Well, he walked up to my display and asked me a bunch of questions on relativity. He was the first person, besides my Dad, who seemed to actually give a shit about what I had to say. It was instant butterflies." Y/N continued on, "I nursed this crush until Valentine's Day, I made him this really dumb card that said You Matter A Lot To Me with three cylinders, but instead of circle particles for each state of matter they were hearts." Hopper lost his mind with how much glitter she spilled on the living room carpet after she was finished with her card. It took weeks to get most of it out, but for years later she'd find a random speck of red glitter floating around as a reminder.

"Let me guess, he didn't like the card?" Steve would never understand it if he didn't, if she made him a card like that he'd put it on a frame on his nightstand till the end of time.

"No, I never gave it to him. I was about to put it in his locker when I saw him give Stacey Maloney a Valentine's Day card. My little 14 year old heart shattered, and I came crying home to Dad. He was completely clueless." Y/N giggled at the memory, "So he calls up Joyce, and after a brief argument of him asking why her son hurt his daughters feelings, he asked her what he should do. I don't know what she told him, but he took me out for ice cream and said I shouldn't cry over a dumb boy because he didn't like me. He tried to do this whole analogy thing about princes and ogres, but I think he got lost in the metaphor. It made me feel better though."

"And I'm assuming Jonathan was the ogre in that situation?" Steve snickered.

"Yea, he was. Does that make you feel better Stevie?" Y/N teased, amused by his thinly veiled annoyance.

"Oh yea, totally." Steve replied with a laugh, "I'm sure where ever Hopper is right now, he's glad you didn't accidentally marry an ogre."

"Does that make you the Prince then?" Meaning the words more seriously than they sounded. Steve looked over to her, a charming smile on his face.

"His excellency, Prince Harrington, at your service."

Steve and Y/N made it to Lenora Hills later than they thought. By the time they unloaded the moving truck it was past dark. Joyce thought the pull out couch she bought would have been delivered by the time they got there, but it never arrived. She felt horrible, apologizing ad nauseam to the two of them, but they didn't mind it. Steve reassured her that they would find a motel somewhere and help them finish unpacking in the morning, and after a few more I'm so sorry's, they were off on the search for a neon vacancy sign. They ended up finding a beachfront motel 30 minutes away that didn't look too bad. Steve took care of booking the room while Y/N dipped her toes into the ocean water.

She had never seen the ocean before, not in person. It was a deep rich navy blue, ripples of bright moonlight scattered across its surface. Y/N thought she could sit and stare at the open ocean for hours.

"I took care of the room, so we're all set there. I saw a convenience store a couple blocks back that looked open, if you want I could grab us something to snack on before bed." Steve said as stood beside her, Nike sneakers in hand.

"Can we eat on the beach? It's a pretty nice night, seems like a waste to stay inside." Y/N asked, eyes still facing the ocean waters. She didn't notice that Steve's eyes weren't focused on the picturesque scenery around them, they were locked on her as she stared at sea in wonder.

"For sure, sweet girl. Anything you want." Y/N felt the heat rush to her cheeks from the endearment, but before she could comment on it Steve handed her the room key and made his way to the car.

The motel room was simple in design, nothing like the room they shared in Vegas. The walls were light blue, cheap art of surf boards and seashells decorated the walls. There was a mini fridge, a small TV, and a circle table big enough for two next to the door. There was one queen sized bed in the center, and Y/N sighed to herself at the bizarre familiarity of it all. Steve had already carried their bags inside, and took the initiative of putting away their toiletries away in the bathroom.

She hopped in the shower to rinse off the sand and grime from a long day's drive, the warm water rejuvenating her skin. As she went through her routine her minded wandered to thoughts Steve, as she often did these days. The way he spoke to her, about her, throughout the trip was bittersweet. It was as if they were a real young married couple. When they stopped for gas she heard him ask the cashier if they had any Reese’s Cups in stock. He told the clerk that they were his wife’s favorite, and no Reese’s Pieces were not the same: “the Mrs. is very particular about her chocolate.”

He did that a lot, refer to her as his wife, refer to himself as her husband. She knew he took the vow seriously, as temporary as it would be, but every time he said it, the lines she so carefully drew in stone were whisked away like the sandy beach just outside their motel room door. Y/N battled with herself about whether or not she should tell him to stop. She wanted to tell him that every time he said it, she wished it were true. That they did everything right, fell in love, went steady, got married with all of their loved ones around them. It was a reminder that even though she had what she wanted, it wasn’t real. It was a drunken mistake, Steve would leave her the second the divorce papers were signed. The more he referred to her as his wife, the less she wanted to be known as his friend. Y/N didn’t think she could handle the heartbreak of losing the man of her dreams while she still had his last name. She never told Steve this, but a few weeks before they left for California she legally changed her name to Harrington. The new driver’s license sat heavy in her wallet, knowing she’d have to change it back eventually. Y/N told herself that it just made things easier until they could call a lawyer, but deep down she knew she wanted proof that on some level, she belonged to Steve, and he belonged to her.

“Y/N? You there?” Steve’s voice rang out through the small motel room.

“Finishing up in the shower Stevie, be right out!” Y/N wrapped her body with a towel and walked outside the bathroom. Steve was scavenging his duffle bag for the beach towel they packed, the six packs of beer and plastic bags filled with goodies he bought from the convenience store scattered around him. She casually waltzed over to her bag and grabbed a pair of jeans and the sweatshirt she stole from Steve after their Vegas trip, and went back to the bathroom to get changed.

"Did you pack the beach towel?" Steve asked after he dumped the contents of his duffle bag on the ground.

"It's in your black duffle bag at the bottom." Y/N shouted from the bathroom as she pulled her legs through her jeans, jumping a bit as she pulled the belt loops up. They were her favorite Levi's, and she shrunk them by accident at the laundromat. They still fit, but they hugged her hips and thighs tighter then normal.

"I just checked and it's not in there." Steve groaned, roughly shoving the stuff back in the bag.

"It's in your other black duffle, with the white seams, not black." Y/N was almost finished getting ready, all she needed to do was roughly blow dry her hair. Steve packed hers specifically, it was another thing she was particular about.

"It's not here." Steve said as he walked into the bathroom, hands on his hips and a grumpy look on his face. Y/N playfully rolled her eyes, Steve could be so dramatic at times. She didn't notice that the frustrated look disappeared as he checked out her ass in the jeans she wore, a pair that quickly became Steve's favorite.

"We put it in the back of the trunk remember? Pretty sure the miniature hospital kit you keep back there is blocking it." She giggled as she finished up with her hair. Steve quickly shot his eyes back up to her face, not wanting to get caught by his stare.

"I've had my ass kicked one too many times to not keep a first aid kit back there. Besides, with all the little buttheads we supervise you can never be too careful." Steve sounded slightly peeved, but there was no denying he would drop everything for those kids if they needed him. Steve walked outside the motel room in search for the duffle bag, and Y/N took inventory of all the stuff Steve bought. There were two six packs of Corona, chilled to the touch from the fridge, a couple of limes, a large bag of tortilla chips, a jar of spicy salsa, and two packs of Reese's cups. All of her favorite things. It scared her a bit, how much Steve knew her. It wasn't the same fear she felt when facing the demogorgon, demodogs, or Mind Flayer, it was the type of fear of being known so well by one person, despite trying so hard to keep yourself guarded.

"You were right, right there in the trunk. I swear I'd be lost without ya Y/N." Steve joked as he swung the large beach towel over his shoulder. Her heart warmed by his words, and she desperately wanted him to mean them the way she did.

"Sure, Stevie. Whatever you say." Y/N said with barely contained fondness.

The two of them made their way to the beach, the moon and stars the only sources of light on their path. Steve carefully laid out the towel and scattered their convenience store bounty on top. They both sat down and dug into their feast. Steve cut open a lime with the Swiss army knife he carried on his keychain, struggling a bit before finally releasing two wedges to put inside the bottles of Corona. They made a toast to a successful drive, and sat in a comfortable silence as they ate.

They cleared through both six packs, feeling a bit tipsy from the alcohol and light food in their stomachs. Steve was telling a story about the first and and last time he saw the ocean, before this trip together. It was his freshman year in high school, his parents were on one of their many business trips and made him come along. Normally Steve would stay home with a sitter, but his dad's business partner was bringing his daughter along and thought they could spend time together. Her name was Jenny Connors, and she was his first girlfriend.

"So Jenny and I spent the day at the beach. I wanted to go swim in the ocean but she wanted nothing to do with it. She said she didn't want to ruin her hair, or something. Which I get 'cause, well, it's me. I take great pride in my hair, but she wouldn't even let me go in the water 'cause she didn't want to be alone. I was so bummed out 'cause that was the one thing I was excited about that whole trip." Steve went on, "Dad said it was my job to make her happy, so I just did whatever she wanted. Took her on dates and shopping and shit, which is fine, but she didn't wanna do anything I brought up. We just never clicked ya know? Don't know why I wasted so much time with her." Steve took a long sip of this last beer, finishing the bottle off. His Adam's apple was bobbing up and down as he drank, Y/N was transfixed with the movement, before she forced herself to look away from him.

"Maybe because you were 15 and that's what 15 year olds do. They date." Y/N sounded slightly bitter, knowing she was the exception to the rule. She never wanted to casually date, there were hardly any boys that caught her eye. Her standards were impeccably high, and the one guy who did meet them was sitting right next to her, completely oblivious to her thoughts about him.

"Yea, I guess. Back then it was just something I thought you were supposed to do, I didn't take it seriously. But, I don't know... Never mind it's stupid." Steve mumbled.

"No, come on tell me." Y/N began, "I promise I won't think it's stupid." Steve laid down on the beach towel, eyes staring up into the sky. She laid down next to him, but couldn't help but stare at his face as he spoke.

"I always kinda imagined myself as a puzzle ya know? Like, there were a bunch of pieces of me that slowly got put together over time, and I knew there was always gonna be missing pieces if I didn't find them." Steve continued, "Like, the missing pieces weren't a part of me exactly, they were from other people. I found one when I started hanging around Dustin, and because of so many fucked up circumstances he wiggled his way into my puzzle. The little twerp is like a brother to me, and I can't imagine my life without him. Hell, each of the kids are puzzle pieces, and I know my future kids will be pieces too. There are more important pieces too, like you."

"Me?" Y/N breathed, heart pounding in her chest.

"Yea, of course. You're like, easily my favorite person Y/N. You're my best friend, but don't tell Robin or Dustin that, they'll flip." Steve chuckled, "But yea, you're a huge puzzle piece. You help make me a more complete puzzle."

Y/N was speechless. She had no idea she meant so much to him. It pained her a bit to listen to him refer to her as his best friend, despite it being true. He was her best friend too, but unlike Steve, she wanted to be so much more than that.

"You're a missing puzzle piece for me too, Stevie." It was the only thing Y/N thought to say without giving herself away. She leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, pushing past her sandy boundaries once again, and sat up on the blanket.

"It's getting late, we should head back." Y/N said as she tried to stand up, but Steve stopped her.

"Can we do something kind of stupid before we go to bed?" Steve asked as he held onto the sleeve of his old sweatshirt.

"What?" Y/N questioned with a tilt to her head.

"Can we just act like dumb kids for a bit? Go night swimming, stuff our faces with the candy I bought, and I don't know, build a pillow fort in the motel room or something? I just think... I think we had to grow up really fast. I just want hit pause for tonight, just for us." Y/N couldn't help but giggle at his odd request, but in that moment she thought there was nothing else in the world she wanted to do more. She could spend the rest of her life doing exactly that, hit pause on life so they could enjoy each other for awhile. It sounded like a dream.

"Yea Stevie, I'd love too."

Taglist:

@lou-la-lou , @hcloangcls , @johnricharddeacy , @crying-caro , @mn2222222 ,

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x hopper!reader #steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanficton #stranger things fluff #stranger things x reader #stranger things s4 #steve harrington angst #stranger things angst

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beels-burger-babe · 1 year

Text

For Forever With You - Pt 1

***It's been a looooong time since I've written and I deeply apologize! However I'm back with our favourite wizard man! A long time ago, I wrote a little fic called "A Magical Bond" and now, after at least a year and a half, we go back to that MC and Solomon and discover their story. This is going to be a series with a new part for each era of their life that I cover. Thanks @jxcyt for the inspiration! I hope you enjoy 😊 -B ***

Summary: Two humans — one plain and dreadfully average, the other an immortal who thought he had seen an experienced it all. In any other world, they would go most of their lives without ever meeting and be destined for another, but not in this one.

Part 2

1920s

Trumpets and saxophones swelled around Solomon as he sipped on a martini, observing the dazzling lights and sparkling dresses at the dive bar he had found on his way home.

Despite all the noise and glamour, he couldn't help but smile.

This was what he loved about humanity. The vibrancy. The life.

The last few decades had been so drab in comparison with all the dark colours and constricting societal rules but now ...

He laughed as a woman squealed as her partner twirled her before extending her out away from him. The two giggled before continuing to do the Charleston around each other with their arms waving about.

It looked fun. Solomon made a mental note to try and learn it before it went out of style.

"Pardon me, sir. Did you want a refill on your drink?"

He glanced down at the now-empty glass, before looking up. He felt his eyes widen as he took in your face. "It's you!" He couldn't help but shout in surprise, taking a second to take in your appearance — the serving uniform you were wearing looked exquisite on you. It was quite different from the modest, neck-high garbs that he had last seen you in, though he supposed that was due in part to the change in times. He glanced around from you to the rambunctious crowd around the two of you. "What are you doing in a place like this? Last I checked, it was 1910 and you were a cute, quiet librarian making a modest living."

You cracked a smile, pouring his drink with the same delicate, professional touch that he remembered you carrying even as you shelved books. "The war, for starters. Library couldn't afford to stay open."

Solomon huffed, taking a hearty gulp of his drink. "Shame. I quite like your little collection of books. It was a quiet haven. I'll miss it."

"I'm aware," you responded with a teasing lilt in your voice that caught the wizard's attention. "You swung by nearly every day. To be honest, I'm as surprised to see you here as you are to see me."

Solomon paused taking a moment to observe the situation. Both of you, not quite strangers but not quiet friends, find yourselves at the same woefully tasteless speakeasy and happen to find each other. The smile on your face told him that's a good thing. And maybe it was the alcohol, but while he usually doesn't allow himself to get too close to mortals, there was something about the sparkle in your eyes that was drawing him in like a moth to the flame.

It had always been that way with you. He still vividly remembered the first time he ran into your quaint library to escape the rain, and there you were, warm and light, offering him a towel to dry off with and tea. He was hardly one to say no to such welcoming company. When he returned a second time, he had told you it was for the books, and that was true in part — you had quite the collection of vintage scripts he hadn't had the opportunity to read in some time — but he wanted to observe the compassionate creature that had taken him in. It wasn't long before coming to the library, perusing your stock, and people-watching became a hobby of his.

There was a strange ache in his chest when he went to visit you again one day, only to find the door boarded up and windows darkened.

He smiled and leaned in closer to you, "Perhaps I'm more than just the bookworm you thought I was. You seem well aware that a person can have several facets to themselves," he tilted his head, eyes flickering towards the door before returning to yours once more. "Would you care to learn mine?"

Your eyes widened, and he couldn't help but feel his smile grow as an adorably flustered look fretted across your expression. "I- I um-" you chuckled nervously, "You're more sly than I thought. I didn't take you for a cake-eater, mr ...." You blinked in sudden confusion. "Oh. All those visits to the library and I never caught your name."

"Solomon," he explained with a smirk. "And I meant no harm with my offer. Just a walk together on this lovely night and a bit of good conversation. It's been a while. I'm sure there's a story of how you ended up here."

You hummed, fiddling with the cocktail mixer still in your hands. "That don't sound too bad, I suppose," you glanced back at the clock over the bar. "My shift ends in about an hour and a half. Think you can wait?"

"Time is fickle and good company is rare and far between," your breath caught at his words as his knowing silver eyes locked onto yours. "Get back to work. I'll be back here when you're done ... though maybe a name to associate with my new companion before you leave."

"MC," you quickly offered, almost too quickly. "M-My name is MC. I-I um, yes. Back to work!"

He watched you go, his chest warm with the promise of something new, something exciting, something fun.

Gods, he hadn't felt this alive in centuries. He set down his drink and leaned back, simply enjoying the thriving atmosphere once more.

Nearly two hours later, the two of you were laughing as you walked through the empty city streets.

"There's no way," you cackled, fanning your face with your hand as your shoulders hitched. "There is no possible way that 's true."

"Well it is," Solomon teasingly reassured. "I presented his lordship with cookies that I spent at least a day preparing and they were so delightful, the man fainted on the spot. I am an excellent cook, I'll have you know."

He soaked in the sight of your head thrown back in laughter, the moon casting you in its mysterious glow and glittering off the embellishments of your uniform — a natural masterpiece. He had always been an admirer of humanity and the strange yet fascinating quirks it possessed but with you there was something drawing him in like the strongest undertow. As though the pulls of your charisma and beauty were the deadly tide and he was a sailor lost at sea. How tempting it was to let himself drown.

It was a draw he hadn't experienced since he tasted his first licks of magic.

"Solomon," he blinked himself out of his thoughts to see your hand waving in front of his face. A soft smile eased onto your face as you met eyes. "Thought you were lost there for a moment. Am I boring you that much?"

Warmth filled his chest as he smiled in return and took one of your hands into his own. "Quite the contrary."

The lovely flustered expression returned to your face once more. "Aren't you quite the flatterer," you chuckled staring at your two hands interlocked.

He hummed, never once taking his eyes off you. "Is that an issue?"

Sparks run up his spine as he felt you gently squeeze his hand. "Not so long as I'm the one you're flirting with."

A smile split across his face, "That can be arranged."

The night was one Solomon wouldn't forget. It was the first night he got to know you, really know you. You took turns asking each other questions, hands glued together, completely oblivious to the hours slipping by. The only care the two of you had was what would happen after it was time to say goodbye.

Turns out it didn't need to be a concern.

Solomon visited you in and outside of work frequently. The two of you would sneak away and Solomon would take you to all of his favourite places — little pieces of paradise that he liked to escape to when the world became too much. It wasn't something that he shared often but, as with anything related to you, you were the exception.

It was almost frightening how easy it was to open up to you. Solomon wouldn't describe himself as a particularly guarded person, but he appreciated some distance, it was safer that way. There were moments where he considered the thought that maybe you were a trap sent by someone he had annoyed. That you were charmed specifically for him to fall for.

He did research. He ran tests as subtly as he could without your clever mind catching on. The conclusion he came to was not one he had ever anticipated.

You weren't a trap designed for his destruction.

You were his soulmate.

He had heard of the concept before. They were rare and more of a child's tale than anything else. He had never actually met anyone with a genuine soulmate and as such, thought them to be nothing by horsefeathers.

But he couldn't deny it. There was a connection he felt to you the second he met you. You understood him in a way he had never encountered before. You were brilliant, and oh-so curious about everything around you. You grounded him and made him high all at once.

You were his other half.

It was a one in a million chance. One that he wasn't so keen to let go of.

The same day that Solomon made his realization, he bought a bouquet of flowers and took you to the same street the two of you had walked down until dawn.

"MC," he questioned softly as you swung your joined hands and looked at the bustling streets around you.

"Hm?" You hummed in acknowledgment, taking a second to sniff the white chrysanthemums and red primroses that he had gifted you.

"Will you allow me to court you?"

He expected sputtering, or that adorable bashful expression you get when he teases you, or perhaps laughter from shock. But he got none of that.

Instead, you cocked your eyebrow at him as you glanced over to him from the side of your eye. "Are we not already courting?"

Solomon felt his cheeks grow red as he stopped in his tracks and looked at you. "I beg your pardon?"

You snorted as gathered his arm with yours and pulled him back into pace alongside you once more. "We've been flirting with one another, going on unsupervised dates, and exchanging gifts for months now. I thought we were courting this whole time, you fool," you paused as realization struck you. "B-But um, if you didn't, then I ... I apologize if I was too forward or-"

"NO!" Solomon loudly amended, earning strange looks from the passerbys on the street around you. He waved at them in apologies before dragging you into a nearby ally. "No. That's not the case at all! I just thought we were being friendly and teasing one another!"

Your face only grew more flush at his words. "What? If that's friendly to you, then what in the world would courting mean to you?!"

He smirked as he leaned down close into your space, your back quickly finding the surface of the brick building behind you. "With any luck, and your permission, perhaps a kiss or two," your breath hitched as his hand came up to cup your cheek. "Telling you how when I see you, the sun ceases to exist as your light and radiance is enough to warm me in even the cruelest of winters. Expressing that each time your eyes find mine, I'm taken back to that rainy little bookshop and the sincere librarian who lived within it. Being sure that everyone knows exactly how much I love you."

"Solomon," you breathed, your voice threaded with utter awe that pooled in your eyes.

"I'll ask you again," he took another step closer. Your chests brushed against one another as the toes your shoes met. He could practically feel the frantic beating of your heart thrashing under your skin. "Will you allow me to court you? To love you and have you love me in turn?"

The bouquet that had been in your hands met the ground as you wound your arms around his neck and dragged his face down to meet yours.

A thousand lifetimes crashed into this one single moment, and for a second, Solomon felt so heartachingly mortal and timeless all at once. Your lips were richer than the oldest wines and equally addicting. They wrapped him with a powerful passion that he hadn't known he was missing. It was as though your souls had finally intertwined and were now waltzing the in the intimacy of your embrace.

He pressed his forehead against yours as you both pulled away. Your breath painted his shoulder as he felt your chest heave against him.

"Wow."

He couldn't help but laugh at your reaction, pulling you closer to him. "Is it safe for me to take this as an acceptance of my courting?"

You giggled, pecking his lips once more before bending down to pick up your discarded bouquet. "Of course it's a yes," you smirked as you batted his chest with the flowers. "It would've been a yes if you asked me properly months ago."

The smile that decorated his face was bigger and brighter than any smile he had ever worn before. He shook his head to himself and took after you, ready to chase after what little time with you he had for every drop it was worth.

***And that's the first part of this Prequel! From here we'll be jumping to the 1930s for some pre-WW2 and then go from there! Hope you all enjoy! Thank you so much for your love and support!***

TAGLIST:

@thegrimgrinningghost @henry-and-the-seven-lords @satans-beloved-riv @cosmixbun @sufzku @obey-mes-treasure @kissed-by-a-dementor @yukihaie @justtiarra @mammoneybb @poly-bi-mf @burrixino @rul-of-demise @pumpkins-mainside-blog @acousticpen @sucker-for-angst-and-fluff @itskrispy @10paradox10 @vallison-rea @ivoryclive @newfangled-artistry @pumpkinpatchkid @chirikoheina @sailboat21 @theother4 @todoroses @circus-of-freaks @mcx7demonbros @bloopthebat

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winchesterandpie · 2 years

Text

You're Home

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader

Word Count: 1705

Warnings: Very self-indulgent, hurt/comfort with an emphasis on fluff, a little tiny bit of spice, it's pretty much just fluff

A/N: Hey guys, I'm back! I know it's been forever since I've posted a fic, but I started writing this after I saw Top Gun: Maverick and it's the first time in a long time I've been able to write this many words without feeling like I was hitting a wall, so I'm posting it in honor of that. I know I haven't written in a while and it's a different fandom than I've written before, so I didn't tag my usual tag list. I might do more writing for Rooster, so let me know if that's something anyone would be interested in. Gif is not mine!

“I miss you, Roose,” you spoke into the phone, your voice little more than a whisper.

“I know. I miss you too,” Bradley replied at a similar volume. “Not long now though. I’ll be home before you know it.”

It had been a long mission this time. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d been gone as long as a normal assignment, but it felt longer. You weren’t sure why this one in particular was hitting you so hard, especially now that he was on his way home. Just a couple more days until you could see your pilot again.

That time couldn’t pass quickly enough. Today, of all days, you wished he was here with you. You kept reaching for him, only to remember all over again that he wasn’t home. You were well aware that it was a ridiculous reaction, but you couldn’t help that the sound of his voice on the other side of the phone had tears building up in your eyes.

“You still there, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, sorry.” You were trying so hard not to cry.

“You okay?” He must’ve heard it in your voice, despite your best attempts. “Honey,--”

“I’m okay, Brad. It’s just been a long day.”

“For me too.” He let out a slow sigh before going quiet for a moment, like someone on his end was talking to him. “Hey, I’ve gotta go. ‘M sorry.”

“I’ll see you soon?”

“Very soon, I promise.” He said your name then, and you felt a tear slip free. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You tipped your head back when he hung up, willing your eyes to dry. He’d be home soon, you were sure of it. With your eyes closed, you could almost convince yourself he wasn’t gone. Then you remembered the shirt of his you’d brought to the front room with you. It was one of the Hawaiian shirts he loved so much, one of the few that still smelled like him. You bunched it up in your hands, holding it up to your face.

A knock sounded at the door, bringing you back to reality. Quickly, you brushed away the tear tracks and pulled on his shirt before going to the door. You took one more breath to steady yourself, fixed a smile on your face, then answered the door.

“Hey.”

How could it be possible? Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw stood in front of you, two days early.

“Bradley!”

He caught you easily, crushing you to him in a desperate embrace. You pressed your face into the crook of his neck and inhaled the scent of him. One of your hands reached up into his soft hair to hold his head to you. You didn’t even realize you had started crying until he pulled back just a little--just enough for you to look at each other.

“You’re home,” you managed through your sniffles.

“I’m home,” he assured with a soft smile. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing gently at your tears as you leaned into the touch.

“You’re home,” you repeated, returning the smile as you held his face. His other hand squeezed your hip before shifting further around you to press you closer. You were the one to gently pull his forehead to yours, quietly drinking in his presence for a long moment. His eyes weren’t dry either, you noticed as you caught some of the wetness on your fingertips.

You let go a breathless laugh and hugged him again. You held each other tightly, the feeling of his arms around you enough to squeeze some of the heaviness from your chest.

Eventually, you had to let go again, but he kept one arm around you, only letting you go far enough for him to pick up his bag. You kept your arm around him to stay tucked into his side as he closed the door behind the two of you and toed off his shoes. You knew he would want to change into more comfortable clothes, so you tugged him toward your bedroom.

When you sat on the edge of the bed, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. Brad’s arm tightened when he felt a shudder run through you, but he didn’t say anything. You took several steadying breaths, reaching with your free hand to hold his shoulder. The longer you spent pressed close to him, the more the lingering weight eased.

“I missed you,” he said at last, the murmur of your name close to your ear.

“I really missed you too, Brad. Today was just…” you broke off, shaking your head before you finished your thought, “just really hard.”

He sat beside you then, enveloping you in his arms again while you shook. You worked to regain control of your breathing, reminding yourself that he was here with you now. The smell of him, the warmth of him, the sound of his voice mumbling reassurances grounded you, and finally the knot in your chest came undone. Rooster must have felt how you finally relaxed into him, but he held you until you pulled back.

“Sorry, I know it’s hard for you too. I don’t mean to--”

He cut you off gently, with a finger over your lips. “You have nothing to apologize for. Okay?”

You didn’t reply immediately, still feeling a little guilty.

He repeated his question, tilting his head to catch your gaze, “Okay?”

“Okay.”

Holding your gaze for a little longer, he nodded to himself, as though confirming that you really were okay now.

Every time he came home from a mission, things were a little different. Sometimes, you held him, or he held you. Others, you held each other. Your favorite days, he would come home grinning and he’d spin you around and play the piano for you while you laughed and sang along.

Every return, even the happy ones, usually after you had both settled, there came a moment when you checked in with each other. It had taken time and many nights of frustration for him to learn to let you in, long used to depending only on himself. Nowadays, Bradley was much quicker to talk to you when he was hurting.

You could tell by the look in his eyes that it was time for that check in.

He brushed a lock of hair out of your face and then moved both hands to hold your face tenderly. You grasped his wrists, moving your thumbs back and forth across the backs of his hands.

“Are you okay, sweets?”

“I’m alright, now that you’re home. Are you okay, Roose?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“So we’re okay, then?”

“We’re okay,” he confirmed, smiling at you.

“I love you,” you said, leaning closer toward him as the tone of the day shifted.

He picked up on your hinting, his smile turning into more of a smirk before he kissed you.

The scent and feel of him against you became unignorably heady. You released his wrists, letting your hands slide back up along his arms. When your fingers tangled in his hair, his hands traced down your sides on an achingly slow path. The mustache tickled your skin, making you grin against his kiss.

“I love you too,” he mumbled against your lips as he caught his breath.

Bradley let you kiss him again, nipping at your lower lip to make you giggle before swallowing the sound. You melted into each other, the kiss becoming at once soft and demanding. His hands started to push his Hawaiian shirt from your shoulders and you shifted to help it along.

Then his stomach growled hungrily, and you couldn’t keep kissing him because of the force of your laughter. He pouted at you, and you managed to hold back well enough to kiss along his jaw. You followed that line down his neck and to his shoulder before resting your cheek against that spot so you could look at him.

“I suppose we’ll have to pick this back up after dinner,” he chuckled sheepishly.

“S’pose so, Lieutenant.” You picked your head back up, nudging his nose with yours.

Rooster kissed you again, on your lips, your nose, your cheek, then finally your forehead before he stood and moved to the closet. He pulled off his shirt as he went, which was perhaps a little preemptive, but you weren’t about to start complaining.

“Honey, darling, light of my life,” he started after a moment of staring at his nearly empty side of the closet, “where are all of my shirts?”

“I have no idea.” You tried very hard to look as innocent as possible when he turned to look at you with a grin.

“Is that so?”

“Maybe. Or maybe not, who’s to say?”

He leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his bare chest and an eyebrow raised at you. You hopped up from the bed and over to him. Bradley grinned at you as you approached, pointedly not mentioning the shirt of his you were currently wearing.

“What’ll you give me if I tell you?” You stood on your tiptoes, hands on his chest to keep your balance.

“You’ll have to find out.” His stomach growled again, his face brightening with a laugh for a moment before returning to a playfully fierce stare.

“Ah, but I wear them better--you’ve said so yourself.”

“You do know where they are, then?” Bradley finally uncrossed his arms in favor of pulling you closer. Heat practically radiated from his skin and you went weak in the knees. He gave you a knowing look as he supported more of your weight.

“I do know where they are, but maybe I’m still waiting to hear your offer, Roose.”

“Well,” he started, leaning down to kiss you briefly, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

Your stomach growled then, reminding you that it was definitely time to eat. He laughed again and you couldn’t help but laugh too. You realized then, as you had realized many times before, that you would fight a thousand armies single-handedly to keep that brightness on his face. You didn’t know it, but he was having a similar thought about you.

“Dinner?” he asked when the laughter finally slowed.

“Dinner.”

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun #top gun maverick #I haven't had this much fun writing in a long time #hope you enjoy!

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fayes-fics · 2 years

Text

Moments: Chapter 10

Moments masterpost

PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Rating: Teen and up (rating will change in Epilogue 1, can be skipped)

Summary: Slow-burn fic. Read previous chapters of this fic from masterpost linked above. In this chapter, which is a long one, we are witnessing moments during the two-week engagement. These two are really teasing each other now, so it’s getting a little heated as they test if they can stick to their pact. Also readers parents arrive for the wedding.

Warnings: none really… fluff, fluff. A bit suggestive with some kissing, bed sharing and errr finger sucking.

Word Count: 4.4k (this chapter only, 18.8k total for all chapters to date)

Authors Note: We made it, people! This is the end of the line for the main story. Strangely, a family tragedy spurred me to finally complete this last chapter, having been sitting 80% written for the better part of a month. Please note, there will also be two Epilogues for you to enjoy. The first one, the wedding night, will be explicit but can be skipped (i.e. scant plot, all porn). The second is very short but should not be missed! Thank you as ever to my wonderful beta @makaylan <3 I couldn't have done this without her. I hope you all enjoy this!

Chapter 10: Moments from an engagement

The first person you see upon return to Aubrey Hall is Violet. She takes one look at you walking arm-in-arm and knows. She bustles over, announcing James is napping and embraces you, kissing you on the cheek.

“Y/n, I am so happy,” she chimes, “I'm so glad my son finally admitted to himself, to you, his true feelings. I will never forget how happy he was all those years ago when he met you and how sad he was after. And, well, anyway, this is the best possible outcome. Welcome to the family, my dear.”

“Thank you, Violet,” you respond a little bashful, “I'm so happy,” you admit freely and squeeze Benedict's arm. He smiles down at you as you look up at him. “So happy,” you repeat, holding his gaze.

“I assume we will need to make that announcement to the family after all,” Benedict chuckles.

“Less than a week later,” you laugh, “they will be confused.”

“No, I think it will make more sense than it did a few days ago,” Violet opines. “We all have eyes; we all knew.”

Benedict rolls his eyes. “Point made and point taken, mother.”

She smiles enigmatically and swans away with a wink.

You giggle and kiss his cheek. “See you at dinner, my love.”

“Wait, you are leaving me already?” he pouts, pulling you into a loose embrace.

You run your hands up his arms. “Just to freshen up and get ready for dinner,” you breathe, “now if you hadn't made that other rule, you could have come with me, shared a bath, and gotten changed together. But you and your rules…” you tease with a smirk.

“You little…” he growls, his grip on you tightening, and you know he is picturing everything you just outlined.

“If you think I will give up teasing you now we are getting married, you are sorely mistaken,” you murmur.

He raises an eyebrow and leans in. “No, my love, I think you are the one who is mistaken,” his voice is a deep dusky whisper, lacing your fingers with his and locking your joined hands behind your back. “Do you not remember all the times I teased you? Hmm? I've had six years to think of new ways to drive you to distraction. Can you imagine? Oh, my love, you have no idea what awaits you.”

It's a delicious, loaded, filthy promise, and you are breathing heavily when he is done talking.

“But please…” he concludes, releasing his hold on you, “go enjoy that bath. Alone...”

“You…” your turn to growl at him as he backs away with the most devastating crooked smile. He winks and turns his heel, bounding up the stairs two at a time.

—

You are sitting at your vanity table, washed and freshly dressed for dinner, when James wanders in from his adjoining bedroom in his pyjamas.

“What's wrong, my darling? Why aren't you ready for dinner?” you bring him into a cuddle on your lap.

“Mummy, I don't want to have any dinner. Can I just go to bed?” he whines, snuggling into your shoulder.

“Aww, my precious child,” you indulge him. “Are you not hungry?”

He looks sheepish. “I might have eaten too many biscuits at afternoon tea. Mrs White, the cook, well, she said that I could have as many biscuits as I wanted because I'm so handsome,” he grins.

“So you made yourself all full up on biscuits?” you laugh.

“Maybe…” he looks contrite.

“James Darby, you are a naughty boy,” you say with mock outrage, hugging him closer as you do.

“But you still love me, right mummy?” he argues back, giving you the full hazy blue-eyed puppy dog look—Benedict’s look.

“Yes, I do,” you admit, kissing his forehead. God help me, you add silently in your head, realising you will soon have a house with two of them pulling this trick on you. Dear god, what are you letting yourself in for?

“There's something I want to tell you, James, before I go to dinner and you go to bed,” you sway him slightly in your lap. “What do you think of Benedict moving in with us? Or us moving in with him?”

“Did you ask him like I wanted mummy?” he answered animatedly. “Did he say yes?”

You huff a laugh. “Actually, Benedict asked me if we would move in with him. So you both had the same lovely idea.”

James smiles proudly at that.

“He also,” you hesitate briefly, “he also asked me a very important question, and I said yes.”

“What question, mummy?”

“He asked me to be his wife.” You are so nervous.

“That’s nice,” he says unphased. “Does that mean Benedict is my new daddy?”

“Well, it means he loves you very much and wants us to be a family - the three of us. Officially he will be your step-father,” you obfuscate, “But you can call him whatever you want to call him, James darling,” you explain. “He will never replace your Papa, but he wants to be the best father he can be to you.” Your heart hurts a little at all the half-truths you have to tell him, but more than anything, you want James to believe he is the rightful Viscount.

James pats your hand as he sits in your arms. “I like Benedict very much, mummy; I will call him daddy for now. Can we live in his cottage with all the paints?”

You laugh, “Yes, James. And we can all live at Darby Hall or our little cottage. And you can set up an art studio together.”

He claps his hands together gleefully, “I'm so excited, mummy!”

There is a knock at your door. “Come in,” you call, not bothering to look up, assuming it is likely to be your lady's maid or James’ nanny.

“Benedict!” James calls out, and your head whips up. He is dressed in a beautiful blue ensemble that steals your breath. James wrestles himself out of your arms and runs across the room to him. Benedict instinctually drops to his knees, and they hug.

“Mummy told me we are going to be a family, and I can call you what I want to call you. I want to call you daddy,” James enthuses.

Benedict looks at you, full of emotion, then back to his son. “Yes, it's true we are going to be a family, James. I would be so happy if you want to call me daddy,” he replies, swallowing thickly.

“And we can set up an art studio together at our cottage AND your cottage,” James peals with excitement.

Benedict scoops him up and stands. “We can do whatever you want, James. My son,” he kisses him on the cheek as he says those momentous words. James smiles at him, and then they both look over at you.

“Mummy, come join our hug,” James gestures. And you do.

Being in the joint embrace of your fiancee and your son is the best feeling in the world. It's like your world is suddenly whole. You will need to reapply your eye makeup.

“I came to bring you both to dinner,” Benedict offers by way of explanation, “but I see someone is ready for bed.”

“James doesn't want dinner,” you explain to Benedict, wiping away a tear as you all hug, “but I'm sure he would be delighted if his mummy and daddy put him to bed together before we go for dinner.”

James nods rapidly, and Benedict's eyes soften to the point of being dewy.

“It would be an honour,” he replies, his voice cracking, looking between you.

You walk hand in hand into James’ room, and he climbs happily into his bed as you both take up a place on either side. You pick up a book and read him a fairy tale, taking turns to make funny voices that delight your little boy. As James’ eyes droop, Benedict grabs your hand and stops reading.

Your eyes meet, and he whispers, “Thank you for this.”

“We can do this every night if you want, my love,” your voice thick with emotion.

“I can't wait for the rest of our lives together,” he confesses.

Yes, you definitely need to reapply your eye makeup now.

___

Benedict takes your hand as you descend the main staircase to the dining room and raises it to his lips, kissing the back of it as you approach the door.

“I know my family can be overwhelming, but don't forget they already adore you,” he whispers against your knuckles.

You smile at him. “I adore them too.”

And two hours later, you have had the dinner of your dreams, being warmly welcomed into his loving, spirited family.

“Benedict,” you whisper as you leave the room a little drunk on wine, “can we sleep together tonight?” you plead.

“We have our agreement,” he reminds, sounding somewhat reluctant about it, as a hand sweeps around your back.

“No, I know; I mean actually sleep. Very chaste. Just,” you sigh, “I want to fall asleep in your arms.”

He pulls you into a tight embrace. “That sounds wonderful, my love. Do you promise nothing untoward?” he smiles against your cheek.

“Your honour is safe with me, Mr Bridgerton,” you giggle, “at least for tonight,” you add.

“Then I accept, soon-to-be Mrs Bridgerton,” he chuckles, and your stomach flips at the idea of that being your name in just a few short days.

A few minutes later, you are lying on your bed, fully clothed, your head on his chest, your bodies entwined—just the embers from the fireplace give the room a faint glow. Your eyes droop from the wine and the warmth of his body seeping into yours. You listen to the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your ear and trace mindless shapes on his forearm with your fingertips.

“I love you so much,” you hear him whisper as you drift off.

“Love you too,” is your slurred reply as sleep claims you.

Waking up in Benedict’s arms is blissful. Somehow during the night, you have ended up as the little spoon in a hug. His embrace is warm and enveloping, a lovely place to be.

It's also not entirely unproblematic. You can feel something hard and insistent against your bum cheek through your joint clothing. The temptation to reach back and squeeze is strong, but he is sleeping so peacefully that you dare not disturb him. Or break your pact. Tempting as it may be to do precisely that.

So you just lay there quietly and daydream about how things used to be when you woke up together and how things will be once you are married. You are in a unique position to know so much about intimacy with someone before marriage. Most people have no idea what they are getting into. You know this man’s body almost as well as your own and thinking about it makes your hips flex on instinct.

A warm hand grabs your hip bone. “Stop that,” he growls, thick with sleep.

“Sorry,” you reply.

“No, you’re not,” he grumbles amicably.

“You’re right,” you flip over to face him, “I’m not,” you smile and crowd your head closer to him, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Kissing is acceptable, yes?” you whisper against his skin.

You feel his smile more than you see it.

“Yes, but maybe not whilst lying in bed together,” the hand on your clothed hip squeezes, “it’s entirely far too tempting…,” he breathes, ghosting against your lips.

“Mmmm, then get out of my bed, Mr Bridgerton,” you tease, capturing his bottom lip between your own and sucking it gently, enjoying the hitch in his breath and the flex of his fingers.

“You are a menace,” he murmurs when you release his lip, his breath warm against your cheek.

“And so are you. I just said you could leave my bed,” you kiss his lips, “but… here… you… still… are,” you challenge; between each word, you kiss him lightly, holding his face with your hands.

He growls, and suddenly you are pinned under him on the bed. Your senses are alight; hands caged under his against the pillow, his warmth and weight on top of you causing your heart to flutter in your chest and a warm tingle elsewhere. He stares down at you, his pupils blown wide, his lips damp from your kisses, breathing a little ragged, just like your own.

“Mummy….?”

You startle and look aside to see James standing in the now-open doorway to his adjoining room, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

“Daddy…?” he adds hesitantly upon recognising Benedict.

“James!” You both respond in unison. Jumping away from each other as if burned.

“Good morning, my love,” you add, smoothing down the dress you slept in and rounding the bed to kneel and hug him.

“Why are you and daddy in the same bed?” he asks.

“Remember how I used to share a bed with your papa? Well, your daddy and I will be married soon, so we will share a bed too. Does that make sense?” You try to explain as best you can, feeling Benedict’s eyes on you.

“Yes, but does that mean I can’t sleep in your bed anymore, mummy, like when I am scared?”

“No, no, James,” Benedict interjects and walks over, dropping to his knees next to you. “If you are scared, you can always share a bed with your mummy and me. We will give you hugs and help you sleep, my son, always.” He ruffles James' hair, and James crowds into him, seeking a hug.

“Thank you,” James replies.

“Now, shall we get ready for breakfast? Your mummy has a busy day today, James; that means we can paint together,” Benedict explains.

“Hurrah, I’ll go get dressed,” James chimes happily, extracting himself and running away to his room.

“I do?” You look at Benedict, puzzled, as you both stand up.

“Mother said last night she is taking you into Canterbury for a first fitting with the local modiste there, remember?” He teases.

“That’s today?!” You go wide-eyed.

He chuckles. “Two weeks is not much time to make a wedding dress, especially one that needs to be as special as you,” he adds, his voice soft but with an undercurrent of heat.

You close your eyes briefly and sigh. “I love you, but please get out of my bedroom Mr Bridgerton. You cannot say such things and expect me to keep the terms of our pact,” you finish, staring him down.

His eyes flash something sinful, but he bows respectfully. “Fair enough. I shall take my leave, fair lady.”

He opens and disappears out of your door. Then he swings back in on one arm suddenly, his face smirking. “If it helps, I like you in ivory; it looks so wonderful against your flushed skin when you’re about to come apart in my arms,” he whispers dangerously with a conspiratorial wink.

He has to duck, laughing, to avoid the pillow you lob at him—total menace.

“Oh, that looks wonderful on you, my dear,” Violet assures as you stand on the raised platform at the modiste. You stare at the mirror, nonplussed; all you can see is some raw silk (in ivory, for him) and many pins.

“Violet, you flatter me; this is just a first fitting,” you shake your head affectionately.

“You will make a beautiful bride,” she assures.

“Thank you,” you demure.

“Have you yet written to your parents to inform them of the happy news?”

“Yes, I did. It’s such short notice, but hopefully, they will be able to attend. I’m sure they will be surprised. I think they expected me to stay a widow for life,” you chuckle.

“Did they not know of your history with my son?” She seems curious.

“I was matched from birth to my previous husband; they would not have taken kindly to the news that I was with someone else. On my part, at least, it was a secret—it had to be. Much as I would have preferred it otherwise,” you sigh, smoothing down the front of the silk, suddenly rueful for all the lost time without your true love.

“You loved him then,” it’s not a question as much as a statement:

“I loved Benedict from the moment we met,” you admit quietly. “And I hated my life after. I tried to make the best of the situation, and John was never a bad man. It would have been easier if he were the villain of the piece. He was a good man and a good father. But… he wasn’t my heart.” You shrug.

She reaches over and squeezes your hand. “I knew Benedict was in love from the moment he came home one evening. He just looked so at peace. Like he had met someone who made his future clear. He told me about you not long after. And then, when you had to be married, it broke his heart. He has loved you for as long as you’ve loved him; I can assure you of that, my dear” she draws you into a hug as she sees your misty eyes.

You are grateful she does not mention James in this semi-public setting. And as she pulls away, she gently touches your cheek.

“If your parents cannot make it, I am certain the Viscount would be honoured to walk you down the aisle to marry his little brother,” she says softly.

“Thank you, Violet. It truly will be an honour to join your family, and I cannot wait to be a Bridgerton.” You confess.

“You already are, my dear,” she smiles.

—-

The next ten days are a whirlwind of wedding planning, decisions and appointments, managed mainly by Violet, who seems very happy to lead the charge.

Except at dinner, you barely see your intended or even James, who seems ecstatic to be Benedict’s shadow while you are occupied. Every evening he regales you with stories of their adventures together that day - swimming, hiking, painting, horse riding. And every evening, you wish you had been with them instead.

In the afternoon, three days before your wedding, you finally get some alone time without a wedding-related commitment. James is napping while you take tea on the outdoor terrace, revelling in some quiet time with a book and the sun's warmth.

You hear footsteps up the stairs to your left, and suddenly there he is. Your fiancée. Looking so handsome in a maroon waistcoat and cravat. He seems surprised to see you.

“No wedding commitments this afternoon, my love?” He teases, leaning over and kissing your cheek.

“None,” you smile, “I’m enjoying a quiet moment after days of hubbub.”

“Hmmm I can imagine,” his crooked smile in sympathy causing your stomach to flip as it always does.

You bite your lip, deciding to tease him. “I’m feeling so very… excited to be your wife.”

“Excited, hmm?” He raises an eyebrow and drops to his knee in front of you, the same stance as when he proposed.

“Yes, perhaps you can help me with that,” you whisper, grabbing his hand and using it to gather the layers of your dress in your lap.

“Y/n,” he warns, his voice a low rumble, “we agreed, remember?”

“Benedict, please,” you murmur, “just touch me.” He shakes his head and lowers your dress back down as you pout.

He gently grabs your left hand, lifts it to his lips, and kisses the betrothal ring. Then with a sinful smirk, he suddenly envelopes that finger with his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and sucking, his hot tongue swirling against the jewellery and your flesh. Your breath stutters hard, something hot blooming in your chest.

“Don’t mistake my proposal to be chaste for lack of wanting, darling,” he drawls after sinfully pulling off your finger with a wet pop. “It is, in fact, very much the exact opposite.” His breath is warm over your knuckles as he looks at you through his lashes.

“Are you actively trying to kill me, Mr Bridgerton?” Your voice breathy, leaning your forehead against his.

“Maybe…” his little smile is something dangerous.

There’s a fizzing slide of want down your spine, and you grab his left hand and mimic his actions. Engulfing his ring finger in your mouth, tasting his tangy skin. Sucking insistently and running your tongue into the slightly webbed skin between his fingers, his knuckle trapped against the roof of your mouth. He groans and surges against your leg. You intend to remind him of what you have done to other parts of his body in the past, and the message does not go unnoticed.

“Anything you can do. I can do too,” you challenge with a raised eyebrow keeping his finger there gently with your teeth.

“This is a dangerous game,” he concedes through gritted teeth. “Three days,” he adds, his voice tight, as his finger slips from your lips.

“Indeed, my love,” you wink.

The morning of your wedding feels momentous. As if your whole life has been leading to this day. The day you wished you could have had six years before.

You greet your parents as they arrive from their journey, so pleased to see them. They are so very keen to know more about your seeming whirlwind courtship and surprise engagement and you have a few moments with them before your fiancé joins you.

“Lord and Lady y/l/n,” Benedict greets respectfully as he walks in, “it’s so wonderful to meet you.”

“Mr Bridgerton. I trust you will treat my daughter well,” your father stated, shaking his hand firmly.

“Of course, my lord. Y/n and James are the most important people to me in the world.” Benedict replies solemnly, looking over at you.

Your mother nudges you as the men start to talk. “I see why you like him. He reminds me so much of little James. You seemed to have picked a husband to match your handsome little son.” Her comment is offhand with a chuckle, but your stomach lurches. You may have to tell them the truth someday. “But it seems like such a short courtship. Are you certain about him, my dear?”

You decide to tell a partial truth. “I knew Benedict in the past, mother. He was a friend of a friend. He’s a trustworthy gentleman.”

“Oh of that, I have no doubt,” she nods, “the reputation of the Bridgertons as an illustrious family of excellent pedigree is known everywhere, my dear. It’s more about if you are certain this is a good thing. For you? For James?” Her motherly concern is touching.

“Benedict and James adore each other,” you assure her.

As if wanting to prove your point, James comes running in. He makes a beeline to Benedict, who picks him up instinctively and kisses his cheek.

“Hello, son. Look who came to see us for the wedding. It’s your grandparents,” Benedict tells him softly.

James whips around to look at you and your mother, then your father, who has moved to pour himself a brandy.

“Did he just call him son?” Your mother whispers, a smile plastered on her face as she watches Benedict put James back on his feet. “Good lord, now I see them together; the resemblance is far too striking. Daughter, I think we need to have a private discussion, do we not?”

“Not now, mother,” you answer through gritted teeth, refusing to meet her questioning gaze.

James walks over and greets his grandfather, the embodiment of manners.

“My dear boy. My, how you’ve grown since we saw you last,” your father chimes, “come sit with me. Tell me all about your latest interests.”

“I like painting, just like my daddy does,” James announces proudly, taking a seat next to your father.

“I don’t recall the Viscount being a painter,” your father muses out loud.

“Not my papa, my daddy,” James corrects with a little frown.

“James means me,” Benedict admits quietly, taking a seat next to you.

The look of surprise on both your parents' faces is a picture.

“When we announced our engagement, we allowed James to call Benedict whatever he wanted,” you offer by way of explanation, “he chose that.”

There is a moment of silence then your father clears his throat.

“So you are a painter Mr Bridgerton?” Your father begins. “What sort of income does that afford for the provision of a family?”

Benedict looks sheepish and goes to answer, but you cut him off.

“Father,” you admonish, “James and I are more than adequately provided for by the Darby estate. It matters not what Benedict can provide financially. I love him with all my heart, and that is all that matters. All that will ever matter. Even if the Darby fortune is taken from us somehow, know that I will still choose this, him, every time. Always.”

You feel Benedict’s eyes on you, his mouth slightly agape, surprised at your impassioned outburst.

“I love my daddy too,” James pipes up, wriggles off the sofa next to your father, and walks over, climbing into Benedict’s lap. You ruffle James' hair affectionately as he twines his arms around Benedict's neck and lays his head on his shoulder. The three of you truly are a little family, and you couldn’t be happier.

Your father looks utterly bewildered, as if the concept is entirely alien to him; he just nods politely and swigs his brandy. You feel a sudden melancholy at the realisation that your parents never had the privilege of a love match. While they have companionship, their marriage was arranged, much like yours with John. It makes you reach out and grab Benedict’s hand. So grateful for him, for what you have had and will share, the journey you’ve had to experience to finally be together, somehow making it even more rewarding and all the sweeter. As your fingers entangle, you share a look - a moment - that tells you everything you will ever need you will find in or with each other.

And a few hours later, as you stand next to your father looking up the petal-strewn church aisle ahead you see your two boys awaiting you - Benedict and ring bearer James, with smiles on both their beautiful faces - and you know this is the moment you will treasure the most. Forever.

— The End —

Tagging: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @queenofshinigamis @khaleesjjj @starslibrary @magical-spit @honeylovemoon @justwant2read8421 @nikaprincessofkattegat

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primalsouls · 1 year

Text

Inner Visions

i'll protect you from

all the things i've seen

tighnari x gn!reader

themes: general (for now)

warnings: mention of death, description of a death (poison mushrooms), ooc Tighnari (heavy possibility), let me know of any warning...

summary: Tighnari saw his life flashed before his eyes, once again, but it wasn't from the newly growing poison mushroom he had almost taken a bite out of.

notes: written after the Archon Quests. but im so forgetful 😭 i also did finished his story quest... but probably forgot about that, too lmao so ill definitely look into all that haha also tried to do a little layout thingy for this fic lmao

⌑ reblogs & feedback are appreciated here! ⌑

✿ some reader info ✿

has a third eye - uses to see future visions when activated, atm the third eye is a ◉ᵕ◉.... third eye is closed one haha...

a "deity"

third eye makes them lose energy

wields a polearm mainly but can use more than one weapon - hand-to-hand combat mostly preferred

more will be added once i remember haha

(divider (c) firefly-graphics)

A new series of poisonous mushrooms began to invade one of the cave systems in the Avidya Forest. As one of the Forest Rangers in the sea of grand trees, Tighnari took it upon himself to seek these new species out and pray to the Dendro Archon for the empty-headed adventurers to heed his warnings and lectures about these fungi once he got his hands on them and study them before anyone else come across them.

"Master Tighnari, are you sure you could handle this on your own?" Collei asked, worry laced within her tone as she watched the fennec fox-hybrid ranger prepare himself a travel bag with all the necessary equipment he needed. Tighnari nodded his head towards the question, not sparing the green-haired girl a look as he dug through some cabinets for empty jars.

"Of course I can, Collei. These new specimens are a true hazard for anyone less experienced than me." Tighnari answered, stuffing the empty jars he found in one of his cabinets carefully into a new travel bag. Collei pouted. Brown-green eyes finally spare a single look towards her, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he slowed his movements. "I promise I won't try anything rash." He added, turning his body to face her completely. "And if I do need any help, I'll let Iraj know as he is near the cavern, afterall." Tighnari reassured the young girl before returning back to his preparations.

Despite the reassurance she received from the forest watcher, Collei's mind was still not at ease. There was a deep feeling inside her chest, urging her to stop the other vision user from going to investigate the mysterious mushrooms. Though, part of her believed Tighnari would be fine. He was the forest watcher after all, having to study the forest and its ecosystem. There was no reason to doubt him. "Alright… Please be careful, Master." Collei said quietly, bowing her head before leaving the hut of the fox-hybrid.

Tighnari let out a deep sigh. He appreciated Collei's concerns. She wasn't the only one worried about his sudden decision to investigate the growing problem within the Gandha Hill cavern. Aether and Paimon were the first to come across the fungi when they entered the cave for some lousy treasure. They were thankful Tighnari caught sight of them before they ventured further into the cave.

It was the horrendous smell that caught Tighnari's attention when he first entered the cavern after spotting the traveler and his small flying companion head in. Just from the sight of it above the cliff looking over the ground of the cavern was enough to tell it was a new species of poison mushrooms along with the nauseating aroma.

"Hopefully this scarf could keep the smell away." Tighnari muttered as he picked up the two travel bags he prepared, pulling the scarf over his head, careful with his long ears, and pulling it over his nose.

"Tighnari! There you are! Collei said you planned to go investigate the weird fungi we found. Do you need help? Aether here can come along!" Paimon exclaimed as she floated over to the forest watcher with the traveler walking up behind her, an apologetic look on his face. Tighnari winced at the loud voice of Paimon, his ears twitching down in displeasure.

Shaking his head, he waved the duo off. "No, no, it's fine. Like I told Collei, this is a mission for me rather than those inexperienced. We don't know what the mushrooms and their effects do, which is why I have to be the one to check on them. Please, I appreciate your concerns but I would rather you guys stay safe here than follow me through with this investigation of mine." Tighnari stated firmly, giving the pair a small smile. "Just stay here with Collei, I promise I'll come back before the night falls." With those words out, Tighnari didn't wait any second longer and headed down the path leading towards the entrance of the Gandha Hill cavern.

"Alright, Iraj, if anything happens in Gandharva Ville, please come get me." Tighnari said, looking over his shoulder towards the forest ranger who gave a firm nod. "And if anything happens to me, keep an ear out."

"Yes, Master Tighnari! I'll do my best." Iraj declared with another firm nod.

Tighnari gave him a quick nod before turning to the entrance of the cavern. "Here goes nothing…" He muttered under his breath.

The path leading to the ground of the cavern was shorter than he thought it would be. Tighnari peeked over the cliff. There they were. The new set of poison mushrooms huddled together in the small pool of water in front of the cliff. With careful steps, Tighnari made his way down to the ground level of the large cave. He looked around for any other potential threats in the area, his long ears seeking out for any small sound. Determined there was no other danger, Tighnari set a camp a few yards away from the pool of water. The equipment he had brought was set out nicely on top of a blanket beside the notebook and pen he brought to document any behavior from the fungi.

With a huff, Tighnari sat on the rug he set up. He wanted to take the scarf off but he doubted he would be able to handle the stench of the fungus. Despite the short travel between the cave under Gandha Hill, it still exhausted the fox-hybrid out. It didn't take him long to rest well, either. Tighnari stood up from the ground and walked over to the starting crowd of the fungi after picking up his pen and notebook. "Hm… Aside from the horrible stench, it stands out with a rosy pink cap and a lilac stem. It seems to be covered with moss as well." Tighnari told no one, his eyes shifting between the notebook and the mushroom as he scribbled down his observations.

"I wonder…" His words trailed off as Tighnari placed his pen and notebook down beside him. A gloved hand reached down and plugged one of the mushrooms out of the ground. Pulling the scarf down to his mouth, Tighnari grimaced at the aroma of the fungi invading his personal space, trying his damndest not to gag. "C'mon, Tighnari, tough it o-out…" He said through gritted teeth. His tail swung to get rid of somewhat of the stench as his hand neared the mushroom towards his slightly parted lips. His eyes were squinted. The top of the fungus looked weirdly spiraled.

A flash pierced against his vision. Tighnari let out a yelp as he dropped the mushroom and quickly got back on his feet after backing away hurriedly from the small group of fungi. His eyes were widen with alert, his body tensed as he held his bow out to defend himself. He panted, his heart ready to jump out of his throat as it raced against his chest.

"Wha—what…" Tighnari swallowed dryly as he glanced down at the mushroom he took out. There was no bite on it, so why did he see his life flashed before his eyes. Did the terrible smell finally get to his head!? Was he hallucinating from it? Tighnari was confused but upon closer observation he noticed the mushroom was pierced by a sharp… point of a trident… What?

Tighnari tensed his body once more. Where did the trident came from? There was no one here but himself. His fingers tightened around his bow. His ears were high alert for any sound.

"My, that was a close one, wasn't it?" An unfamiliar voice said above him coolly. Tighnari whipped his head around, his wide brown-green eyes landed on a figure who sat on the edge of the cliff. A frown creased his features. The forest watcher kept his weapon, taking a step back away from the new intruder.

"Who are you!? In fact, what are you doing here!? This area is off limits at the moment." Tighnari stated, his eyes narrowed towards the figure.

"What a strange way to say thank you…" The new face said as they raised a hand and snapped their fingers. Tighnari blinked as he glanced at their hand and towards the silver trident, which was no longer stabbing the mushroom he had in his hands moments before. "You should be lucky I was around the area to stop you from eating that deadly fungus." They added, hopping off the cliff and huffed when they landed a few feet away from Tighnari. Confusion swimmed in the forest watcher's eyes towards their words.

"What are you talking about? Were you the one who attacked me with that weapon?"

"Attacking is a strong word… I like the word helping more."

Tighnari scoffed, not a single trace of his weapon being lower down.

"Once again, who are you? Why did you atta—"

"Helped."

"Whatever! Why did you do that!?" Tighnari was growing frustrated. The figure tilted their head to one side, their disinterested eyes staring at Tighnari unnerving.

"You were about to eat a deadly mushroom. I've saved you from meeting your end too soon." They stated with a shrug, a bored look on their face. Tighnari frowned.

"How do you know they're deadly? What if it would just upset my stomach?" Tighnari retorted, his weapon faltering a bit.

"I've seen it… Your body wouldn't be discovered until further into the nighttime. By the time they find you, you'll be nothing but a wide eyed, purple lifeless body with moss growing out of your mouth." They said, their eyes glancing down at the mushroom which had slowly died out, withering away. Tighnari stared at them with a disturbed expression on his face.

The forest watcher couldn't believe what he was hearing. There was no way any of that could happen. Letting out a laughable scoff, Tighnari put his weapon down. "Hah! Ye-yeah right… There's no way that would happen. What, did you—did you try it yourself and come back to life?" He mused, not believing a single word that came out of their mouth. The other stared at Tighnari, leaving him feeling uneasy.

"No, I'm not stupid like you." Their words caught Tighnari off guard, his perplexed frown increasing further. "I figured you won't believe me… I've planned to just save you from your early fate and create a diversion to throw you off but I decided to stay and let you know what happened instead… I regret it now." They added, looking over at his small campsite. "By the way, Tighnari, do you always go around eating strange mushrooms?" Hearing his name rolled out their tongue made Tighnari freeze on the spot once more.

"How do you know my name? I've never told you…" Tighnari said quietly, raising his bow once more.

"Ah, how rude of me…" Ignoring his question, the figure crossed their arms over their chest. "I'm (Name)." They said with a small grin, . "And I can see your future."

#genshin impact #x reader #x gender neutral reader #x male reader #x female reader #genshin impact x male reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x female reader #tighnari #tighnari x reader #tighnari x male reader #tighnari x female reader #tighnari x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #primal writes

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