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yunhoszn · 18 days

Text

steamed milk

pairing choi san x f!reader word count 2.5k genres fluff﹒smut warnings 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, not proofread, all lowercase bc i wrote this at 2 am… a week ago <3, barista!reader, barista!san, clumsy reader, mentions of burn scars?, mutual pining, little bit of power imbalance but it doesn’t play into the plot, escalates pretty fast, public sex, unprotected sex, cute fluffy moment at the end, may we get f’s in the chat for kim hongjoong’s desk chair

summary a closing shift with san is… interesting… to say the least.

more alright alright alright, i know i have a billion wips and a billion reqs to work on,,, but @bro-atz needed something to read on a flight and i needed an excuse to write with no plot in mind, solely based on vibes and this is what came out of it… i ALSO KNOW i’ve been withholding for a week but that’s bc i wasn’t sure if i wanted to keep this locked in the dungeon for a rainy day or not, until i remembered i should post something in honor of chellateez 🥳

@atzhouse @san-network

“did you burn yourself on the steam wand again, y/n?”

you bite your lip and turn away from hongjoong bashfully. so what if you’re a little clumsy, it’s not like you completely sucked at your job. maybe there were a few milk spills here and there. at least you knew what you were doing most of the time.

“um, what would you do if i said no?” you scratch the back of your neck with the hand that wasn’t burned. hongjoong sighs, leaning back in his rolling chair. as the manager of a coffee shop, he did not get paid enough to babysit and coddle his employees like he usually did.

between you almost always making a mess and then yunho and mingi goofing around whenever they were on shift together, he felt like he was starting to grow grey hairs. he shakes his head with a tsk, pulling out the first aid kit from one of the drawers in his desk. “let’s put some burn cream and a bandaid on it so you can hop back out. the dessert rush is about to begin.”

you nod and rock on the balls of your feet as you wait patiently. your manager dresses your burn and sends you on your way. the dessert rush, aside from the morning rush, was arguably the worst part of the day. shifts at the coffee shop were divided into thirds— open to mid, mid to evening, evening to close. while opens were the most busy, you at least got out early and could enjoy the rest of your day. mids were the slowest, but they took place midday so you couldn’t do much after you clocked off.

closes were the worst, because they were so unpredictable. you weren’t ever sure if it was going to be busy, apart from the usual dessert rush, and that uncertainty bothered you. the beginning of your closing shift was staffed pretty well. there was yeosang, who was probably the best barista out of the lot of you, and seonghwa, a seasoned veteran in this game. he was your assistant manager.

however, yeosang and seonghwa were off at 6 PM and the shop closed at 9 PM, leaving you and your lead for the night to close all by yourselves. and your lead? choi san.

closing with san wouldn’t be such a problem if it weren’t for your massive crush on him. out of the other leads, san was the kindest. he didn’t lose his cool if your clumsy nature got the best of you during a hectic shift. in fact, he took his time to ensure everything was okay. he didn’t care if there were angry customers demanding that their drinks be made. his baristas were his number one priority.

and well, with his appearance today, it would be more difficult than usual. donned in a white button up and some black slacks, his brown apron over, you think you’re going to faint. on a regular basis, san wore simple things like the occasional sweater or t-shirts and jeans, but this new look was making you all sorts of dizzy. you felt inferior beside him. (though technically, you were.)

with hongjoong, seonghwa, and yeosang leaving all at the same time, you were in a crisis. how were you supposed to survive this shift? it’s like the universe meticulously crafted this moment so it could laugh at you. and it all started with you burning yourself on that goddamn steam wand, while you were on bar with san of all people.

“are you sure you don’t want me to send you home?” san asks lowly, making sure only you heard him. the two of you were finishing an order when he asked the question.

“i couldn’t let you close by yourself.” you pout. as hard as it’s going to be working with him alone for three hours, you’d feel awful leaving him to fend for himself.

“i can ask yeo or hwa to stay,” he shrugs, putting a lid on the iced vanilla latte in front of you. “i don’t want you to hurt yourself again.”

“i’ll be fine, san,” you reassure. “besides, seonghwa would probably kill me if i was the reason he had to stay later than he had to.”

san laughs a little, eyes scrunching up in the cute way they do when he smiles. your heart rate spikes and you have to take a deep breath to compose yourself. he nods as he turns to hand out the order.

“if you insist.”

maybe you should’ve taken him up on that offer to go home.

you’re too distracted by the way his rolled up sleeves strain against his muscular arms, staring a little too much. hongjoong just so happens to walk out of the back at that exact moment. he thinks your (very obvious) crush on san is funny, but not when the line is wrapped and you’re about to be down two men.

“y/n, there’s five drinks waiting to be made,” he calls out, tapping on seonghwa and yeosang’s shoulders to let them know they can go. “what’s more important that has you standing there doing nothing?”

“sorry…” you apologize sheepishly, avoiding his gaze as you start on the next order; a dry cappuccino with cinnamon. great. another drink that required you using that godforsaken steam wand. a truly evil contraption.

“i can be milk if you’d like?” san suggests suddenly, noticing your hesitation to steam the 2%.

“if it’s not too much of an ask,” you frown. “i just don’t want to hold us back in the middle of a rush.”

“you don’t need to explain yourself to me, y/n,” he quickly swaps places with you. “i think you’re pretty damn good with a portafilter anyway.”

it’s a stupid compliment. only another barista would even know what that meant, but you take it to heart. your body flushes with warmth as you tamp the espresso grounds and pull a shot viable enough to use for the cappuccino. you’re a little shaky as you pour it into the paper cup and wait for san to pour the milk.

this was the closest you’d get to flirting with san, and it was him telling you that you were actually good at your job. what a sad life you lived.

thankfully, you manage to bulldoze through the line with just the two of you. in times like these, your solution is to go nonverbal and lock in. if you talk while you’re making drinks, you get distracted too easily and you find it’s harder to multitask. after the rush, things are slow for the most part and then it’s just you, san, and the sound of cafe music playing quietly over the speakers at 9 PM.

“y/n, can i ask you a question?” san inquires, counting the till as you wipe down the espresso machine and the bar around it.

“what’s up?” you hum, refolding your rag. he shuts the register and walks over to you, leaning on the bar adjacent to the one you were at.

“i’m curious, and you don’t have to answer if you’re uncomfortable, but i’ve heard that you like me. is that true?” it comes out so politely, you’re not even sure you heard him correctly. you blink as the words process in your brain. this was the end. now you really wished you went home early.

“well— um— i don’t know how to answer that…” you fiddle with your fingers, looking everywhere but at san.

“all i want is a yes or no, because truth is,” he walks closer and closer until he’s directly in front of you. “i have a little crush on you myself.”

“you what?!” you don’t mean to sound so shocked, so appalled even, because he takes a step back, eyes widened by your outburst. you’re just so confused. choi san liked you? like, liked you?

“i’ll take that as a—“

“no!” you stand upright, grabbing his wrist. when you realize what you’ve done, you immediately let go. “i mean, no, as in yes. i do like you, san. i was just… embarrassed… that you found out from elsewhere instead of me. and i’m a little in disbelief that you feel the same.”

“why’s that?” his head tilts to the side a bit. “what’s not to like about you?”

“for starters, i’m the biggest klutz on the planet.” you huff, but that makes his smile grow wider.

“i think that’s your charming point,” he admits, hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks. “while i don’t enjoy seeing you hurt, like when you burned yourself earlier, i do think it’s kinda cute when you accidentally knock over a drink.”

“are you okay in the head? were you dropped on it as a baby?” you ask with a raised eyebrow. he laughs, this time a full on laugh that has him bringing a fist up to his mouth. you think you just shed a tear. and not from your eyes.

“i don’t believe so. i guess i’m just attracted to people who aren’t afraid of being themselves,” he shrugs, reaching out to take your hand into his. “and you check all the boxes.”

remember the whole fainting thing? that’s about to come true. you manifested it.

san brings your knuckles up to his lips, first kissing over the bandaid where your burn was and then all over the back of your hand. you stand there like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing but no words escaping you. was the universe… rewarding you somehow?

“how often does joong check the cameras?” you gasp when his kisses have moved from your hand to your neck. he doesn’t break contact, speaking into your skin as he unties your apron.

“almost never, but you have a point.”

this is how you end up on san’s lap in hongjoong’s office chair, fingers tangled in each other’s hair, lips locked like no tomorrow. he was a fantastic kisser, which just further proved your theory that he was the perfect human being. along with the subtle flirting, and the obvious knack for respecting boundaries, it’s almost like the universe had hand crafted choi san to be the ideal man. and they say chivalry is dead. pft, san’s existence dispels that notion undoubtedly.

“he won’t know, right?” you pant, arching into him when he sucks at a particular part on the base of your throat. he hums.

“you’re worrying too much,” san’s fingers slip under your top, digging into your waist. “i promise, he won’t find out. but we’ve gotta be quick since he’ll know what time we left.”

“m’kay,” you sigh, grinding down on his lap to help speed things along. the undressing process is a blur. you wish you could spend more time admiring his bare chest and arms, especially because you’d been fantasizing about this moment for almost an entire year now.

“god, you’re so gorgeous, y/n,” he murmurs, reconnecting your lips sweetly. his hands massage the sides of your thighs as you hover over him, preparing to sink down on his cock. “i finally have you all to myself.”

you whine when you do, his words encouraging your arousal. the intrusion has you moaning softly, eyes squeezing shut from the sheer pleasure streaming through your veins. your nails scrape his shoulders and back, toes curling. the tip of his dick grazes that sensitive spot deep in your cunt with ease, as if he was made to be inside of you.

“feels— fuck— feels so good, san,” you whimper, head falling to the crook of his neck. san chuckles, albeit a little strained. his hands remain in your hips, aiding your movement so you don’t get too tired.

“is that right, sweetheart?” he says into your ear, nipping the lobe gently. “you’re taking me so well.”

his praise shoots straight to your core, punching another moan out of you. you really shouldn’t be surprised that he’s inching you towards the edge of that familiar tide so fast. it’s san, and like you’ve stated before, he’s damn near perfect. but holy shit, the way he’s fucking you has you thinking that there is such a thing as heaven.

you have to bite down on his collarbone to stop yourself from screaming like a fucking pornstar, leaving a myriad of marks on his skin to restrain the ferality threatening to jump out of you. every drag of his cock on your velvety walls drives you just a little more insane each time.

he’s moving so slow, but so deep all at once, and it’s just the right combination to decorate the backs of your eyelids in stars and colored spots. his ring and middle fingers meet your swollen clit, circling with practiced pressure. the office chair squeaks awfully with each of your bounces on his lap, but you’re too close to pay it any mind. instead, you drown it out with your own noises— warnings of your impending orgasm.

“gonna cum— my god, san, i’m—!” you don’t even finish your sentence, the tide finally reaching the shore. your orgasm washes over you hard and unlike any other you’ve ever experienced before. you aren’t sure if he’s just that good, or if it’s because it’s san. (most likely a combination of both.)

san coos, guiding you through the peak of your climax. once you’ve calmed considerably, you slide him out of you and stroke his cock until he’s painting the inside of your thighs with milky white and a groan. his face screws up in pleasure, eyes fluttered shut and brows knit together. his lashes kiss the tops of his cheeks and you think you’ve just fallen in love, for real.

his chest rises and falls as he attempts to catch his breath. you can’t help placing a hand over the left side to feel the rapidity of his heartbeat, smiling to yourself. he mirrors your expression after a moment, leaning up to press a sensual kiss to your lips.

“as fun as this was, and as much as i like the view right now, it’d be better if i could actually take you out after this… and if i could fuck you somewhere nicer than on our manager’s desk chair.” san bites at the inside of his lip, glancing down at the rolling chair beneath you.

“i agree,” you giggle, brushing his hair from his face. “hongjoong’s office isn’t the ideal location for a first date or first time sleeping together. but at least we’ll have a fun story to tell our kids.”

san bursts into laughter at that. “our kids, huh? you’ve thought that far ahead?”

“i’ve had a crush on you since i got hired, choi san, what do you think?” you raise an eyebrow, booping his nose with your index finger. he scrunches it up with a grin.

“i think that i’ve had a crush on you just as long. and if we’re having kids, it’s best to omit some details when we retell this story.”

#atzhouse #san network #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez san #ateez choi san #choi san #choi san x reader #choi san smut #san x reader #san smut #yunhoszn

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deadsetobsessions · 2 months

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What’s in a cape, but the hopes and dreams of the one who bears it?

What’s in a cape, but shelter and warmth for those that receive its protection?

What’s in a hero suit, but a person that’s determined to die in it?

——

Long before Danny Phantom died in his hazmat suit, Bruce Wayne donned his cowl to dive between Gotham and the bullets with faces engraved on them. His cape began to signify fear, for those that harmed Gotham knowingly. But for the rest, it became a sign of protection, of promised vengeance against the crime committed.

And for a select few, the cape was a shelter during cold and rainy patrols. For Tim Drake, the third Robin, it was a warmth he’d never experience past those moments.

When Danny Fenton became Danny Phantom, he’d had wanted to have a cape like the crusader.

Danny wasn’t sure if he wanted to shelter or be sheltered.

But eventually, as things escalated and Danny found himself with less time for normal, personal things, that wish shuddered to an ember. After all, Danny had learned that he doesn’t get the luxury of protection. Not anymore. Which meant he had to be the one doing the protecting. A thousand miles away, as Danny came to terms with it on a clear Amity night, Robin was huddled beneath Batman’s cape to shelter from the pelting rain that came often with Gotham’s gloom.

When Danny got pulled along, invisible and attached to Robin’s side as the vigilante got thrown into a prison, he witnessed Robin talk to his evil older Batman self.

He’s visible again before he knew it, startling the two versions of Robins. Ice slammed into the Robin that became Batman as memories rung through Danny’s head. Where Robin was, stood himself. Where the Evil Robin Batman laid on the floor, covered in glowing ice, was Dan.

Danny died, and became a hero. He just had the unfortunate luck to live to see himself become the villain.

He would never allow Robin to go through it alone, not when Danny had his family and friends to fall back on. Robin, in this cage, ripped away from his team and in the midst of an argument with Batman, was painfully so.

“I’m Phantom.” Danny introduced himself. “Looked like you were in a bit of a spot. I’m sorry for butting in, if you wanted to take care of him yourself.”

“Robin.” Robin was wary. That’s okay. “How are you here?”

“That one’s on you, actually.” Danny glanced around. “Let’s get out of here before edgy future you wakes up. The ice won’t melt, and it’ll be hard to break, but I honestly don’t want to stick around for him to wake up.”

“Can you move him?” Robin eyed their cell contemplatively.

“Sure.”

——

“That seemed personal, earlier.”

Danny nodded. “Yeah. Had the displeasure of meeting an alternate evil version of myself that lost everyone I loved. Kind of hit a sore spot there.”

“…right.”

“No worries, you’re good. My friends and family promised to stay away from explosive sauce.”

“That’s good. So… where do you live?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?” Danny somersaulted in space next to Robin’s jerryrigged space ship. “Anyways, we’re friends now, so I’ll make sure you don’t live to see yourself become a villain.”

“See, that sounded like a threat.”

“It’s not! I don’t kill! And besides, if you were dead, you’d probably be a ghost, and you’d kick my ass for killing you!”

“Are you implying you’re dead?”

“Not an implication. I’m dead. Kind of. Half. I’m still breathing even if I kind of don’t need to. So, where are your friends?”

Danny will be damned before he let his new friends die in their suits, even if they make the job incredibly hard for him. After all, there’s only room for one dead hero on the team, and that’s him.

#dc x dp crossover #young justice #Tim Drake #I made myself sad #danny phantom #bruce wayne #danny fenton #nasty burger and their explosive sauce #new business idea: jokerized fries and the explosive sauce #I’m poking fun at joker #and Jason #kind of

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s-brant · 1 year

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Jealousy, Jealousy

Nancy and Y/N are best friends. The problem is, Y/N and Steve have been secretly hooking up for weeks, and when Nancy asks for advice about possibly getting back together with him, Y/N doesn’t know how to feel.

“wow genuinely your steve fics are so good and seem to be super well thought out i’m literally scared that a prompt i send won’t be good enough!! i dont know i want to say “we shouldn’t be doing this” sex w steve because i’m a whore for it”

7k (18+)

Warnings: smut, penetrative sex, exhibitionism, praise kink, very slight dub-con if you squint due to wording but not really, it’s also just assumed reader is on the pill, and strong language.

This is wrong.

She knows that she shouldn't be thinking or feeling any of the things she is at the moment, but, when she looks up from her spot on the floor in the Wheeler's basement to find Steve staring at her, she cannot ignore the butterflies that stir to life in her stomach. Those pretty brown eyes of his are quick to avert back to the task at hand, but, for the short few seconds that they lock eyes, his lips twitch with the urge to curl up into a smile at her.

The thing is, Y/N and Steve have been secretly fucking for a few weeks now. In her defense, she didn't actively seek him out for the sake of having sex with him.

It was dark and rainy that night, and she was caught up in the storm on her bike as she pedaled home from cheer practice, eyes nearly shut from the wind that blew up the street at her face. The uniform she donned all afternoon was drenched from the downpour, and her hair stuck to the sides of her face as well. It annoyed her that she was two miles from home and her useless mother couldn't be bothered to part with her boyfriend to drive to get her, sure, but she tried not to let it bring her down.

Then, out of the gloom that hung over Hawkins, the headlights of a familiar BMW came up over the hill in the road to shine in her face, and she knew it was Steve before he even had the chance to slow to a stop and roll down his window to talk to her. If anyone else did this—even him a few years ago when he'd been the king of Hawkins High School—they'd come off as a creep, but it was Steve. Her best friend Nancy's sweet, if not a little clueless, ex-boyfriend who babysits her brother and his best friends. There was nothing to worry about.

He asked incredulously, "What are you doing out in this?" The doors to the car unlocked with a click. "Come on, I'll take you the rest of the way. You're gonna get sick."

So, she went. Her bike barely fit in the back of the car, and once she slammed the door shut, he wasted little time in driving off into the rainy night.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"I was gonna go ask Nance if I could crash in the basement. My mom didn't answer, and when she doesn't answer, it's probably not a good idea to come home unless I want to walk in on something that'll make me wanna bleach my eyes. Learned that lesson the hard way."

The sound of his melodic laugh filled the car, then, when she just stared at him, the amusement fell from his face.

"Oh, you're not kidding?"

It was her turn to laugh.

"I wish," she said, cutting him a sidelong glance before setting her sights back on the road ahead. "She and her weirdo boyfriend literally demand that I don't come home on nights he's over. Apparently, it's their constitutional right to fuck on the kitchen counter, I don't know."

There was a dip of silence in which neither of them said a word after that.

In his peripheral vision, he could see her fiddling with the hem of her soaked cheer skirt awkwardly as she avoided looking at him at all costs, and, suddenly, something changed.

Y/N had befriended Nancy shortly before their breakup, so he hasn't been in close proximity to her many times. Seeing that they've been broken up for a year, he doesn't have a reason to interact with her except for when he's picking up or dropping off the kids from the Wheeler's house when she's hanging out there. But, that night in his car, she was acting strange around him. Strange in the way that girls used to act around him all the time back when they hoped and prayed for a chance with the most popular guy at school. He didn't understand why she was behaving in such a way now, though. The way he saw it, he was a loser who couldn't even get into college like his other classmates and worked at Family Video.

What he didn't know, however, is that she didn't think he was a loser at all. If anything, her view on him then made a complete turnaround compared to when he was dating her best friend. When she got stuck with him and the kids last year at Joyce Byers' house and watched him go head-to-head with Billy in defense of Lucas, she knew a small part of her heart would always belong to Steve Harrington. She was the one to clean the cuts lining his face, as well as the blooded nose caused by the beating he took, and place bandaids from under the Byers' sink on each one of them. After that, she didn't see him again outside of fleeting glances in the hallway and through the windows of his car parked outside the Wheeler's place until recently.

He said, trying to keep his cool with the smoking hot girl he never noticed last year due to his Nancy-induced heartache sitting in the passenger's seat of his car, "I just dropped Dustin off at Mike's and Nancy was on her way out to see Jonathan."

She asked, "How about your place, then?" and the rest was history.

It wasn't even a half hour later that she was laid back on his couch with his head buried between her thighs and a hand gripping a fistful of his hair as she panted for air amidst the build-up to her orgasm. Then, after she woke in his bedroom and snuck out of the front door before his parents could notice her presence in the house, it wasn't long before they crossed paths again...and again and again. She'd wait around the back of the school where she knew Nancy wouldn't see for him to pick her up from school after his shift at Family Video, and they began to develop a routine of swimming in his pool, having dinner together since his parents couldn't be bothered to hang around with him, and having sex before he had to drive her back home in time to do her homework before bed.

As far as she was concerned, they were just having fun and not labeling whatever it was that was going on between them. Steve, on the other hand, was already imagining how her name might sound with his last name attached to the end of it.

Now, as they're sitting in Nancy's basement and helping the kids with the projects they waited until the very last second to start, he's still fantasizing about all the things he wants to do with her. Not just sexually, either. He's been trying to work up the nerve to ask her on a date for the past few days, but every time he tries, his nerves get in the way. That voice in the back of his mind sings its doubts, telling him that she'll never want him in the same way that he wants her. No one has ever wanted him to be the one, so why should it start with her?

When Steve gets up from the couch to pay for the pizza they ordered to the house, Nancy casts a look over her should at him to ensure he's too far to hear and scoots closer to Y/N while the kids are engrossed in their own conversations.

She whispers, "Can I tell you something? It's about Steve..."

Anxiety tightens the muscles of Y/N's chest as she tries to keep her face schooled into a mask of neutrality. Although she feels like the truth is written across her face every time she comes into the presence of her best friend, she is outwardly as calm as can be. She doesn't know whether or not she should take pride in the skill she's acquired in lying since she and Steve began hooking up.

What else can she do except nod?

Nancy goes on in a hushed tone, "I've been kind of having these...feelings for him again lately. Feelings I haven't had since we were together before. And I love Jonathan, I do, but I guess I'm just worried about what I'm missing. I just don't know if I made the right choice now that these feelings are back." As soon as the words leave her mouth, she shakes her head and shuts her as if that'll take them back. "That was so fucked up of me to say, I'm sorry."

The news sinks home inside of her like lead weighing her down at the bottom of her stomach. Part of the reason she hadn't bothered entertaining the curious side of her that wondered if Steve felt anything more for her in the quiet moments after they had sex, when he'd linger on top of her for a few seconds longer and murmur his praises into the warm curve of her neck, was because she'd be confronted with the issue of her best friend being his ex. Granted, they weren't best friends for the majority of the time they dated. She was more of a post-Steve thing, but that isn't the point. The point is, her own moral code, as well as girl code, dictates that Steve is strictly off limits. But, if that's true, why does she want him so badly?

But because of this, she cannot do anything other than force a reassuring smile on her face as she reaches for her friend's hand and whispers, "Thoughts aren't inherently bad or good, they're just thoughts. Everyone has doubts to themselves, but I think it's important to remember how well you and Jonathan work together. I mean, he was the reason you left Steve in the first place."

The words she doesn't speak aloud but feels clawing at her from the inside begging to be released are something along the lines of, Please, don't drag him back just to break his heart again in another year. Don't steal him away if you don't really want him. But, she can't say that, not because it isn't her honest opinion regardless of her current relationship with him, but because Nancy would know based on the waver in her voice that something is going on between them.

To her mortification, her words don't appear to help the difficult debate waging war on Nancy's mind. If anything, it muddles things further and creates more discourse.

"You're right, you're absolutely right, but..." Of course, there's a but. "What if my instinct is trying to tell me something and I'm ignoring it?"

There's a drawn-out pause, then—

"Maybe just wait and see how you feel for a few more weeks before you say or do anything. It might just be one of those things that comes and goes, y'know?"

Nancy is quick to nod, setting her focus back on the partially painted piece of cardboard belonging to Max's unfinished project. For another minute or so, Y/N can't do anything but focus on her out of the corner of her eye, worry stirring to life within that the happiness she's experienced in the past few weeks will be taken from her the second Nancy decides to talk about the feelings she's having.

Steve isn't hers, so why does she feel this nagging possessive instinct whenever she imagines her friend acting on the feelings she just admitted to having? She never realized until now, but she doesn't think she can share him. Whether that means they will soon need to have a talk about their arrangement and how the feelings she's having are getting in the way of it being just "fun" or not, she isn't sure, but she knows one thing.

She needs to find him.

Y/N sets down what she'd been working in favor of standing from her spot on the floor, knees tucked beneath her bottom on a stray cushion, and offers up a placating smile when multiple faces around the room perk up to see why she's leaving.

"Where are you going?" Mike asks.

"Bathroom," she says. "Be right back."

With a quick, worried glance at Nancy calms her nerves instantly. There's no suspicion present on her friend's face. If anything, she's too focused on the task at hand, as well as the difficult debate going on within her head over the whole Steve versus Jonathan thing that has existed since junior year of high school, to notice or care about her sneaking away to "use the bathroom". It allows Y/N's racing heart to slow momentarily as she ascends the old staircase to the Wheeler's basement and enters the main level of the house. Slowly, carefully, she shuts the door to the basement behind her to keep any conversation she may have with Steve as private as possible.

The bright array of cozy lights strung up around the Christmas tree positioned in the corner of the living room passes in her periphery on her way to the front door where she sees Steve talking to the pizza guy with one hand casually propped against the open door. She assumes it must be an old friend, perhaps someone who used to be on the varsity basketball or baseball team with him back when they were in school together, but it matters little to her who they are at the moment. The only thing she can think to do is stake her claim before it's too late. Or, at least, have one last good night with him before Nancy takes him back.

She waits with her back leaned up against the staircase railing and watches him take the stack of three boxes from the delivery man after handing him the cash as payment.

"Alright, have a nice night, man," Steve says.

The man lifts a hand to wave goodbye over his shoulder as he's turning to walk off in the direction of his parked car, and, with that, the front door swings shut. When he turns around with the pizza boxes balanced precariously in one hand, it's difficult not to flinch and drop them all to the floor at the unexpected sight of her standing there.

"Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me," he says after a second is taken to steady himself, one hand pressed over his chest as though to soothe his heart after the drastic shock it received. When she remains quiet, he furrows his brows, continuing, "You're really quiet right now. It's actually kind of creepy." His voice then quiets as a new thought comes to him. "...Unless it's a weird sex thing, then I might like it."

All she does is allow her lips to curl up a bit at the ends in a slight smile before she turns to walk down the hallway to the kitchen. The living room is being used by Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler to watch a popular movie Steve so kindly held aside at Family Video for them when they asked Y/N if he could do so. And, of course, since she was the one who asked, it was delivered right to Mrs. Wheeler the second he arrived tonight.

In fact, the exact words he said, although quietly so anyone at the store couldn't hear, when she asked was, "Sure. Anything for my girl."

My girl.

As she walks through the entrance to the kitchen with her back to him, she picks the two words apart over and over again. Particularly, she gets stuck on the first one. My. It lights a fire in the pit of her abdomen, desire flaring to life at the memory of him casually declaring her as something that belonged to him. My. A possessive word. One he had been comfortable in using. The question is, would he be comfortable with it the other way around? The voice in the back of her head can't help but wonder...

Is Steve hers?

He keeps eyeing her up suspiciously throughout the process of setting the pizza boxes down on the kitchen island one by one and checking to make sure they're what they ordered before the delivery man pulls out of the driveway. Once it's confirmed that they are, in fact, two plain cheese pizzas and one pepperoni for Max and Dustin, he pauses to call her odd behavior into question again.

Steve asks, "Okay, you're really starting to freak me out. Are you okay? Did I do something?" She doesn't allow her face to give away any of her true intentions as she walks around the island, making sure in her peripheral vision that there's no one around to see them as she approaches. "If I did something, you can just tell me—”

His sentence is cut off at the end by her kissing him to shut him up.

It's a surprise, sure, but it doesn't take him any longer than a second or two to realize what's happening and react accordingly. As if it's an instinct as natural as breathing, he kisses her back with an urgency that brings a flushed color to his cheeks and settles both hands on her hips to tug them closer. The warmth of his fingertips touching the stretch of bare skin between her slightly too-short sweater and jeans draws a barely-audible noise from the back of her throat. But, he hears it. He always picks up on those little things about her, whether they be sounds, expressions she makes, or anything of the sort.

The kiss is cut short a second or two later out of fear of someone walking in, but his hands refuse to stray from her hips when she pulls away with a look in her eyes he knows all too well. Her pupils are blown wide with lush, glazed-over in a way they never get outside of moments such as these, and he knows straight away what she wants from him.

He asks, "So, it was a sex thing?"

Finally, she can't help but break her act of stoicism and offers him a bright smile.

"Shut up and follow me."

"What about the kids—"

The sharp tug of her hand wrapped around his wrist brings him away from the kitchen island, bringing him along in every step she takes toward the entrance to the hallway. She doesn't bother to look over his shoulder when she next speaks. Instead, she gives his hand a reassuring squeeze to get the same sentiment across as the words leave her mouth.

"They think I'm in the bathroom. And, for all they know, you could be outside talking to the pizza guy," she offers.

It's settled, then.

Still, in the time it takes her to drag him down the hall and up the staircase behind her, Steve can't help but check over his shoulder multiple times to ensure Nancy, Robin, the kids, or Nancy's parents didn't see them leaving to go up the stairs. The last thing he expected tonight was for her to pounce on him like a feral animal and drag him upstairs to have her way with him in a house filled with people. They've done it in risky places before, like on the break room table at Family Video and his car parked at Lover's Lake, but they've never done it in a place as risky as Nancy's house.

Despite the mild confusion it causes, whatever it is that has gotten into her, he prays it never leaves. It isn't unusual for her to initiate sex with him. Hell, half the time, she's the one who leans in to kiss him first or calls to ask if he's home, but he has always been the one to initiate in situations like these. It was his idea to fuck her on the break room table just like it was his idea to bend her over the hood of his car at Lover's Lake last week.

Every door they pass and briefly pause at is a no-go. Mike's room? Absolutely not. Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler's room? Never. Holly's room? That would be the most deplorable thing either of them has ever done. So, when they reach Nancy's half-open bedroom at the end of the hallway, Y/N has no other choice but to pull him inside and push him up against the shut door.

In between the eager, open-mouthed kisses she gives him, he murmurs, "We shouldn't be doing this. Nance will literally murder us if she finds out."

She shakes her head into the kiss and pulls back, breathless, to say, "Then, we're gonna have to be quiet, huh?" before promptly reconnecting their mouths.

His face lights up at the mischievous tone her voice takes, and he can't ignore how his cock starts to strain against the tight denim of his Levi's at the mere thought of fucking her while everyone else is unaware downstairs. She can feel him smirk against her lips, his chest jerking with the sound of him chuckling to himself at how this girl has him wrapped around her finger.

And there it is. With a conflicted feeling of acceptance, he finally realizes he's falling in love again.

As soon as he realizes that this is real, that they're truly about to do this, Steve takes control of the situation in a matter of seconds. His hands make quick work of tugging her sweater off of her body. Her arms rise to make the task easier for him as he frantically undresses her and tosses the knitted fabric onto the floor behind the locked bedroom door. When she's free of the confines of her warm sweater, she then reaches for his shirt and rips it off with the same frantic nature he had with her. There's a time and place for unhurried, slow sex, but this is not one of them. By her estimation, they have five minutes to spare before their friends notice their absence and begin to question their whereabouts.

He hefts her up into her arms with his hands grasping the backs of her thighs to bring them around his hips, but right before he can set her down on the bed, she shakes her head.

"No, Steve, the headboard hitting the wall will be too loud."

This earns a scoff from him.

Though he'd never be dumb enough to bring up his ex while he's about to have sex with her, Steve is as familiar with Nancy's room as she is, if not more. After all, he snuck inside a handful of times and had to get creative so as to not allow her parents to hear what they were doing while they were asleep across the hallway. Her headboard does bang against the wall, that she's right about, but her mattress doesn't creak much, and if he puts a few of her pillows between the wall and the headboard...

He tosses her down onto the bed with ease and crawls up to meet her where she lays with her head cradled against one of the pillows. His hand reaches to the side to grab the other one and maneuvers it between the wall and headboard, then grabs one of the many decorative ones to do the same on the other end before coming back to her.

Ignoring her previous statement entirely, Steve asks, "You're real cute when you're nervous, you know that?"

The button and zipper to her jeans come undone with a few deft movements of his fingers, and she can't help but grin up at him in spite of her fear of getting caught as he pulls her pants and underwear down her legs in one smooth motion.

There's something better to her about being called cute or beautiful by him rather than the typical "hot" label guys have thrown at her. Don't get her wrong, being called hot is flattering in circumstances of one-night stands or even random compliments from those she likes, but having the guy you like call you cute or beautiful in a moment of heady desire is different. She knows by the way he said it alone that she isn't just an easy fuck to him. He genuinely likes her, and that's not something she ever expected to happen seeing that he used to be a well-known jerk as well as her best friend's ex-boyfriend.

He hardly has the chance to undo his own jeans and shove them partway down his thighs before she's tugging him down onto her with a needy plea for him to fuck her. Her arms wrap around his shoulders as he kisses her, his tongue invading her mouth without warning, and uses one of his hands to guide his cock through her sticky folds. When his tip rubs against her throbbing clit, she can't help but whisper more desperately, urging him to get on with it.

"Steve," she says, a sharp gasp escaping at the feeling of his tip against her entrance, "Please"—her hips press up to sink the tip of his cock into her a little more—"Need you."

Usually, he'd be the insufferable little bastard he always is and retort something like, "Yeah?" or "Tell me what you need from me," for the sake of getting her to blush for him, but they have already used up at least a minute of their time before things become suspicious, so he gives her what she wants without protest.

She cries out beneath him when he sinks into her with no opportunity for her to gradually adjust to his thick cock. Her fingernails dig into the soft skin of his shoulders with enough force to leave crescent-shaped marks indented into him. Before she can think to make another noise again, though, Steve's hand is covering her mouth.

His eyes have gone wide, and the smooth motion of his hips stalling for a second as he listens for anyone coming up the stairs before he pulls his hand from her face. Somewhere to the right of her body, he reaches to grab something she cannot be bothered to look at.

He says softly, "Gotta be quiet, baby," and stuffs the shirt Nancy left on the bed into her open mouth.

Y/N doesn't even have the chance to be shocked or turned on by the fact that he gagged her with his ex-girlfriend's shirt—while they're fucking on her bed—because he starts to move the second he's sure her noises won't get them caught. Well, at least, the noises coming from her mouth. As for the sound of their bodies smacking together, as well as the wet squelching sound that accompanies it from how wet she is, whether or not anyone hears that is left up to chance.

His arms are braced against the bed on either side of her head, caging her in and forcing her to look at him while he ruins her. It doesn't take much for her to feel that fire in the pit of her belly flare up. All it takes is the feeling of him pushing in and out of her, the spare hair at the base of his cock brushing against her clit on the upstroke, and she's melting in his arms.

Seeing Steve above her is like seeing every one of her wet dreams come to life. Sometimes she does dream about him. Whether it be when she's alone in her bedroom or sleeping beside him on nights they're both too exhausted to stray from his bed, she'll wake on the edge of climaxing with her hands balling up the sheets into a fist. When she's alone, she'll take care of it herself. When she's with him, she'll roll over and start nudging her face into the curve of his neck, peppering kisses there until he begins to stir from his sleep.

The sound of her muffled moans coming through the makeshift gag encourages him in his efforts to press himself deeper inside of her on every thrust. One of the hands beside her head grasps one of the posts of Nancy's headboard for leverage while the other slips down between their bodies to press down on the lowest point of her abdomen. When he puts pressure there, it intensifies the pleasure felt from the steady rocking motions he makes into her, and she can't help but buck her hips up to meet his thrusts.

The heel of his hand presses down right above her pubic bone, leaving his fingertips in a perfect position to rub her clit for her. He knows they have very little time, so he doesn't bother trying to get her to come from penetration alone like he often does when they're alone in his empty house while his parents are out. Before him, she never even knew that was something her body was capable of. That's not to say every other guy before him was terrible in bed, but there's a reason he gained a good reputation with the ladies in Hawkins. The first of which was that he had, as she already knew from girls who gossiped about hooking up with him, a big dick. The second and most important reason of all was that he knew what to do with it.

The sight of her breasts bouncing, although hindered slightly by the bra they couldn't be bothered to remove, brings him closer to his end quicker than he expected. He'd like to think he's experienced enough to spend more than a minute and a half fucking a girl before he feels himself getting close, but, with her, one would think he's a touch-starved virgin with how easy it is for her to work him up.

His forehead drops down to press against hers as he mutters, "God, you're fucking perfect," with the words pitching up into a whine at the end from how she clenches around him.

Just when he thinks he can feel her tensing up and writhing beneath him with the build-up to her orgasm, someone knocks on the bedroom door.

He goes as still as death, and Y/N, too lost in a world that solely consists of Steve Harrington and nothing else, looks up at him with her brows scrunching in confusion until she too hears what drew his attention away from her and caused him to stop.

"Y/N?"

Her eyes go wide at the sound of Nancy's voice, her hand coming up to rip the balled-up shirt out of her mouth in time to respond to her. But, of course, Steve would never let her off that easily. As she opens her mouth to speak, he starts to thrust into her again—slowly, deeply—and it takes everything she has not to whine his name as he rubs her sensitive clit in lazy circular motions to interrupt her train of thought. With the careful pace set and the pillows preventing the headboard from hitting the wall, the bed's constant shifting doesn't make enough noise to alert Nancy of what's happening inside.

She clears her throat and calls out before he can snap his hips forward into hers again, "Yeah? What's up?"

The doorknob rattles as though the person behind the door is trying to get in.

"Why is the door locked?"

Y/N looks up at Steve with pleading eyes that beg him to cease this torture and allow her the time to respond, but he doesn't. He just dips his head down to kiss at her neck, careful not to leave a mark behind, and leaves her to fend for herself.

"Um," she says, voice a tad louder than she intended from a particularly hard jerk of his hips, and rushes to cover up the accidental outburst, "I figured I'd change into my pajamas for the night. If we're gonna be eating a lot of pizza I don't really wanna"—a whimper is choked back at his fingers speeding up their movement on her clit—"be uncomfortable in my jeans."

"Oh, okay. Well, we're all downstairs whenever you're done." There's a dip of silence, as though Nancy is hesitating before saying what comes next, then, "Have you seen Steve? Dustin was looking for him when he came upstairs. None of us can find him."

Under his breath, he murmurs in annoyance with his hot exhales puffing against her ear, shaking his head, "Henderson."

Of course, Dustin would be the one to send Nancy upstairs in search of him when he's seconds from coming inside her best friend.

Her cock-drunk brain takes a delayed few seconds to conjure a believable alibi for the man fucking her into the mattress right now as she claws at his back and bites down on his shoulder to stifle the moans that try to escape the back of her throat. As Steve grows more and more confident with his ability to ramp up the pace and depth of his thrusts without the bed making too much noise, she starts to unravel rather quickly. She can sense it building in the bottom of her belly and starts shaking her head at him as if he can do anything to get Nancy to go away.

She has to concentrate all of her energy on keeping her voice steady as she says, "He said he was going out to get some soda for the kids 'cause he heard El asking Mike if you guys had some. He was just going to the store for it, so he'll probably be back in like ten minutes."

The second the last few words leave her, she tips over the edge, and his hand comes down to smother her mouth to prevent any noises she makes from echoing in the small room. Neither of them acknowledges whatever parting words Nancy offers before she retreats downstairs to the kitchen for dinner. Steve is far too preoccupied with watching and, more importantly, feeling her come beneath him.

The euphoria rushing through her has tears falling from her watery eyes as she embraces the intense high with her arms clinging around his waist for support. Now that he hears Nancy bounding down the steps, every one creaking beneath her shifting weight, he pounds into her with no thoughts present in his head other than those relating to her and the climax he chases with little care for how the bed begins to squeak beneath them.

"Steve," she cries out with tears slipping down her cheeks.

He brushes her hair from her face in a soothing, repetitive motion and whispers, "Such a good girl," as he pins her to the bed with his weight and uses the remaining scraps of energy left in him to slam his hips down against hers with a ferocity she can hardly cope with in her sensitive state. It doesn't take any longer than a few seconds for him to be tipped over the edge along with her.

His eyes are squeezed shut on instinct when he spills into her, hips jerking haphazardly, but she's quick to remedy that.

"Look at me," she whispers with a hand closing around his neck to force his head up, and he obeys without hesitation.

And, of course, she was right to tell him to do so. As soon as he meets eyes with her, the explosive pleasure felt in the span of ten or so seconds it takes for him to ride it out is heightened to a degree he rarely experiences it at. Even as it begins to slip away from him, he keeps rocking into her at a slow pace until the dying undulations of his hips give way to an exhaustion he can no longer ignore.

He pulls out of her, careful in his movements to mind her sensitivity, and falls onto his back on the empty space atop the mattress beside her. The second he leaves her, she's quick to tug her discarded panties back up her legs to avoid staining Nancy's bedding with his cum.

His hair-smattered chest has a thin sheen of perspiration over it, a drop of it rolling up and down with the rapid rise and fall of his panting breaths. Y/N watches its path as she turns onto her side and scoots closer as subtly as she can to savor the warmth emanating from his body.

Steve doesn't even pretend not to notice her sneaky attempt at cuddling up to him. He stretches his left arm over her head and uses the other to scoop around her waist, bringing her in to rest her head on his shoulder how he knows she likes to. They don't have much time to spare, but, for the next half minute, they lay together in the afterglow and pretend they have eternity to waste away together.

Breaking the silence, he groans and rubs his eyes, saying, "Shit, now I have to go get soda for the kids."

The sound of her giggling brings his attention over to the pretty girl laying with her head on his shoulder. Her hand trances circles in the layer of sweat shining on his chest, playing with the hair growing there whenever she becomes bored with her designated pattern of tracing every once in a while.

"Sorry about that. I couldn't think of anything else," she says softly.

He just shakes his head, then presses a kiss to the top of her head.

"Don't worry about it."

She's the first one to leave the bed to search for her discarded clothes, and once she gets up, he doesn't have many reasons to continue laying there other than the fact that he gets especially tired after he comes. Still, he forced himself to get up out of bed after pulling his pants back up into place and zipping them up.

Together, they redress in silence and listen to the sounds of the younger teens shouting at each other and laughing in the kitchen below them. It brings a soft smile to her face to imagine everyone having fun together after all of the heartache they've shared as a group.

"What are you smiling for?" Steve asks.

Her head snaps up from where it had been craned down to search through her backpack for the pajamas she mentioned to Nancy not long ago.

She shrugs.

"I just like hearing them have fun. They deserve it after everything they've been through."

The conversation drops back off into silence again after this, and he can't help but smile to himself as he thinks over what she said, trying not to look up and watch her redress while doing it like a creep. It's only another minute that passes before they're both fully clothed again—he in the same outfit he was wearing prior to their impromptu fuck, she in the pink matching pajama set he's seen her wear a million times. Once she runs her fingers through her hair a few times, it looks as though nothing out of the ordinary happened during her trip upstairs.

While he waits for her to fold up the clothes she changed out of, sitting on the edge of the bed, a nagging curiosity compelled him to ask her, "Not that I'm complaining, but what made you so..." He trails off for a second, trying to find the right word for it. "Horny. We could've just gone on a drive to the store together and pulled over if you asked."

For the first time since she dragged Steve upstairs, the words Nancy said to her in the basement come back to the forefront of her mind. This time, however, it doesn't haunt her as much as it had before she came to find him. There's a lingering sense of insecurity, but after what just happened, she has a good feeling he's been over Nancy for a while. If he weren't, he probably would've freaked out and stopped when she knocked on the door, but he hadn't. Instead, he decided to keep going for the sake of teasing her and acted as though his ex wasn't even standing on the other side of the door.

Y/N avoids making eye contact with him at all costs when she finally answers.

"Um," she says, "When you went upstairs for the pizza, Nancy said something to me about wondering if she made a mistake breaking up with you, and I guess I got a little...jealous..."

Before he can even take a breath, let alone process everything she said and come up with a coherent response, she continues rambling out of fear of what he'll say when he responds. Part of her still fears that he'll end whatever it is they have for the sake of rekindling what he had with Nancy.

"I know we aren't—like—dating, obviously, but I haven't been with anyone else since we started doing this, and if you wanna get back together with Nancy, I won't get in the way. I promise. If that's what you want, it's fine." She starts to pace back and forth in front of where he sits, dumbfounded, on the foot of the bed. "I just—I like hanging out with you, and I guess I like you, and the idea of seeing you with anyone else makes me go nuts, so—"

This time, it's his turn to shut her up with a kiss.

She was so caught up in her improvised speech, she didn't even see him standing up from the bed until his hands were cupping her face to pull her into a desperate kiss. It doesn't last any longer than a moment, but, fuck, it makes her even weaker in the knees than she already is from getting fucked by him a few minutes ago. Her hands shoot out to grasp onto his biceps, squeezing hard to keep herself upright, and he reciprocates by allowing one of his arms to cocoon around her back to provide her additional security.

When he pulls away, she starts to chase his lips, and he must fight the urge to smile hard enough to make his cheeks ache at the sight of it. The hand cupping her face moves to tuck her hair behind her ear, then drags his pointer finger along the edge of her jaw until she opens her eyes to see him staring at her.

"I don't want Nance, I want you."

Heat rushes to her cheeks in response to his honesty to add to the flush already present there from the strenuous exercise they endured together. And he loved it. He relishes in how bashful and skittish his unabashed desire makes her. Typically, she never lacks confidence in their time spent together. She was the one who suggested they go to his place that first night when he found her biking home in the rain. She was the one who dragged him upstairs demanding they have sex. Yet, now, she's turning all shy on him.

She tries her hardest to play it cool, though, shrugging and saying through a smile, "Good," before taking his hand to drag him over to the window he used to use to sneak into Nancy's room.

It's the same window she uses to sneak into her room on nights when Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler say no to their daughter's pleas to have her friend over, so she's quite familiar with how easy it is to enter and exit from. Thank God he has his wallet and keys stowed in the pockets of his jeans. If he left them downstairs, he could always go out and window and come through the front door pretending he "forgot" them, but that wouldn't be the most believable excuse considering how long he's been gone.

Seconds after she opens the window, he's crawling through with a fumbling awkwardness that ends with him bumping his head on the side of the house with a soft, "Ouch!" muttered into the cold night air.

When he's finally settled on the other side of the window, standing on the roof of the garage with his hands gripping the window sill, he takes another few seconds to look at her.

"I'm gonna miss you tonight. I didn't know you were sleeping here," he says, not wanting to leave just yet.

To this, she simply bends down, pokes her head through the window, and kisses him goodbye. Her hand grasps the hair at the base of his neck to guide him into it, and he returns the enthusiasm immediately, rising onto his tiptoes to deepen the kiss as if doing so will make the short time they're to spend apart easier somehow.

Their lips are still brushing when she pulls back to whisper, "I'm coming over tomorrow night, remember?"

He pecks her lips again, then pulls back, saying, "It's a date."

Throughout the ordeal of Steve jumping down from the roof and landing on his feet in the driveway with a muffled groan, she watches with a goofy smile on her face from the bedroom window. The look he shoots over his shoulder at her to check if she saw him stumble on the landing only widens that smile, and she knows he's blushing in embarrassment without the porch light being on to light his face.

It's only when he drives off in the direction of the nearest store that she shuts the window to keep out the cold that's raising goosebumps on her skin and turns to lean against it with a sigh. It isn't an exasperated one or even a sad one. It's a sigh caused by disbelief and joy. It doesn't matter that he's her best friend's ex at the moment. They'll find a way to break the news with as little fallout as possible when the time comes.

The only thing that matters to her at the moment is that he wants her.

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

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chrollohearttags · 5 months

Text

THEY DON’T KNOW | e. jaeger

synopsis: your life and relationship in the spotlight seemed nothing short of perfect..that was until everyone else convinced you otherwise.

content + themes: slight angst, engagement/proposal, musician eren x influencer reader ofc, fluff, drama, mentions of infidelity, kissing, brief mentions of suggestive things, nothing heavy, just a sweet story for my favorite ship

word count: 3.2K

📝: this is for my sweet @honeybleed ‘s 90-00’s R&B collab event! (I’m a little late to the party, I’m so sorry about that! 😭) Congratulations to you again on 600, my love. You deserve every bit and so much more!

SONG 🎧: They Don’t Know • Jon B.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° .** . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° .** . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•

noise…it all seemed so much louder than usual nowadays. Everything sounded so much more amplified now matter how hard you fought to drown it out. The music thudding from the speakers on stages that you danced on, the rain droplets splattering against your window pane and lately…the opinions of every envious naysayer and supposed friend alike.

Telling you that your relationship was a moot point. A mere sham and that in due time, it’d come crumbling to its core. Regardless how strong the foundation was between the two of you, outside forces could still cause it to shatter at any moment. But that was only if you allowed it. You couldn’t escape it either…every other scroll and headline on every media outlet was a photo of you two..some flashy shot of you two kissing and holding hands. Appearing happily in love, only to be followed by droves of comments full of negative and downright nasty things about you guys. Saying that it would never work and you were only a temporary thing who ‘just so happened to make it further than the rest..’ it certainly wasn’t a vote of confidence considering you were about to spend the rest of your life together. For the better part of three years, you had come to know and love the renowned artist, EJ the Don. A man who’s music transcended all of time and pushed boundaries..a generational talent with exceptional skill. At least those were the words used to describe him by a plethora of magazines over the years. On the contrary, others would acclaim that he was a bit of a playboy. That he hurt people at will with no regard for their feelings..sabotaging relationships purposefully so that he was no longer bound to them. He didn’t care about anyone other than himself.

However, you knew otherwise. EJ, as far as you were concerned, was an entirely different entity of itself. You had fallen for Eren..the man who’d leave the studio at night tired and exhausted but still managed to have fresh flowers and your favorite treats in hand. The man who’d curl up with you on rainy days and binge movies. The Eren you loved would comfort you relentlessly until you were far batter. Making you laugh and cheer up with the dumbest jokes..that’s the kind of person he was. So it came without question, when one night on the rooftop of a hotel in Greece; surrounded by fluorescent blue lights, a lavish table filled with wine and rose petals next to the serene pool waters where he asked you to be his wife, you’d immediately accept. Saying yes faster than he could get the proposal out. You were elated to not only spend the rest of your life with him but share the exciting news with the world and those you loved. To your surprise though, you weren’t met with the warm reception that you had pictured in your head.

once the announcement came, the rumors followed and there was no escaping them. Even so called friends were hesitant. Telling you that he used to go with this model and date this girl so it was best to watch out. Some even suggested calling the whole thing off to spare you from future heartache...and you’d be lying if you said that they hadn’t worn you down. That you hadn’t wondered if there was a bit of truth to them. But if there was anything he was dedicated to doing, it was setting your mind at ease and proving all of them wrong.

“…room for one more?”

the voice ringing from earshot and sending flutters throughout the pit of your belly. You’d flip over onto your side with a faint beam as your fiancé made his way over to you. “For you? Anytime..” Kneeling into the mattress as he brushes a hand along your bare shoulder blade, leaning forward to place a kiss on your temple. It seemed that the effects of the dreary, rainy day had taken its toll on him as well. Sporting a pair of sweats and a tank top, indicating that he was finished with his work for the day and ready to relax with the one person who brought him serenity. Ironically, there was something rather tranquil about weather like this..whereas most people saw it as something negative; a literal damper in their plans, some took it as an opportunity to purify themselves. Not so much in a literal regard but it was perfect to just lie here and let all of those feelings that normally wouldn’t make their way to the forefront be known. Coiling one of those toned, tattooed arms around (y/n)’s covered torso, Eren began to mumble into your skin..simultaneously leaving gentle pecks along your arm. “This rain kinda sucks, doesn’t it? It’s so depressing..” “..yeah..it is.” The dryness in your response caused an immediate alarm for your fiancé. That was the thing with Eren..even when it seemed as if he were completely nonchalant and not paying you much attention, he focused on the smallest details and kept note.

there were things about you that he had noticed early on in your relationship and still to this day, could remember them better than you could. “I see it’s already working on someone…” making an attempt at a light hearted joke and even smirking afterwards, hoping that his humor would bring at least a faint smile to your face. He hated seeing you like this..hated knowing that something was obviously bothering you and you wouldn’t tell him the cause. In fact, he picked up on it three days ago when he saw you sitting outside near the pool, glaring off into space at what seemed to be nothing. In the same regard, he wasn’t the type to pry..he knew how irksome he felt when someone pestered him so he figured it best to wait for an opportune moment to confront you. Now seemed like as good of a time as any. He never did well with communicating his feelings either so he used jokes and humor as a means to break the proverbial ice. But luckily, he wouldn’t need some awkward segway because you’d ask him something that would make his stomach turn.

“..do you think we did the right thing?”

admittedly and rightfully so, he was a little confused. What ‘right thing’ were you referring to exactly?

“As in what?”

“Getting engaged..moving in together. Are we really meant to be here?” The words seemed to be spilling from between your lips as if they had been sitting there for quite some time. It was a little insulting nonetheless. As if you had waited for this exact moment. But he’d be lying if he said that they hadn’t stung a bit. He figured the two of you were equally yoked and on the same page. Happy to be marrying your forever person. At least that’s what he felt..were you having doubts? Did you not love him as much as he loved you? What had he done wrong? Swallowing the hard lump that had instantly formed in his throat, Eren proceeded to ask questions, seeing if he could maybe get through to you to figure out what was wrong.

“Is there something that would make you think different? I mean, personally..I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life. Honestly, it still doesn’t feel real..”

for a moment, he began to reminisce on the moments leading up to the night he popped the question. Searching relentlessly for the perfect ring..enlisting the help of his best friends and even your girls to ensure that it was one that you’d love. He took extra special care to make the night unforgettable. Eren had even flown to go see his mom to ask for the gift she had given him years ago that he now wanted to give to you..if that wasn’t enough, he’d even taken you to your granny’s grave and asked for her blessing of sorts. He was a wreck, even crying because he was so happy and wanted her to know that he’d take care of you from now on..for the first time in his young twenty seven years, he was truly grateful and he wanted nothing more than to be the ideal man for you. A husband that you’d be proud of..one that you bragged to your friends about over lunch, one that you’d dip out on plans early to get back to. That was the type of relationship he had envisioned; one where nothing else mattered when you two were together. Now it seemed that you were having reservations..

“I’m so scared…” Just then, the sounds of your words were muddled by whimpers. He had no idea that you were this conflicted by the matter..and if so, why not say something?! Flipping you over, he’d be met with your beautiful brown eyes that always seemed to burst with love and excitement were welling with tears that were only moments from spilling. Brushing your cheek, Eren gazed upon you with a worried expression over taking his face. How could he have been so dumb?..here you were hurting and he hadn’t even clocked it. “Why, baby? I don’t understand..of what?” Truth was, you were afraid of marriage in general but even more so, if not being what you envisioned. You were afraid of things not being picturesque and perfect. That you’d wake up one day and end up just like the rest of the girls he’d supposedly dumped. Discarded to the wayside after he grew tired of them. You didn’t want everyone to be right about the two of you! Another passed around Instagram model with nothing of substance to offer, a philandering rapper with commitment issues..the headlines were certain to be brutal. But above all else..you only wanted to do this once. You only ever wanted to walk down that aisle one time in your life. You loved this man more than anything in this world so the last thing you wanted was to take his hand in marriage only to be sliding that ring off a few years down the road. It was a sacred thing and you never wanted to lose sight of that.

“Of this..of us not working out. I mean, I love you so much and there’s nothing I want more than to be your wife but everywhere I turn, it seems like somebody wants the opposite. As if we’re not meant to be. I thought everyone would’ve been as happy as we are. But it’s always something..”

granted, he was no stranger to the gossip either. Between his fangirls and the blogs, they wouldn’t give you a break. They were furious that someone had snatched up their precious EJ and it was some girl who seemingly came out of nowhere. According to them, you weren’t his type, you couldn’t possibly love him the way he deserved and there were at least ten other women who were more fit to take your position. It was insane. Although he was never much for social media and its sick antics, he’d done his fair share of defense for you. Which spoke volumes. After a while, he rid himself of all accounts and focused solely on you. Despite it being how you made your living, he wished you’d do the same. He couldn’t imagine petty accusations with zero basis being the reason that he lost you. It would crush him, truly. Even so, he’d done as he always had at times like these and pulled you close to his chest, swaddled you in those muscular arms and peppered your forehead with gentle kisses.

“Do you remember the first night we met? At the club?” It seemed like such an odd time to be going down memory lane but that’s how Eren was..he could tolerate a lot of things but seeing you cry was not one of them. So he wanted to try a different approach.

“I couldn’t forget. I had such a good time..”

“So did I..hell, I was so nervous around you, I almost messed up my whole performance that night.” The two of you break into a small fit of laughter as you look back on the antics of your earlier days together. The wild nights, the hookups, the tension leading up to you making things official..it was all a journey. You’d find yourself giggling as he held you close to him. You seemed far more comfortable and vulnerable now; able to express your feelings more freely. Which was a great thing for him.

“Please..I couldn’t even concentrate. You kept teasing me and shit. I don’t know how I made it through that without embarrassing myself.” But alas, he’d think it was cute. Watching you stumble over your words, seeing you squeeze your thighs together when he switched up those steamier lyrics to fit you and when he ran a finger underneath your chin, you nearly collapsed! Being on stage with your celebrity crush was not for the weak..

“Yeah, but you did and do you remember what everyone was saying after that? All the bullshit they said about us?” It was something you’d never forget, truthfully. For days after, the infamous photo of you guys hugged up on a lounge couch in the VIP section circulated the web for an entire week. There were countless headlines, alleging that you two were an item, that you were hooking up..the game of telephone had become so terrible that three days later, stan accounts and grown adults alike had concocted stories of you two having sex backstage and him doing inappropriate things right there in front of everyone. Even so called ‘witnesses’ backed up the claims. Naturally, all of it was false but it still didn’t stop people from running with whatever narrative they saw fit. Despite the fact that prior to that appearance, you’d never ever laid eyes on this man, less known did all of the things they accused you of. You were complete strangers..again, it stopped no one’s rumor mill from running!

“Yeah..I do. All of it just sounded like people had too much time on their hands.”

but his point wasn’t quite driven home yet..still clutching you, he’d chuckle once more and just nod. “Mhm..and what about when we first started dating? Remember the dumb shit they said then?” Once again, you’d answer his question, giggling when you recalled how stupid it all was. From the accusations of him being nothing more than a pay pig for some lavish lifestyle they claimed you were flexing online. Or that he wasn’t really faithful because he did a show with a former ‘partner’, who was nothing more than a PR stunt to begin with. Nevermind the fact that she was a lesbian! “Like when they said you were cheating on me with your ex? Trust me, I couldn’t escape that one even if I wanted to.” “Which was crazy because she was way more interested in you than me. Even asked me for your number..” seeing his expression furrow into a silly pout and you couldn’t hold it together another second. You’d burst into laughter at the thought. “I’m serious! She got mad because I didn’t bring you with me..must think I’m stupid or sum’. Little Miss Hoes always pulled more girls than I ever could.” The mental image of a one hundred thirty pound, five foot four blonde stealing his potential prospects had you rolling around and in much better spirits. “You’re a mess, you know that?” Which was his one and only goal.

“Well I’m glad somebody found my lack of game funny.” But truthfully, the only woman he wanted was right here. Which was the entire point of this little roundabout trip down memory lane..it didn’t matter what happened back then or what people claimed to know about him..he only cared about what was to come. The life, the future that he was building with you trumped over anything that they could say. They didn’t know how drastically he had changed for you. How he was hopelessly in love..how much softer and compassionate he had become so he was a better man for you. Even when you weren’t around, his beloved (y/n) was the topic of conversation..oftentimes, his boys would make fun of him for how much of a ‘simp’ he had grown to be. How his voice changed in pitch when you were on the phone, his eyes radiating whilst talking to you..it was the cutest thing! So if there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that he was all in. He had no regrets or doubts about asking you to marry him. He was ready. Anybody from his past was a mere afterthought and he wasn’t missing out. All he could do was pray that you felt the same. Turning your head towards him, EJ looked you directly in the eyes and began to speak.

“Listen, princess..I know it isn’t easy. Being with someone like me. I’m not perfect..not by a long shot. Truth is, I was really selfish back in the day. I wasn’t thinking about anybody but myself. Hell, until you came along, I still didn’t. I had always told myself I’d never let anyone get close to me just so I didn’t have to worry about another person. Marriage, dating..seemed like a foreign concept to me..” this was the first time in his life where he was able to be vulnerable..where he could lay all of his emotions bare. Intertwining your fingers together, Eren pulled them close and placed gentle kisses across your knuckles. A comforting tactic for the both of you.

“But right now...there’s nothing else I want more than to be your husband. To keep making more of these memories..(Y/N), I couldn’t imagine doing this without you. I can’t take back what I’ve done or who I was. And I’m so sorry that you’ve had to be on the receiving end of it. But I don’t care about what happened back then or what they say about us. I love you..I love you so damn much. Please believe me when I say that.” By this point, faint traces of tears began to stream once more. You were no longer sad, hurt or worried but rather..relieved. Relieved that his heart was equally devoted to this as yours. You’d do whatever it took to make this work. Outside interferences and opinions aside..

“And I love you more, Eren. I promise, I won’t let anything or anyone come between us.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

No relationship was ideal and obviously, just like rainy days, bad ones were guaranteed as well but you could always weather the storm as long as you were together..

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504py · 1 month

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Candlelight and Calluses - Knight!Leon Kennedy/Reader

A particularly unruly thunderstorm begs you to ask your knight to stay by your bedside, just for a little bit.

i see quite a bit of bodyguard leon fics so i always thought he'd fit into a knight au rather well. art by me!!

Historical inaccuracies, I'm terrible at old-timey speak LOL, reader referred to as "my lady" but no other gendered terms or descriptors besides that, no use of Y/N, relationship is dubious so this could be seen as platonic, romantic, or however you'd like.

1, 2

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

It seemed like life would continue like normal after your former knight was discharged for stealing from your mother, and Leon came to replace him. He definitely feels more trained, more skilled, more refined, someone very reliable, so you can see how he was hired so quickly.

Somehow, you just can't get used to his presence, though.

You see him at very scheduled times of day. He sleeps in a room close to yours, mother said its safer to have him closer at night in case someone breaks in. If you're awake early enough, you can catch him leaving his room. You see him training in the courtyard through the window you pass by when you head to the kitchen. He always escorts you to your bedroom and says goodnight when you decide to call it a day, and stays posted near your door for a few minutes, before retreating to his own for the night.

Tonight, you ask him to stay just a little longer. Rainy days never really bothered you, but the thunder today was particularly bad. It was painfully loud and booming, each strike and roar making you flinch in the anticipation that the ceiling might cave in on you any moment and swallow you whole. You knew he was there to protect you, that's the main reason he was here, but your cheeks burned at the loss of your pride when you give him your request.

His expression, illuminated by the lantern in his hand and highlighting the sharp planes of his visage, is slightly different than usual at your query. His dark eyebrows are slightly raised, the frown on his lips not as deep as it usually is. His eyes are softer.

"Of course, my lady."

You head inside your bedroom, your sight settling on your nightwear set on your bed by one of your maids. You turn to Leon, asking that he leave while you change, but his back is already turned to you. You figure he got the hint, and you undress.

He's listening intently to the sounds of cloth shuffling, till he hears your weight dip your mattress, "Have you finished dressing, my lady?"

"Yes, I'm all done." You reply. Your voice is weaker than usual, perhaps scared that the thunderstorm will hear, and a crackling boom will respond, instead of Leon.

He turns back to you, seeming to pause for a moment, thinking of what to do. You've never seen him do that, perhaps this situation is new to him. That thought makes your face warm in shame.

"I... Shall I stay in the room, or shall I stay at my post, milady?" His voice is quieter than it usually is, too. Admittedly, it's a little hard to hear each other with how loud the rain is.

"If... If it would be alright, Sir Leon, could you stay by the side of my bed? Just until the storm subsides. I'd hate to keep you here for too long."

"It is no trouble to me, my lady, I promise."

He makes his way over to you, confidence in each step despite being so unfamiliar with such a strange, intimate request.

"...You can grab that chair by my vanity, Sir Leon, you don't have to stand."

He obliges, grabbing said chair and setting it by your bed.

He's dressed in a simple cream-colored linen blouse and trousers. You can see his neck. You breathe out a laugh realizing that this is probably the first time you've ever seen it. He wonders what you find amusing. You rarely ever see him without any armor on, maybe just a glimpse when he leaves his room in the morning, and even when he's not in full steel plating, he's usually donning chainmail.

"...Is it heavy?" You mumble, drowsily.

"What is, my lady?"

"The armor you wear. Is it heavy, Sir Leon?"

"Well... Not particularly, milady, but perhaps I've just gotten used to it. It does get hot, though."

"Mm..." You hum, "Always wanted to try it on, always wondered what it was like... I know mother and father won't let me, though." You chuckle.

Leon smiles a little, maybe the first time you've seen him do so. "Maybe I'll let you try on my helmet someday, milady."

"Really?" The drowsy smile you send him makes him feel warmer, "That'd be nice... I always thought the armor you knights wore looked so fashionable." Your eyes close.

He laughs slightly, and the sound is clearer now. Without realizing, the storm had passed, and you feel at ease. Leon waits a little longer, counting your breaths and seeing if your eyes will open again. He thinks the way your eyelashes rest against your cheeks look beautiful.

"Sir Leon?" You mumble, barely legible.

"Yes, milady?"

"Have a good night..." You add, before dozing off.

"You as well, my lady. Good night."

He waits a few minutes more, like he usually does when he escorts you to your door. He's never watched you sleep before, despite this being part of his nightly routine. He wishes a little more that thunderstorms would happen more habitually so he could do this more often.

Leon gets up, and quietly places your chair back to your vanity. He returns to take his lantern from your bedside table, and he pauses, watching you for a few beats more, before retreating to his bedroom for the night.

"...Calling me just Leon would be fine." He ends, with a whisper of your name.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #re2 #re4 #resident evil #resident evil 2 #resident evil 4 #leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil au #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #🫧#🛁#resident evil fanart #resident evil 4 fanart #re4 fanart #re4 art #resident evil art

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kairiscorner · 8 months

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what if miguel and y/n switched bodies for a day bc of sum villain that put a spell on them or smth imagine how weirded out the hq would be to see miguel smiling and all cheerful just not being his usual self 💀💀 and y/n being grumpy and petty

HFIREOGHRJTNVEIFBBREUFI BOO, I ... you have awoken my younger self's love for freaky friday (yeah i liked that movie as a kid BWAHHAHAHAHAH) anyway, I LOVE THAT

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

being in your shoes. — miguel o'hara x reader

"wow... i'm a fucking statue come to life." said miguel's awestruck voice with a chuckle following his statement of disbelief. he admired his palms, then his knuckles and the backs of his hands and arms—every vein and every curve, groove, and bump of his muscular arms were just a sight to behold; and the way his fists looked when clenched, and the way his fingers unfolded like the blooming petals of a flower... it was too much for your heart to handle, which, in this case, was technically his heart—anatomically speaking. as he admired the beauty of, well, himself–you went up to him with widened eyes, which quickly morphed into a scowl. "this is... humiliating." your own voice muttered in a low voice, almost as a growl, but miguel chuckled and ruffled your hair. "ooh," the big man let out a soft sound of curiosity at the discovery that he was practically twice your size.

he pressed his elbow down onto your head, making you–rather, miguel–grumble at this act of degradation and disrespect upon shorter people. "wow, y'know, i wouldn't blame you for doing this to me if we ever got back to normal. hell, i don't even want to go back to normal! have you seen this body?" you asked him aloud with a chuckle, his own chuckle that was hardly ever heard, reverberating out into the atmosphere and making the you inside of his body swoon. "stop laughing, it's not funny, this is a cause for concern." he said with your voice as he folded your arms over your chest and glared at you, instinctively pouting despite his lips not appearing as pouty on purpose anymore.

"oh, shit, you do pout?" you asked him with a chuckle that made you giggle internally. miguel didn't appreciate how you abused his laugh so much that he grumbled and turned on his heel–in this scenario, it was your heel–and stormed out of his office as you remained there; admiring his wonderful body and flexing, asking lyla to take pictures of this rare moment when the photo shots of miguel are candid but also taken with such flare that you'd think he was crazy for agreeing to this–the miguel o'hara everyone knew was... nothing like this.

as you walked down the halls in a pink compression shirt and yoga volleyball shorts, as opposed to the usual spider suit miguel donned on every day–you smiled at everyone you met, even if they didn't greet you first–stunning and shocking everyone out of their minds. wide-eyed lenses and hung open mouths greeted you as you greeted them with a warm smile that nobody had ever witnessed before. it was like an silver lining had unexpectedly shown through as the eternal, dark and thunderous clouds tore the sky asunder and welcomed the first rays of sunshine that the spider society had sworn they saw before... on you. but that sunshine was replaced by a gray rainy day hovering over your head and furrowed eyebrows that didn't complement your soft, adorable, amicable face.

whenever anyone greeted you, with miguel in your body, he'd practically growl at them to a loud silence–he'd nod without even looking anybody's way, confusing everyone into thinking you woke up on the wrong side of the bed today or something really bad had happened to you. as everyone went over to you, patting your shoulder, asking you if you're okay–he's scream in your higher pitched voice that you were just peachy.

everyone was astonished at how boldly angry and furious you were being, and at how boldly sweet and darling miguel was being today–everyone kept referencing that a freaky friday situation must've happened to you two, with only miguel in your body explaining that was exactly the situation, but they all laughed it off as a joke, since it came out of your mouth. "yeah, pequeña–oh, fuck, that sounds sexy–yeah, uh, chiquita–you're acting out of your mind right now, darl." "darl?!" your voice snarled in an angry, squeaky voice, making miguel chuckle and ruffle your hair again. "so sweet for me, chiquita." you said in miguel's voice, teasing him in your body as he grumbled.

oh, this was not gonna be fun for him, at all... but it was gonna be way, way too much fun for you.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @hearts4gabri @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0 @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold @smokeywhalee @capnshtfce

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deliciousangelfestival · 5 months

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Cozy Secrets || Chp 2

Character: Spy!Bucky x Roommate!Reader

Summary: Y/N found herself at her high school reunion, accompanied by her unexpected fake boyfriend, who also happened to be a spy.

Chp 1 , Chp 2 , Chp 3 , -

Main Masterlist || buy me Ko-fi 🥹💓

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

Bucky, raised by spy parents, embraced espionage early in life. Constantly moving, he found comfort in blending into diverse surroundings.

His nomadic existence shifted when a mission led him to an apartment owned by Y/N, a hardworking individual who works as an interior designer.

Amidst a stakeout from his ideally located residence, Bucky grew attached, especially during rainy days. He revealed his spy identity to Y/N and confessed he didn't want to move out.

Offering to be her fake boyfriend, he declared, "With my skills, I could impress everyone."

And so, Y/N found herself at her high school reunion, accompanied by her unexpected fake boyfriend, who also happened to be a spy.

*********************

The day of the reunion arrived, and Y/N felt a familiar knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach. Even though she had a secret weapon in the form of Bucky, the thought of facing her high school bullies again sent shivers down her spine.

Bucky, on the other hand, seemed unfazed. He had donned a sleek suit, his hair styled to perfection, and he exuded an aura of confidence that Y/N couldn't help but admire.

As they walked into the venue, it was like entering a different world. The once awkward teenagers were now transformed into polished adults, some more successful than others.

Bucky's charm worked its magic as soon as they entered. He effortlessly navigated the social scene, engaging in conversations with old classmates and making new acquaintances. Y/N, initially hesitant, found herself drawn out of her shell by his infectious energy.

As expected, they soon ran into the infamous mean girls. The leader, Tiffany, still sported the same arrogant smirk Y/N remembered. This time, however, Y/N was prepared. With Bucky by her side, she felt a newfound sense of confidence.

"Hey Tiffany," Y/N greeted, her voice surprisingly steady. "This is Bucky, my… boyfriend."

Tiffany's eyes widened in surprise. "Boyfriend? Since when?" she asked, her tone laced with disbelief.

Y/N, summoning all her courage, met Tiffany's gaze directly. "Let's just say we reconnected recently," she replied, a subtle smile on her lips.

Bucky, sensing the tension, stepped forward and extended his hand towards Tiffany. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he said, his voice charming and smooth.

Tiffany, unable to resist his charm, shook his hand. "The pleasure is mine, Bucky," she replied, her cheeks flushed.

Y/N watched in amusement as Bucky seamlessly played the role of the loving boyfriend. He engaged Tiffany in conversation, asking about her life and career with genuine interest. Y/N couldn't help but be impressed by his acting skills.

As the night progressed, Bucky continued to weave his web of lies, telling elaborate stories about his "exciting" life as a high-profile businessman. (Easy for him to lie).

The other girls, impressed by his fabricated persona, showered him with attention, leaving Y/N to observe in amusement. She couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction seeing the tables turned on her former tormentor.

However, the act started to wear thin as the night progressed. Bucky, unused to such social interactions, began to lose his composure. He stumbled over his words, and his carefully crafted facade started to crumble.

Fearing things might escalate, Y/N decided it was time to cut their losses. She grabbed Bucky's arm and led him towards the exit.

"Let's go," she whispered. "I think we've had our fun."

Bucky, visibly flustered, agreed. They slipped out of the venue unnoticed, leaving behind the fading sounds of the reunion.

Once outside, they both burst into laughter, the tension of the night finally releasing.

"Wow, that was… intense," Bucky chuckled. "I almost blew my cover a few times there."

Y/N smiled. "You did great, Bucky. Even if it wasn't exactly the truth."

Bucky shrugged. "Well, you never told me you wanted a knight in shining armor, just a date to the reunion."

Y/N couldn't deny that Bucky's presence had boosted her confidence and allowed her to face her past without fear.

**************

Because of his help, Y/N told him that he could stay. As long he never ruined the apartment again. Bucky, relieved to have kept his apartment, was up bright and early the next morning.

The following day, Y/N found Bucky ready to leave. "Don't wait, and try not to miss me too much," he said with a wink. Y/N understand he's going on a mission.

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't deny the emptiness after he left. The apartment, once lively with his presence, now felt oddly quiet. As much as she craved peace, she couldn't help but miss the chaos Bucky brought into her life.

Join taglist ? 💗💗💗

@vampire7595

@immortalfangirl

@sapphirebarnes

@unaxv

@buchi91

@opibarnes

Chp 1 , Chp 2 , Chp 3 ,-

Main Masterlist || buy me Ko-fi 🥹💓

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes au

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hellsite-detective · 4 months

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Hellsite Detective in…

The Miku Bind

sometimes, a detective has got to do some work for herself. and i decided it was time to go after one of my white whales…

it was a cool, rainy afternoon in Tumblr City, like always. i had just wrapped up doin’ some cases and i was broodin’ out the window. but one image kept flashin’ in my mind. a vocaloid lovin’ foundin’ father that i’ve sought for my whole career. the fabled Thomas Jefferson Miku Binder.

to start my journey, i went down to the Search Bar, a night club in the heart of the city. neon lights shined on the sign out front and music could be heard pourin’ out the front door. i stepped in, drippin’ wet from the rain outside. the place was lively as ever, groups minglin’ and dancin’ to the music. and there, in a corner booth away from everyone else, was Don Google. that big time mob boss that acts as my informant. they sat there playin’ poker with a couple of lackeys, no one of note from what i could tell. they saw me walkin’ up and immediately called out to the waiter for another drink.

“well well! if it ain’t my buddy, Miss Detective! whatcha here for?”

i’m here for personal business, actually. i’m lookin’ for this…

i slid a photograph across the table. the photo that was so well known, it made even the Don pull back. they knew this was serious business.

“you sure you want this one?”

i’m sure, Don. you got it or not?

“oh, i got it. but it’ll cost ya.”

i wasn’t about to have my victory snatched away by this selfish old fool. the Don lookin’ for a deal was never a good sign, but i was desperate.

what do you want?

“oh, nothin’ much, doll. just do me a favor sometime down the line. then we’ll call it even. capisce?”

bein’ in debt to the Don was not something i wanted. whatever they asked me to do, i knew it’d be bad. but either way i needed this post. i needed to solve the case. so i made what would possibly be the worst mistake of my life…

it’s a deal.

“glad we could reach an agreement, Miss. i believe this is what you’re lookin’ for?”

they pulled out their black leather briefcase, their name engraved on it in multicolored letters. it would seem tacky on anyone else. but the Don had a style to them that made it work. poppin’ it open, they handed me the file i was lookin’ for. just sittin’ there at the top, like they knew i was here for it. i grabbed it, thanked the Don, and got up to leave. that’s when they grabbed my sleeve.

“Miss Detective. don’t forget about our arrangement.”

i pulled away, scoffed, and went on my way. whatever they wanted me to do, i’m sure it wasn’t great. either way, the job was done. and i finally had what i wanted. i went back to my dingy office, alone, and filed the post away. the rain still poundin’ down against the window.

Post Case: Closed

#long story post aaaaa!!!#sorry it’s so long oops i got carried away #but either way enjoy this classic post!#also idk if i’ll ever continue this story?#maybe if i do another personal case #or if people just want to see more #also normal post cases resume tomorrow!#hamilton #hamilton the musical #thomas jefferson #thomas jefferson miku binder #writing #original story #can i tag it that?#hellsite detective #post case closed #hellsite detective personal cases

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fatallyfalling · 5 months

Text

Bitter Water 0.00 ~ ♆

“ Let the Reaping of the 67th annual Hunger Games begin, “

warnings: typical Hunger Games violence/trauma/themes, language, blood, injury, insinuation of forced prostitution, enemies to lovers, slow burn, etc.

{{ word count }} 2.6 k

{{ prompt }} Panem is cruel - bloodthirsty even. Every year twenty-four children must fight to the death as a sick form of entertainment. Today is the 67th annual reaping in the seaside District 4 - may the odds be ever in your favor.

{{ a/n }} Warning there’s a lot of exposition for what i think life in District 4 would be like though it may not sound 100% accurate to the canon ideation! I did way too much research on District 4’s presumed location and the general pacific northwest seafaring system for accuracy. This chapter is a lot of scene setting to reference later on top of the reaping occurring - please enjoy !

The Pacific-Northwestern region of Panem was home to District 4. Otherwise known as the “Fishing District”.

Most of its citizens are concentrated directly on or near the salty coast of the sea, working the many sailboats or on the bustling ports that harbored them. Children of the district learn to help from an early age, shucking oysters and various mussels or helping their mothers weave and repair nets for the local fishermen. Everyone smelled of the sea - fresh air, sea salt, and a damp pine, with sand clinging to their shoes and linen clothes.

Though a majority of the year brought overcast skies and rainy weather, the better parts of mid-July through late August were filled with warm, sticky sunshine and cloudless skies. Come autumn and winter, cold snaps and heavier rain storms were regular visitors, with many homes donning rain barrels to collect the excess liquid to be boiled down for drinking or bathing. The northernmost edge of the District sometimes saw snow, bringing ice fishing and skating to measured popularity amongst locals.

The port towns were anything but sleepy. Community in a constant hustle and bustle while watching out for one another in tandem with the intense seafaring labor. Days spent on the beach were filled with tugboat horns, captain's orders, and elated shrieks of children wading in the spray of the ocean. There was always a game of who could find the best cliff to dive from, or conch shell to hear the distant whispers of waves inside and whatnot. A group of older kids developed a make-believe currency of sand dollar bits to trade wooden beads, small clusters of natural quartz, seashells, rope bracelets, and more to entertain the younglings on an outcropping speckled in tide pools on the rocky shore.

More often than not, a walk down the boardwalk as dusk neared brought warm golden lights flooding from old taverns with deep, joyous shanties of the past and banter amongst hardworking sailors merging with joyous whoops and hollers of young women and barmaids. Everyone knew one another like family, and the seaside town practically breathed on its own with the rolling push and pull of the tide.

However, the Fishing District was silent today.

Waves crashed on the beach as boats creaked in their ports. Scarred wooden tavern signs wailed in the eerie breeze on salt-rusted chains. The absence of sound in the sand swept cobble streets was almost unsettling. There’s only one day a year that invokes such an abrupt halt in District 4’s beating heart.

The annual Reaping of one female and male Tribute set to compete in a fight to the death against twenty two other children from the districts all for the Capital’s sick reminder of what rebellion once cost the “great nation” of Panem.

The Hunger Games.

You knew the odds were never in anyone's 'favor'.

“It’s fine. Everything - everything is going to be fine…”

The repeated mantra is barely a whisper under your breath as you make a futile attempt the smooth the front of your lightweight, sage colored ensemble. There was a tremor in your fingertips. The idea of getting cleaned up like this just to attend your own prospective funeral made your stomach twist painfully. Tucking a few stray hairs behind your ears and a deep sigh through your nose, you take one last look in the foggy mirror on your dresser before making your way out to the main room of your home.

Although the Fourth District was deemed wealthy among the remaining 12, your seaside cottage was quaint - and quite a ways from the beach, in all honesty. The home was small, if not cozy. The outside wooden panels were worn with smears of grey from age due to the weather, paired with a tin slabbed roof that allowed every raindrop to be heard throughout the house when it rained. The inside wasn't much better. Little furniture adorned the household and appeared washed out in the summer light. Ivory walls were marked with the mayhem of childhood and clumsy hands. The large main room held a mantle and hearth with a makeshift stove built in and a rickety dark stained wood table with four chairs connecting to a barebones bathroom and two bedrooms. There were fixtures and switches for lights but no electricity. Candles were placed where lightbulbs would be for nights when the hearth wasn't keeping the house warm.

"Come on, we've got to get moving, or we'll be late."

You groaned as the younglings, twin boys with hair like your father's, sat on the oval roving rug you had finished braiding two springs prior. "You were supposed to get them washed up." You quip towards the older man seated at the worn-out table. His only reply is a gruff rumble as you scoff, stooping to rub soot off the boy's cheeks with your thumbs. They burst into giggles, and you can't help the tight-lipped smile that crosses your lips.

You tried to be patient with your father. There had been too much loss in recent years, but it wasn't an excuse to neglect his boys. You had enough trouble picking up the slack as it was, from taking extra hours on the shipyard and staying up late mending sails like your mother used to. She passed away some years ago. There had been complications delivering the twins, and there wasn't anything the midwife you'd called could have done. It left your father resigned to himself, taking up more time at the nearby tavern than on the shipyard hauling crates due for the Capital. A foolish miscalculation and one too many drinks ended up costing him his dominant hand and forearm in a freak accident at the port.

To say you had fallen on hard times would be an understatement. It was more akin to plummeting down one of the tall cliffsides bordering the port and smacking face-first into the water like concrete.

Eventually, you managed to wrangle the little rascals into their shoes and straighten the collars of their matching olive-green tunics. Hoisting one onto your back with a huff, you tried to calm the drumming of your racing heart. Your father stood with another grunt and shrugged on a deep brown leather coat to cover what was left of his arm. Allowing the other half of the youngling pair to weave their fingers through his, your father offered a firm nod in your direction, and the four of you set out toward town.

Looking back on that moment, you regret not taking in that quaint little cottage one last time.

The trek to town was about a mile or two. The beat down from the summer sun brought sweat to your brow and the nape of your neck, forcing you to set down the toddler on your back halfway. "I know it's hot, but we have to keep going," You cooed when the pair began complaining about the lengthy trip. This would be the first Reaping they might remember, not to mention the first they weren't in diapers for. You'd done your best to keep them healthy, sometimes at the expense of yourself, but it was worth all the risk in the world.

With a little more commentary from the twins, the tall brick clock tower above the judicial complex at the center of town came into view above the pine trees, and you let out a shuddering breath that made your chest squeeze. "Almost there," You muttered. Averting your gaze to the dirt path under your feet. The sun was almost at its peak when you converged with the lines of other citizens. Many reeked of sweat and body order, having traveled through most of yesterday and this morning to get to the Reaping on time.

You didn't allow your fear to show more than a tightness in your jaw as you gripped your siblings tight in an almost bone-crushing hug. You refused to say goodbye as it felt like admitting defeat before the duel with death had even begun. After a few long moments, you heard the automated voices of Peacekeepers in stark white uniforms and government-ordered guns slung across their chests, and you had to let go. "I'll come back in just a few minutes," You promised, though your voice felt meek and caught in your throat. Ruffling their hair and sparking a fit of spritely laughter, you lifted your gaze to the hardened eyes of your father. "See you soon."

"See you soon."

Another brief, tight-lipped smile, and you forced yourself to turn away and join the other prospective tributes for check-in. Families were forced to remain in a balcony above the judicial complex due to such a large population and past "complications" from reaped children's family members. Anxiety and anticipation brought a tension thick enough to be cut by a knife through the courtyard of people. Wetting your lips following a thick swallow, you tried not to focus too much on the looming Peacekeepers overseeing the procession. When it was your turn to check in, you didn't stutter when asked for your name but scrunched your nose as they pricked your finger, squeezing to pool the blood before pressing it into the paper list and scanning with a device that flashed green. "Next!" The peacekeeper barked, shooing you away with a wave of their hand. Your gaze danced around the all too familiar formation of children as you fell in line with the older Tributes.

You were led in groups through a few back hallways before being brought into a widely open auditorium. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the back wall with long Red capital banners hung on the dividing stone pillars. Clenching your trembling hands into fists, your fingernails digging into your palms, you tried again to steady your racing heart as it pounded against your ribcage.

Things were going to be fine.

Another thick swallow forced its way down your throat, and you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth. The anxious habit often left your bottom lip puffy, if not bleeding from the repetitive action, but you couldn't help it. Shuffling into place to stand in rows and columns with the other prospective Tributes, you had to will yourself not to look anywhere but ahead. You couldn't break till this was all over. It was a long process to get everyone inside. But once the large wooden doors behind you slammed shut with a contagious shudder shifting through the crowd, you knew this was it.

The deafening cry of an unfocused microphone wails through the room, causing your nose to scrunch and your head to lean into your shoulder in discomfort. A stocky, overdressed Capital escort appears on the short stage made of stone to match the rest of the auditorium. They release a small gasp at the noise and allow a brief dismissal before tapping the microphone twice, the poor device exerting two loud "thumps" for good measure. Clearing their throat with a phlegmy cough, the escort begins a crawl of lines that were evidently rehearsed and regurgitated the same way every year to every district.

"Welcome, welcome! Happy Hunger Games!"

The escort's tone is elated, making you feel sick at the pride they seem to take in their position. Your jaw set in place as they continued their spiel.

"Before we begin, I'd like to share this wonderful message from our dear President and our beloved Capital!" They exclaim while gesturing to a letter they seem to pull from thin air. A small "shink" whispers through the mic as the letter is opened. The escort pulls a sheet of parchment out, discarding the envelope in a dramatic toss behind themselves and another phlegmy cough before reading the page.

"Dear Prospective Tributes,"

"It is an honor as the President of Panem to welcome you all to the annual Reaping for this year's Hunger Games. As you all have learned from birth. War, destruction, and rebellion have brought great shame to our nation. A shame that runs so deep that our Districts must be reminded of the consequences and retribution that rebellion costs. War brings death. War brings dead children, dead mothers, dead sisters, and dead brothers. To raise war against your Capital, which has provided you all you've ever needed, is treacherous. To bring war against your home is treason. These Games preserve our past. And these Games protect our future."

Signed, President Coriolanus Snow."

There isn't a single round of applause that rolls through the crowd once the escort finishes reciting the letter. The letter has been identical at every Reaping you've attended since you were twelve. The silence in the auditorium is loud enough to hear a pin drop. Your palms grow warm as blood slowly seeps from where your nails dig in, but you don't bother to take notice.

"Well then, if all is said and done, we shall now move on to selecting our two wonderful tributes who will hold the greatest honor of representing District 4 in the 67th annual Hunger Games. As always, ladies shall go first." The escort exclaims once more, accompanying animated waves of their gloved hands towards the pristine crystal fishbowls on either side of the stage. Both bowls are brimming with slips of paper. Your heartbeat thrums in your ears now.

Everything is going to be fine.

The escort all but skips their way to the crystal mouth of death on the right side of the stage. Your heart feels like it might as well burst out of your chest and splatter against the backs of those in front of you. Your eyes are glued ahead as the escort makes a show of sifting their gloved fingers through the name slips for what feels like an eternity. At last, a slip is chosen in a dramatic swipe up into the air to be displayed to the crowd.

The anticipation is suffocating.

The escort comes back to center stage, coughing into the microphone again as they peel away the black seal of the name.

As the chosen name booms through the auditorium, it's as if you're suddenly underwater. But you can't be underwater because you're standing still, and nothing's wet.

The name booms through the open room again.

This time, you're shocked out of your thoughts at the recognition.

It's your name.

You have been chosen as the female Tribute for the 67th annual Hunger Games.

You barely register the prod of a gun at your back or the jab to your side to force you out of line towards the stage.

This really was going to be your funeral, and you couldn't stop it.

A wail rips apart the blanket of silence as one of the twin younglings cries out for you. On instinct, your head whips towards the cry, but your temple connects with the butt of a gun, and you're knocked to the concrete below. Somehow, a sound akin to a growl emits itself from your throat on your hands and knees as you force yourself to stand back up. Your head throbs with white hot pain from the contact point, but a bitter, spiteful decision solidifies itself in your mind as you're led towards the jaws of certain death on that stage.

You will not die.

@emerald-09 @reader-bookling123 @finnickodaddy

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