#there was a time when a customer asked me to find a shoe for her and i couldnt find it bc it wasn't in its place where it was supposed to be

[thebearer]

fall into me |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: part 2 of follow me. your date with carmen.

contains: fluff. anxious carmen. mentions of mikey. but all fluff :)

Carmen was sure he was going to be sick. A new kind of sickness, where his stomach felt like it was going to fall out of his mouth and ass at the same time. He changed his outfit six times, slacks and a tie felt too formal. Jeans felt out of the question, and while the very cool guy on TikTok swore that slacks and t-shirts were in this season… Carmen couldn’t bring himself to wear it. 

So he wore his slacks, good shoes he still had from pretentious meetings in the restaurant, and his good button down, a steely type blue- the saleswoman told him it really complimented his eyes, then wrote her number on his receipt. Of course, Carmen didn’t call it. He’d never allow himself the simple pleasures like that. 

Carmen smoked the whole way to the restaurant, a bottle of cologne in his pocket, which he doused himself in on the corner, popping a mint. He saw you standing there, awkwardly on your phone by the light pole, head ducked to your screen in your black, silk, cowl neck dress. Carmen could feel his heart jump at the sight of you, cursing while he started to jog in the still new shoes. 

“Hey, shit, sorry.” Carmen apologized, his chest tightening and burning as he slowed in front of you. “I-I couldn’t find my phone.” Definitely not because I tried on a million different outfits and had a panic attack.

“Ah, so that’s why you didn’t text me back. Thought you ghosted me at your own restaurant.” You quipped, his heart plummeting, face falling with it. You grinned, shoving your phone in your tiny purse. “‘M fucking with you, Carm. I just got here.” 

“Oh,” Carmen sighed. “Yeah, good. That-That’s good. Do you want to go in?” 

“Sure.” You giggled. “After you, Chef.” 

“C’mon.” Carmen laughed lightly, shaking his head, hoping it would hide his burning cheeks. You were ahead of him, reaching for the door, his heart skipping when he saw it. “I got it!” 

You drew your hand back, looking at him carefully. The blush in his cheeks spread down to his neck. “I-I got it, let me get it.” Carmen nodded, pulling the handle. You glided past him, his hand ghosting on the small of your back, leaving you shuddering under his touch. It was casual, you doubted he even knew he did it, just a slight usher while he followed you in. 

“It’s so different being here at night.” You whispered to him, your arm brushing his while you walked to the hostess station. 

Carmen nodded. “I know, it’s, uh, it’s nice to see it like this, ya know?” He muttered. “See it from a customer’s perspective.” 

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” You asked, your head tilting to the side softly. “Why we’re kinda doing this?” 

Carmen’s heart fell, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He could feel his own mind racing. Of course, you didn’t think this was a date. Why would you ever want to be on a date with him?

“I mean, yeah, sorta. Here f’you too. To thank you for everything.” Carmen nodded, eyes cutting to yours. Fuck, he knew he needed to look at you, he wanted to look at you, but it was so fuckin’ hard. When you looked so pretty, so effortlessly calm and cool. It made him fluster. 

“C’mon, Carm. You hired me, paid me. And you guys have been so nice. Most places are… horrible. Act like I’m bothering them when they hired me. You’ve got a good place, great staff. I’m glad you wanted me to be a part of it for a while.” You smiled, stepping up to the hostess station.

Carmen could feel his heart squeeze, an uncomfortably tight realization that this would be the last time he saw you. He’d been running numbers all night, seeing where he could take cuts so he could keep you, but even then, you’d be gone for at least another two months since you already took another job. By then, whatever you had here, would be gone. 

“Ah, there you are, the VIP customers for the night.” Richie schmoozed, sliding behind the hostess stand. 

You grinned, Carmen’s eyes downcast making Richie’s jaw tick. “How are you two this evening?”

“Great.” You beamed. “Excited to try this place. I’ve never been here before. Heard it’s the best in Chicago.” You nudged Carmen playfully with your hip, grinning at him. 

He gave you a tight lipped smile, hands by his side, trying to nonchalantly wipe his hands on his slacks. Richie smiled at you, glaring lightly at Carmen. “Well, you heard right, sweetheart. We want your night to be extra special, so we have this booth back here just for the two of you.” 

“Hey, Syd,” Tina muttered, looking up from her plating to see your head pass with Carmen’s curly locks. “They’re here.” 

“Shit, are they?” Sydney turned, looking through the window. “God, Carmen looks like he’s about to pass out.” 

“Fuck, he does, doesn’t he?” Sugar huffed, her hands on her hips. 

Richie caught Sugar’s eye through the window, a flickering glance that told her exactly what she needed to know. “So, I will have the focaccia out for the two of you shortly. Can I start you off with anything to drink?” 

“‘M good.” Carmen muttered, taking the leather bound menu into his hands, knee bouncing under the table. 

You looked a little uncomfortable, eyes cutting to Carmen’s before a moment of hesitation flashed over your face. “Uh, I’ll take a glass of whatever you think would pair best with the meal?” 

“Perfect. I’ll have that out.” Richie smiled, hoping his silent screams at Carmen would be enough for him to catch on. Fak passed, slipping a piece of paper in Richie’s hand. Richie stepped away, reading Sugar’s scribbled writing: “GET CARMEN BACK HERE NOW!!!!” 

“Excuse me, folks,” Richie greeted apologetically, though the two of you weren’t talking. “Carmen, I hate to do this, but I need you just for a second, ok?” 

Carmen nodded, sliding out of the booth without so much as looking at you. Richie fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, it’ll just be a second. That focaccia and riesling are on the way.” Richie grinned at you, stepping beside Carmen. 

“What’s goin’ on? Did we run out of-” 

“-No, you fuckin’ moron.” Richie huffed, letting the door slam shut. “The fuck is your problem, huh? You’re not even- hey, send that to six with the Cakebread white, ok?- You’re not even looking at her, c’mon, Cousin.” 

Carmen blushed, running a hand through his hair. “What? I-I’m talkin’ to her-” 

“-No, you’re not.” Sugar snapped, rounding the corner. “You look like an ass, Carmy. You’re on a date with her and-” 

“-It’s not a date.” Carmen shook his head, brushing it off. 

Sugar blinked. “You’re on a date with her,” She repeated, her tone firmer- a mom tone she’d adapted since working here that would help with the baby. “And you’re acting like a total-total…” Sugar waved her hands, stuttering over the word. 

“Jagoff.” Neil added, passing through the kitchen for a moment before going out the doors. 

“Thank you! Yes! A total jagoff.” Sugar glared at Carmen. 

“I-I don’t even think she thinks it’s a date-” 

The kitchen erupted in groans, shouting at him irritatedly. “Look at how she’s dressed. If she thought this was a free meal ticket, she wouldn’t wear that. That is a date night dress.” 

“That’s true.” Sydney added. 

Carmen couldn’t help the way his heart flipped with excitement, looking out the window at you, sitting at the table, nursing your wine slowly- alone. 

“Cousin, c’mere,” Richie motioned him, leading him towards the office. “Look, I get you got this whole ‘I deserve nothing good’ doom and gloom attitude, but that right there. That’s good.” Richie jabbed his finger towards the door. “I see you, ok? You guys got that cute little texting thing goin’ on, alright?” 

Carmen stilled. He felt like a teenager again, being teased and tormented by Mikey and Richie about a crush he had. How the fuck did he know about your texting? “Look, if you let her go tonight without even trying, you’re gonna regret it. You only got one chance, cousin, do not miss your chance to blow.” Richie said seriously. 

“Don’t fuckin’ quote Eminem to me right now-” 

“-Alright, alright, but seriously?” Richie nodded into the office, the tiny frame that held Mikey’s note ‘Let it rip!’. Carmen felt his stomach turn, guilt trilling in it. He knew Richie was right and that fact alone made him queasy. “Listen to Mikey, alright? You can have good shit in your life.” 

Carmen looked at the photo, taking a grounding breath, Mikey’s voice ringing loud in his ears. “Let it rip.” Carmen muttered, pushing past the double doors back to you. 

“Oh, no way!” You laughed. “You don’t have TikTok?” 

“No, no. Don’t have time for it.” Carmen shrugged, sipping his water. 

“Then how do you watch our videos?” You asked, brow raising in question. 

“I click the link you send me and it opens up just on my Google or whatever.” Carmen grinned, shrugging lightly, popping another truffle fry in his mouth. He’d nearly fallen over when you asked for ranch, teasing you lightly. You’d only shrugged, sticking one in your mouth, declaring it would taste better with ranch. You were kidding, of course, it was perfect. 

“Wow.” You smirked, finger tracing around the rim. “You’re missing out. It’s addictive.” 

“Yeah? It’s weird too.” Carmen snorted lightly. 

“Says you! You’re Mr. TikTok Famous and you don’t even know it.” You pushed his arm lightly, trying not to gawk at how firm his biceps were. Sure, you’d definitely seen them while he was working, but… they felt better than they looked. “Should see how you’ve got everyone in a tizzy. Chopping onions and marinating wagyu.” 

Carmen laughed, cheeks reddening at the compliment. “Yeah, those comments were…shocking.” 

“You think?” You cocked your head to the side. “I thought they were pretty normal.” 

“Half of them were asking me to violently punch them.” Carmen laughed, eyes widening at you. 

“Well, can you blame them?” You grinned, leaning in closer. “You got nice hands. Of course, they’re going feral. I knew what I was doing with that shot. Giving the people what they want.” 

Carmen blushed furiously, hoping you couldn’t see under the low light of the restaurant. “Nah, c’mon.” He looked down at his fingers, etched with tattoos. 

“You c’mon.” You grinned, reaching out a little daringly to trace a finger over his veins. You’d blame the wine for your boldness, but Carmen shivered under your touch. “You’ve got hot hands. No wonder they all go so crazy. You’re a pretty chef with good hands.” 

Carmen knew you had to see his blush now, sure his body temperature went up ten degrees, heart beating so bad in his chest he was sure he wasn’t going to make it another course. “Uh,” Carmen laughed, running his free hand over his mouth, hoping to hide some of his grin. He didn’t dare move his hand from his. “Well, thanks, I guess. I, um, I wanna say I think the same.” 

You lifted a brow, biting back a laugh when he stuttered, his eyes widening. Your giggles were infectious to him, a stream of his own nervous laugh spilling out of his throat. “No, I-I meant- fuck, I meant… I, uh, I think you’re pretty.” 

There was a pause, your own teeth pulling in your lip, grinning shyly at him. “Really?” You asked. You felt like you were in junior high again, finding out the boy on the JV team like liked you. It was giddy, the feeling in your chest. Warm, your heart skipping a beat. 

“Yeah.” Carmen nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Beautiful, really.” 

“Well, thank you.” You grinned, hoping to hide your smile behind your own glass of wine. Fak came by, dropping your next course off, a temporary relief for the moment, letting the two of you get yourselves together. 

“You think he’ll do it?” Sugar asked, pretending to roll silverware while Richie handed them to her. A meaningless job that just so happened to be by the window, so they could see the two of you. 

“I dunno. Could go either way.” Richie sucked in a breath. “He seems to be close, ya know? Think he has it in him to do it, just… fuck, I hope he does.” 

“Me too.” Sugar sighed. “Can you hear what they’re saying? It looks… nice? So that’s gotta be good, right?” 

“Yeah, hopefully…” Richie hummed, squinting to try and make out the words you were whispering to each other. The two of you were pressed together, migrated together as the meal went on until you were huddled, like it was the two of you. 

“I really don’t want you to leave.” Carmen admitted, body pressed to yours, hand in yours in the dim light of the booth. Everyone had left, all the patrons shuffled out and escorted to their cars. Some of the kitchen staff went home, but some stayed, pretending to be extra tedious with their cleanup so they could see the two of you. 

“I know. I’m having such a good time with you.” You agreed, tilting your chin up to look at him, lashes batting, eyes a little glossy from the wine. 

“No- I mean, yeah I-I’m having a good time with you, too. But I meant… leave forever.” Carmen admitted, the lump in his throat growing more and more with each word. “I really liked having you here.” 

“I liked being here.” You hummed, tongue running over your bottom lip lightly. “It was a lot of fun. I liked spending time with you.” 

“Yeah? I liked spending time with you too. A lot.” Carmen admitted. “And I… I want to keep spending time with you?” It came out more as a question, all hopeful eyes and a rounded gaze. “If-If you want to-” 

“-Yeah.” You grinned. “I wanna keep spending time with you. I like being with you, Carmen.” 

“Yeah? Really?” Camren was half convinced he was hallucinating. 

“Yeah.” You nodded. “If you wanna spend some more time with me too. I’d like to get to know you more, and not to just write a staff spotlight on.” You giggled, his lips curling at the sound. “To, like, really get to know you.” 

“I would… yeah, I’d like that. Like to get to know you too.” Carmen nodded. 

There was a pause, the tension between the two of you was thick. Your eyes darted from his lips back to his eyes, already leaning closer. Carmen could feel his stomach lurch with nerves, Mikey’s voice ringing over and over and over. 

Let it fuckin’ rip, Carmen thought before he moved in, lips on yours. His hands were clammy cradling your jaw but you didn’t seem to mind, your own arms snaking their way around his neck, pulling him closer, deeper into the kiss. 

“Holy shit!” Richie gasped, dropping the fork. “Look! Fuckin’ look!” 

The staff clambered around to huddle by the window, watching the two of you kiss, pulling apart with small smiles, before going back in. Carmen’s hands sliding down your back, your arms, your waist- fuck, he just loved feeling you like this, and he hadn’t even felt all of you. Yet. 

“He fuckin’ did it.” Richie grinned, awing at Carmen. “Hey, Sug, might be a bad time, but I believe I’m owed fifty dollars.” 

You pulled apart, grinning at Carmen, still huddled close together, his hands rubbing the silk fabric of your dress, your sliding through the curls on the nape of his neck. Your mind was dizzy, the rush of adrenaline, emotion, and buzzing from the wine. 

“What’re you doin’ tomorrow?” Carmen asked. 

“Nothing.” You hummed. “Why? You’ve got something in mind?” 

“Not-Not right now, actually.” Carmen admitted with a small laugh. “But I’d love to do something with you.” 

“Me too.” You smiled. 

Carmen looked around, catching his staff standing in the window, rolling his eyes when they darted after he caught them, scampering in different directions. “Um, it’s gettin’ kinda late.” Carmen looked at you, fingers drumming on his thigh- that was still touching yours. 

“Yeah.” You nodded, looking at your phone. “I guess I should go, and I’ll, um, I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

Carmen nodded, sliding out of the booth then offering his hand to help you. “Did you walk here?” 

“No, I took the L.” You walked towards the door beside him. It was quiet, the soft hum from the kitchen, the muffled clatters of pots and pans being put away. 

“Me too. I’ll ride back with you?” Carmen offered. 

“I thought you lived like three blocks away?” You giggled, tilting your head to the side. “And I’m in the opposite direction.” 

“Yeah, I-I do.” Carmen nodded. “I just… You shouldn’t ride alone at night, ya know? Shit could happen and… I don’t want it to. To happen to you.” 

You could feel the heat flushing through your cheeks, through your chest. You laughed lightly. “Is this your way of trying to come home with me?” You lifted a brow playfully. 

“No! No.” Carmen shook his head, flustered, which made you laugh harder. 

“I’m kidding, Carm.” You giggle, reassuring him. “But… if you wanted to come stay the night. Since it’s late… and you’re insisting on coming with me on the L.” 

“I don’t wanna make-make it weird, or come off like that. I-I really am… I like you.” Carmen stuttered. Fuck, there was nothing more tempting than that invite, but Carmen didn’t want to fuck this up. He really didn’t want to fuck this up. 

“I mean, stay over so we can talk more.” You gave him a pointed look. “We were having a good conversation. Weren’t we?” 

“Yeah, no, yeah. Yeah, we were.” Carmen stuttered, hand on the door, twisting the lock though his eyes never left yours. 

“So… You want to come over then? Finish telling me about Copenhagen? Please?” And how could Carmen say no, his head spinning with excitement when he walked out behind you, letting the door fall shut, your arm looping around his while you walked towards the L. 

Richie ran to the front, pushing the door open with Sugar and Tina, watching the two of you walk towards the station. “Good job, Cousin.” Richie muttered. 

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[headkiss]

maybe this christmas time

pairing: steve harrington x sunshine!reader

summary: working as an elf during the holidays (which he isn’t a fan of) is not how steve would choose to spend his time, neither is doing a bucket list of your creation. you end up changing his mind.

word count: 9.5k

warnings: use of she/her pronouns for r, some grumpy steve (he’s still a softie underneath it, i can’t help it!), some family issues (a phone call from steve’s mom), a rude customer, christmas activities/themes, fluff, and a first kiss!

a/n: merry christmas and happy holidays from me to you!!! i hope u guys enjoy this one, i had a lot of fun writing it!! big big thank you to @bcyhoods for sending the request that inspired me to write this fic and to @bruisedboys who helped me out when i was unsure about things <333 ily guys i hope u all have the happiest of holidays!

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

Starcourt Mall is decorated to the brim. Fake snow and garlands, giant ornaments hanging from the ceiling, a Christmas tree that stays lit all day long.

And, in the middle of it all, Santa’s Workshop.

That’s where you are, where you’ve been for a couple of Decembers now. Every other month of the year, you work at the movie theater, scooping popcorn and scanning tickets. But, for December, you trade in your cinema t-shirt for an elf outfit, striped tights and all.

“It’s really not so bad once you get past the itching,” you tell Steve.

“Great,” he says, the sarcasm clear in his tone.

“Great,” you repeat, cheery enough for the both of you.

He wasn’t sure how it could get any worse than the sailor uniform. That is, until he saw what he had to wear for this gig.

It’s Steve Harrington’s first year at Santa’s Workshop, and you’ve been tasked with training him, though the job is mostly self-explanatory.

But unlike you, Steve didn’t volunteer for this.

“I can’t believe they picked me to do this,” he sighs. “Don’t even like elves.”

“Well they had to pick someone, Steve.” You shrug, “who knows, you might end up having fun!”

“Not likely.”

“At the very least, you’re getting paid, right?” You nudge him once with your elbow, “plus, if you’re extra nice, some moms give pretty good tips.”

You and Steve went to school together, but he never really spoke to you then. It was only after graduation that you had any sort of conversation with him. They mostly consisted of him bribing you with free ice cream to let Dustin and the gang into the movies for free.

That was after you caught him letting them into the back rooms to sneak in.

Now, Steve’s wearing a pair of slippers that jingle with every step just like yours, and in the only two shifts you’ve had together so far, you’ve spoken more than ever. Even if it’s mostly been instructions from you and an unenthusiastic comment in response from Steve.

“Do I really have to wear these fucking shoes?” He asks, following you out of the staff room.

“Yes. It’s part of the uniform.” You turn around to face him, walking backwards while he walks forwards. “Don’t worry, you’ll tune out the jingling soon enough.”

“I’ll hear these jingles in my nightmares.”

“At least you look cute!”

You spin back around, and Steve only rolls his eyes as he trudges on behind you.

Steve’s not quite sure how he feels about you, whether he finds you a little annoying or endearing. At the moment, with an elf hat squishing his hair, he’s leaning a little more towards the first.

He didn’t know you during school. Admittedly, he was an asshole for most of his time at Hawkins High, so that explains that. Even still, he doesn’t know much about you, only that you’re kind enough not to snitch on him for sneaking the kids into the movies and that you seem to seep sunshine all the fucking time.

And your sunshine seems to be dialed up during the holidays. Like you really believe in ‘holiday cheer.’

Steve knows, deep down and buried somewhere he’s not quite ready to face yet, that he’s mostly just jealous. Because if you like the holidays so much, if you’re smiling the way you do so often, you must have it pretty good at home.

To him, nothing else makes sense. Not when Christmas at the Harrington household has been absolute shit for years. First, it was the gifts he never wanted, things his parents didn’t care enough to know he didn’t like. Then, they dwindled until, eventually, Christmas did, too.

There’s a travel discount during the holidays, sweetie. We’re visiting dad’s boss’ cabin. Next year, we promise. Excuse, excuse, excuse.

So yeah, Steve’s never really understood the appeal. Walking behind you in a pair of jingling shoes and a scratchy outfit, he’s not sure he ever will.

You lead him towards the area where Santa’s Workshop has been set up, right by the fountain. There’s bright red carpet rolled out over the usual tiled floors, an area set up for the cue of families, and of course, a bench where some guy playing Santa will sit.

“Since we’re opening today I’ll show you the whole set-up routine.” You step over the rope with the sign that says ‘Gone to feed the reindeer!’ with Steve in tow. “Easy peasy.”

Steve steps over the rope behind you, shaking his head at the sound his shoes make when he lands. He chooses to listen to your voice instead.

“First, we count the props,” you nod over at the bin that’s tucked away behind a small tree, “there should be four sets of antlers, two santa hats, a red nose, and some extra elf hats.”

He stares at you—because why on earth would you have that memorized—and raises his eyebrows. For a moment, as he watches you grab the clipboard that sits atop the prob bin and start counting, Steve wonders if maybe he should be more like you. The kind of person who seems to see the good in everything.

Then, he remembers what the outfit he’s got on looks like and shakes the thought away.

“Why would anyone want to be a clown in these pictures?” He says.

“The red nose is for Rudolph, dummy.”

You say dummy with a smile, like it’s something to admire. Steve huffs.

“Rudolph’s a loser.”

“Aw, come on, he’s got his own song and everything! I’d say that makes him the opposite of a loser.”

“Of course you would,” he mutters, cursing the tiniest twitch of a smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “What’s next?”

“Right,” you grab the bag that you brought from the staff room and set it on the ground by the tripod that’s already set up. “Next is the camera. Here, I’ll show you.”

The only knowledge Steve’s got of cameras comes from whatever Jonathan has told him, which hasn’t been very much, considering the pair’s history on the topic despite them being friends now.

So, he steps closer to you, watches as you pull the camera out of the bag.

“You just have to switch it on and make sure the battery’s full, right there,” you say, pointing at the small symbol that lets you know if the camera’s charged or not. “And don’t forget to take the lens cap off. I did it once and this dad yelled at me, so...”

You pop the lens cap off, putting it in the bag. Steve’s standing close to you, right behind you, his chin hovering over your shoulder, the warmth of his chest just shy of brushing against your back.

“Finally,” you continue, ignoring the little skip in your heartbeat, the way you breathe just a tiny bit quicker. “Set it up on the tripod, and you’re good to go.”

He watches your fingertips move easily, securing the camera to the tripod. When you’re done, you turn around to face him, and it’s only then that Steve realizes how close he’s gotten.

Close enough that you stumble and land against his chest, his hands on your upper arms to steady you as you pull back quickly, like you’d been burned. Steve, however, doesn’t let go just yet and he’s got no idea why.

He doesn’t let go until the music in the mall is switched on, the opening notes of some Christmas song startling you both. Steve steps back and releases you, dropping his hands by his sides and ignoring the twitch of his fingers.

“Alright,” you say, trying to brush the moment off. “That sound means we’re open. You ready?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Nope!”

-

Your lunch breaks at Santa’s Workshop feel like a luxury, because no matter how much you enjoy the job, it’s nice to get away from the rowdy children it forces you to deal with.

Unlike your job at the theater, where your breaks are staggered, the workshop closes for an hour every day, meaning that even during lunch, Steve’s stuck with you.

The sign by the line for Santa is flipped, and parents groan whenever they see the festive font saying you’ll be back in an hour.

You take the hour spent in the staff room as a time to ask him questions, what his hobbies are (“does driving a pack of 13-year-olds around count?”), if he likes his job at Scoops (“I’m starting to appreciate it more. The lesser of two evils, or something”), if he’d introduce you to Robin someday (“I’m afraid of what that might do to my sanity.”)

Today, you’re trying to tackle the subject of his Grinch-like tendencies.

“What’s your favorite Christmas movie?” You ask.

Steve doesn’t know why he continues to answer your questions whenever you throw them at him—which is often—but he does. He thinks it might be like being mean to a puppy, ignoring you. Unnecessarily cruel.

“Don’t have one.”

“Ugh. Come on, Steve! Everyone has a favorite.” You slump in your seat across from him at the small table in the break room. Steve stares at you blankly as he takes another bite of his lunch. “You can tell me.”

“I’m serious,” he says, nudging your foot with his when it comes close. “They’re cheesy.”

“Aren’t you secretly a rom-com fan?”

“How did you-”

“So, you actually enjoy cheesy movies!”

“Okay, well you don’t have to say it to the entire mall. Gosh.”

Steve wonders how you know that about him, how you’ve been able to guess a lot of things without him telling you. Briefly, just for a second, he wonders if that might mean something.

Like, if maybe you’re in his life now for a reason.

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me, Steve.” You smile what you hope is an honest, reassuring smile. “So, the cheesiness isn’t the root of the issue.”

“No, I guess not.”

“I’m gonna take a guess here,” you start, “and say that you’re not a fan of Christmas.”

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Steve, I’ve never heard someone complain about jingle bells so much in my life.”

“We can’t all behave like we’ve been injected with sunshine.”

You don’t think he means it as a compliment, but you decide to take it as one nonetheless. But you suppose he’s right, there’s always gotta be a balance. Dark and light, happy and sad.

“Thank you,” you give him a quick grin. “And you’re avoiding the question.”

He’s silent for a moment, twisting his fork around between his fingers. “My parents never really did Christmas.”

Your heart squeezes a little in your chest at his words, at the way his tone goes quieter, at the way he looks at the table to avoid catching your eye.

Immediately, you feel guilty for prying, because the last thing you’d ever wanted to do was force him to tell you something he didn’t want to. It’s not your place, no matter how curious you are, no matter how much you’d like to give him a hug or something right about now.

It’s not your place, but you find yourself wishing it could be.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Steve.” You reach for his hand that sits on the table and give it a quick squeeze before pulling back. “You don’t have to talk about it. I shouldn’t have bugged you.”

“It’s okay. I’ve had a lot of time to accept it.” He shrugs, like it doesn’t affect him. But from the scrunch in his brows, you can tell it does, at least a little bit. “The Harringtons have better things to do than sit around cleaning up wrapping paper.”

Steve feels embarrassed, his cheeks warm and his head bent. He doesn’t like scraping this wound open, doesn’t like to think about what he was missing out on while everyone thought his life was perfect.

He especially doesn’t want you looking at him like he’s injured or something after this.

Surprisingly to Steve, you don’t. You actually do quite the opposite. You smile brightly at him, like you’ve just had an excellent idea, like you can inject a bit of your sunshine into him with it.

“How about this: I’ll teach you how great Christmas can be.”

“I think it might be a little late for that.” Steve tries to shake his admission away, to clear the room. He points at the elf hat on his head, “this outfit has ruined any last shred of hope I had.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that you make a cute elf? You pull it off better than I do.”

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not!” Steve raises his eyebrows at you. You ignore that look. “Whatever. I cannot in good conscience, let you keep disliking Christmas. Think of how fun it could be. Plus, you owe me for all of those movies I let your children into.”

Steve already finds it difficult to say no to you, because of how kind you remain even when he’s snarky with you, because of the same kindness you seem to offer to everyone you meet.

So, even though he’s not sure what your plan entails, he sighs and says: “okay. Fine.”

“Wait, really?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

You cheer, clapping a little in your seat. “Oh my gosh, we can go skating, and go to one of those Christmas light festivals, and make cookies-”

“What did I get myself into?” Steve mutters, while you’re still rambling off ideas.

“-I’m gonna need to make a list.”

Even after your break ends, you seem to have an extra pep in your step, if that’s even possible. Your smile is a bit wider, your eyes brighter, and Steve can’t help but feel a little special for being somewhat responsible for that.

Really, what did I get myself into, he wonders.

-

In the time between him agreeing to your Christmas plans a couple of days ago and now, at yet another shift, Steve has realized that he actually likes you quite a bit. Even though your seemingly constant optimism drives him a little bit crazy.

You treat everyone with an attitude that’s so rare, he finds that his previous annoyance for you is slowly becoming overtaken by the endearment.

He won’t admit it, not when bantering with you seems to be the highlight of his days lately, but Steve is starting to be sort of grateful that he got selected for this job.

And that has absolutely nothing to do with the outfit he wears. He still fucking hates that.

“It’s alright, cutie,” he hears your voice say, all soft and understanding. He finds you, crouched down to talk to a little girl who seems to be wary of Santa. “I bet Santa will give you something extra from your list if you smile for the picture.”

The girl nods, like she’s determined. But, when you stand back up, she grabs onto your hand by your side.

“What is it?” You ask her.

“Can you do it with me?”

You look over to the girl’s mother where she stands to the side, and she nods, eager to get the picture done. So, with that, you say, “okay, then.”

Steve’s standing behind the camera as he watches you help the girl onto the bench beside Santa. Then you’re sitting beside her and telling her to look at the nice boy behind the camera.

It takes him a second to realize you’re talking about him, but when he does, he forces himself into action, bending to look through the viewfinder.

“Say cheese,” he says.

The click of the camera sounds, and then it’s done. You help the girl down, who goes over to her mom quickly and they head over to grab their picture.

Once they’re gone, the line dies down, giving you and Steve a rare pause from the pictures and overenthusiastic welcomes to ‘the North Pole.’

“I hope that family’s okay with my face in their picture,” you say, coming to stand beside Steve by the camera. “I mean, I know the mom nodded, but maybe they’ll cut me out of it.”

You’ve become more comfortable with Steve the more you’ve worked with him, getting to know him in how his grumpiness is more related to the holidays and early mornings than anything else, in how he turns the same grumpiness down when he talks to the kids.

You think he’s grown more comfortable with you, too, because he’s started bringing you a coffee in a festive cup in the morning, leaving it in your cubby without a word.

From Steve, you think that says a lot. His actions have always spoken louder than his words, you think. Like the free ice cream he gives you from Scoops, or the small nod he’d give you whenever he’d pick up the kids from a movie.

And now, there’s the small tug of his lips, the hint of a smile that has you saying, “Steve Harrington are you smiling right now?”

“Shut up,” he shakes his head at you. “That was sweet. What you did for that girl.”

Steve lets himself say what he thinks for once, because there’s nobody else around, because he wants you to hear it.

You hide your shy smile by looking down at your feet. You know that underneath everything, Steve is probably one of the best boys you’ve ever met, because even with his attitude, he’ll never say anything to truly hurt you, and with how little you know about his family, you also know that it’s rare for someone in his situation to remain so good.

Any resemblance of a compliment from Steve feels extra special, like its own gift in itself.

“Ruining her picture, you mean?” You ask, trying to cover up how you feel about him calling you sweet.

“You didn’t ruin that picture, sunshine.”

Sunshine. That’s new.

“Well I’m glad someone thinks so.”

Before Steve has the chance to respond, the line picks up again, and it’s back to business as usual. The routine click of the camera, the sound of parents telling their kids to smile nice and big.

You and Steve catching each other’s eye when a particularly entertaining family rolls around, laughing at the way he does an impression of a mom after she leaves. With work being sort of like this every day, you wish it could be Christmas all year round. You much prefer this to the theater, you think.

Steve can't say that he likes this job more than Scoops—Robin might call him traitorous—but he finds that you’d been at least a little right when you said that it would get better when he got used to things, when he hears the sound of your laugh rather than those stupid bells on his shoes.

He finds that he sometimes has to remind himself that he doesn’t like the holidays, that they aren’t like this all the time.

At the end of your shift, as you and Steve grab your stuff from the staff room, you turn to him, leaning against the wall as he shrugs on his coat.

“So, I made a list,” you say. “We are going to have the best Christmas ever, Harrington.”

“My standards are very low, so it wouldn’t take much.”

“Don’t care. I have plans. We can make gingerbread houses and get Christmas pajamas-”

“Absolutely not.”

While Steve already agreed to letting you show him Christmas your way, he thinks he can only take so much at a time. Small doses of your jolly spirit are plenty.

“Steeeve.”

“I am drawing the line. No Christmas pajamas. Not happening.”

“But the gingerbread houses are a yes?” You ask, hopeful and smiling like it’ll persuade him.

“I’ll get back to you on that one.”

That’s what Steve decides to say, instead of simply agreeing because he finds that he’d like to spend time with you outside of work, to see if you’re really so bright all the time, to see if he can soak it up a little better when he’s not dressed as a damn elf.

That’s what he decides to say because it’s easier than spilling the rest of it out there. Much, much easier.

“But you already agreed!” You pout at him a little, exaggerated dramatics on your part. “You can’t just tell me I can teach you Christmas and then back out, I mean, I made an actual bucket list. With glitter and shit.”

“Oh no, not the glitter,” Steve places a hand on his chest, sarcastically scandalized. “That makes it serious.”

You blink at him, giving him a blank look. “Don’t diss the list. By the end of it, you’re gonna be jolly as fuck, trust me.”

“Jolly as fuck,” he repeats, shaking his head on a laugh. “You’ve got a way with words, sunshine.”

“Thank you.” You push your tote bag onto your shoulder, fishing out your keys, they clink in your palm when you find them. “I’m not letting you back out of this, by the way. The list is binding.”

“Well in that case…”

You give Steve a little smile, the flash of a sunbeam, before heading out, and he’s left standing in the break room wondering what you’ve got on that list, why you seem to care so much about it.

Huffing, he supposes he’ll find out soon enough.

-

Steve definitely should not have told you that he’d never been ice skating before.

It all started when you’d been talking about that damn list at your most recent shift, a couple of days after he’d accepted the fact that he couldn’t back out of it (did he really want to?).

“Hey, you have a change of clothes in your bag, right?” You’d asked him in between families.

“Um… yeah. Why?”

“Because, Steve, our festivities begin today after work!” You clapped your hands together softly, excited and encouraging, yet delicate. “I haven’t quite decided what we’re starting with yet.”

“I thought you had a list.”

“I do! But it’s not in order,” you shrugged, “I’m more of a mood-based decision maker, anyways.”

“Of course you are,” he’d said, his usual sarcasm lighter, laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

“So I’m thinking we go skating-”

“Nope.”

“You can't say no to every idea I have. Then how will you get the Christmas experience?”

“I won’t say no to everything.” You looked at him like you didn’t believe him, so, quietly, he added, “it’s just, I’ve never been skating before.”

“Steve, that’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” you reassured him easily, your voice honest in a sort of natural way, like you couldn't lie even if you tried. “All the more reason to give it a try. The point is to have fun, not to be good at it. I’m really not that great, myself.”

“If I hate it, we’re leaving.”

“Deal.”

And that’s how he’d ended up here, standing next to you at the rental counter at the ice rink, telling some teenager his shoe size so he could get a pair of skates.

Steve looks at you as you talk to the teenager, paying before he even gets the chance. He looks at the hat you’ve got on your head, the way your jeans are cuffed just enough to let your snowman patterned socks peek out of your boots.

He realizes that he’s only ever really seen you in uniform, at the theater and as an elf, and he thinks, quickly, like a car driving by, that you look really pretty like this. With snowflakes stuck in your eyelashes and all.

Though he’s never said it, barely let himself think it, he’s always found you pretty in a sort of undeniable way, like it was just a fact. Now, he finds you pretty in a way that makes him feel it.

His heart beats like it feels it, too. The traitor.

“Thank you,” you say, grabbing both your and Steve’s pairs of skates. You turn to him, smiling like always, Christmas lights reflected in your eyes, “ready to go?”

“As I'll ever be,” he says, letting you lead the way to the benches by the rink.

He watches the way you tie your skates, copying your movements on his own pair, double knotting the bow at the end. When you stand, he stays seated for a moment, suddenly more nervous than before, because the last thing he wants to do is embarrass himself in front of you, in front of everyone around.

Like you can read his mind, you say, “it’s okay, the first step is only standing. It looks harder than it is, promise.”

“I feel like you’re lying to make me feel better.”

“Why don’t you just stand up and find out, then?”

He rolls his eyes, more at himself than you, and pushes himself up from the bench. It takes him a second to get used to the feeling of the skates, of balancing on them, but eventually, he nods at you, eager to get it over with.

“‘Kay, so it’s gonna feel weird when you step on the ice, but you can just hold onto the side until you get the hang of it.” You start walking ahead of him, turning back to say, “I have a feeling you’ll be a natural.”

“Sure you do,” he mutters, shaking his head.

The rink is outdoors, the walls surrounded with string lights of all kinds, twinkling and colorful. In the middle, there’s a big tree, a shining gold star sat on top. There’s a hot chocolate stand to the side, the smell mingling with the freshness of the cold.

There are Christmas songs playing over the speakers (of course), and Steve thinks that if he hears one more rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock,” he’ll have to invest in a pair of ear plugs. On top of that, there’s the sound of laughter, kids with their parents, friends, couples, everyone seems to be having fun.

Everyone seems to be at ease except for him.

You step onto the rink first, skating a couple of steps forward to give Steve room to get on. He holds onto the side like you told him to, lifting a foot and stepping forward slowly, his foot slipping a little when it hits the ice.

You don’t say anything, don’t pressure him, only stand there with a kindness in your eyes that tells him you won’t be anything but patient.

Still, he doesn’t take too long to get the other foot on the ice, too, his feet carrying him forward a little bit, his hand gripping the side tighter.

“See? It’s not so bad,” you skate to his side, leaving space between you as Steve holds out his arm for balance. “Now all you gotta do is push yourself forward.”

“You make it sound like it’s easy.”

“It’s called being encouraging, Steve. Let me be encouraging!”

“Fine,” he stares down at his feet, his hair falling over his forehead. “So what do I do?”

“Use one foot to push, and then let yourself glide, switch feet, and repeat. You can do it.”

He gives it a go, and finds that it isn’t awful, but he moves slowly, and looking around at the other people skating, he’s not an impressive skater at all.

Steve has always felt the urge to be good at everything he does, basketball, driving, even fucking babysitting. He’s always tried so hard to do things well, like maybe, if he was talented enough, his parents would care more, would finally be proud of him for something.

He swallows that thought down and pushes forward again.

You follow his speed, gliding easily beside him, “look at you go!”

“I look like an idiot,” he says, his arm outstretched beside him, the other gripping the side, his knees bent.

When you look at him, though, all you see is the pink of his cheeks and nose from the cold, the way his hair brushes against his forehead, the focus in his eyes, the determination. No, you don’t think he looks like an idiot at all.

“You look like you’re trying, and that’s a great look on you, Steve.”

This time, it isn’t only the cold that pinkens his cheeks.

He doesn’t have time to muster up a reply, because the next time Steve skates ahead, he stumbles, his balance wavering until he feels your hand grabbing onto his arm to help steady him.

Then, your hand moves to hold his, and even through the layers of both of your gloves, he feels the warmth in his fingertips, some sort of tingling.

“This way, if you fall, so do I,” you say, squeezing his hand once, winking at him like the thought of falling doesn’t scare you one bit.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Super sure.”

You hadn’t been lying on that one, because eventually Steve does fall, and you fall right along with him, landing on the ice with a little, “oop!”

On his back, Steve turns his head to look at you, your hair a mess around you, some on your cheeks. He reaches out and brushes it away.

“You okay, sunshine?”

The response he gets is the sound of your laughter, a single loud cackle that has your eyes widening and a hand smacking over your mouth.

Your laughter fades into a fit of giggles, one so infectious that Steve—surrounded by all kinds of Christmas-themed things he swore he hated—laughs along with you.

And for the first time, maybe in his entire life, Steve thinks that the holidays might not be the worst thing ever.

-

Steve’s in a bad mood today, that scrunch in his brows you'd thought had been easing away back in full force.

It’s your first shift back together since you’d been skating only a couple of days ago, and you can’t help but worry that maybe it was too much, that you’d pushed him too far.

Even though, at the time, he’d been smiling more than you’ve seen him smile maybe ever, and you really thought that you had a shot at making Christmas better for him. You worry that he wasn’t as happy as he seemed, that he was pretending to have fun for your sake.

Steve, on the other hand, is actually glad to be at work for once, glad for the distraction it gives him. He’s unaware that his emotions are so visible on his face, that you think an ounce of his annoyance and anger is aimed at you.

All he knows is that after the morning he had, he needs this distraction.

This morning, it wasn’t the beep of his alarm that had woken him up, but the shrill ring of the phone on his bedside table. Groggy, with his eyes still half shut, Steve picked up the phone.

He wishes he didn’t.

“Hello?” His voice was almost a groan, scratchy from sleep, irritated at being woken up earlier than his alarm.

“Steve, sweetie!” His mother’s voice made him squint his eyes shut further. “Why do you sound so tired?”

“‘Cause it’s six in the morning, mom.”

“Oh, silly me. I forgot about time zones,” she said, though she didn’t sound the least bit apologetic. She didn’t even care enough to know what time it was for her son. “Anyways, I’m calling to let you know your father and I won’t make it home for Christmas this year. There’s this banquet we just can’t miss. You understand, don’t you?”

Steve doesn’t know why he’d been surprised, doesn’t know why her words, completely devoid of any kind of empathy towards the situation, made his stomach hurt.

“Yeah, okay,” he’d said, because it was no use to do anything but agree.

This was his normal: an almost monthly phone call from one of his parents from wherever they are in the world, no matter the time, always telling him that they’re missing this holiday, his birthday (which, at this point, he was shocked they even remembered), anything.

“That’s my boy,” she’d said, as if she knew him at all. She didn’t. Hasn’t known him—or cared to—for a long time. “I knew you’d understand.”

“Right.”

“Oh, there’s your father. Gotta go.”

And just like that, she hung up.

Steve almost wishes that they’d never call at all, because maybe then it would be easier to swallow their neglect. If they’d just forget him completely, he could get rid of that stupid, tiny sprout of hope he feels whenever they call, hoping things will be different.

At least it was his mother this time, he thinks. His father is a hundred times worse, only ever disappointed in Steve, asking about his job or when he plans on ‘getting a real life,’ never about him.

So yeah, Steve’s in a bad mood today.

The two of you don’t talk for the majority of your shift, you, afraid that Steve’s angry with you, opting to give him space, and Steve, stewing in every negative emotion that comes along with a phone call from his parents.

You don’t talk until one of the last families in line for the day comes up.

Once the kids are in place, you lean down to look through the viewfinder, counting them down and snapping the picture when they say ‘cheese.’ To the side, the children’s mom looks at you with so much judgment, Steve, even brewing in his thoughts, notices.

With the picture taken, you take the camera over to the mom, letting her see the picture the way you do with all the parents, making sure they approve.

Instead of approval, what you get is, “what the hell is that?”

You’ve dealt with your fair share of rude customers, at every job you’ve had, but this woman all but screams at you, and that’s rare. “Sorry,” you say, “I can take a new one, no problem.”

“I better be getting the new one for free with how these pictures are looking,” she practically hisses at you.

Usually, you can handle stuff like this, can smack on a smile and politely agree to get things taken care of, but today, the mixture of all your self-doubt and worrying about messing things up with Steve and this mother shouting at you, things pile up, and you feel your happy mask slipping.

“Um,” you start, voice small.

“You elves get worse every year,” she says to you. “I can’t believe people this incompetent even exist.”

Steve, hearing the whole thing, is quick to step in front of you, any thoughts about his shitty parents quickly fading in favor of helping you.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but she already offered to take another picture, and if that isn’t good for you, you’re free to leave,” Steve’s voice doesn’t slip one bit, standing his ground with every word.

You’re overwhelmed with everything going on, and when Steve turns around to look at you, nodding his head towards the staff room, you take the escape he offers you quickly, eyes blurry with tears you won’t let fall until you’re alone.

“You can’t speak to me like that!” The woman stomps her foot.

“I can, actually. She,” he points in the direction you’d gone, “is the kindest person I know, and you shouldn’t speak to her that way. I understand the holidays are a stressful time for everyone, but we spend all day helping people like you take these pictures, and the least you could do is say ‘thank you.’”

Rather than respond, the woman takes her children’s hands and stomps off.

Steve turns to find that the few families that had been in line before have decided to leave, and he takes the emptiness of Santa’s Workshop as an opportunity to follow after you.

He finds you sitting on the bench beneath your cubby in the break room, head buried in your hands, sniffling a little like you’re trying to be as quiet as possible. Steve can’t think about anything other than how much he hates seeing you upset, like a cloud covering the sun.

“Hey,” he says gently, sitting beside you on the bench. “Don’t listen to any of that. She was a bitch.”

You’re both grateful and unhappy that Steve came after you. Grateful because he’s kind, because he’s showing you that he cares. Unhappy because you’re embarrassed of him seeing you like this, because he calls you sunshine and you don’t feel like that right now.

It takes a second before you move your hands, wiping at your cheeks before turning to look at Steve, his brown eyes already on your face, unbelievably soft.

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” he assures you. “She was awful to you after a long enough day. You have every right to be upset.”

“You’re being really nice,” your voice breaks a little bit, fighting any more tears that threaten to spill.

“I can be nice. I should be nicer to you.” He knows he should, but with Christmas and everything, it’s easy for him to be grouchy. “You sound surprised.”

“It’s just,” you shrug, almost defeated. “I thought you were mad at me today.”

Steve’s heart fucking aches at the sound of your voice, all small and lacking of the light he’s somehow come to like so much. And when another tear slips down your cheek, he can’t stop himself from reaching out and holding your face in his hands, thumbing the tear away lightly.

“I don’t think I could ever really be mad at you, sunshine.”

“Oh.”

His hands are warm where they hold your cheeks, a thumb still tracing back and forth over your skin. Not mad, then.

“I, uh,” Steve looks at where his thumb brushes against you, like he can’t believe it’s there, like he doesn’t want to look into your eyes for the next part. “I got a call from my mom this morning. They’re not coming home this year. Again. I shouldn’t be surprised but… anyways. That’s why I’ve been so quiet and shit today. Not because of you.”

One of your hands comes up to lay over his where it sits on your cheek, tangling your fingers with his and moving your hands down to your lap.

“I’m sorry, Steve.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I shouldn’t take this stuff out on you just because you like Christmas and I don’t.”

You smile a little bit, a twitch of your lips, but Steve takes it as a win all the same.

“I’m gonna change that,” you say.

“Sure you will,” he replies, the sarcasm in his voice still there the way it usually is when he teases you, but this time, he’s smiling, too.

-

Steve told you to go home after that, assuring you that he’d take care of the few families left, and when you’d opened your mouth to tell him you were fine, you could stay, he’d pinned you with a look and told you again to let him do it.

So, you did.

You’d thought it would be a day at least until you’d see Steve again, but it’s only a couple of hours after your shift ends.

There’s a knock at your door, your apartment one of the ones built above a shop on Main Street, and even though you have no idea who it could be, you get up, sock-covered feet padding against the floor as you go over to answer it.

You’re surprised to find Steve on the other side—one, because you don’t think you’ve ever told him where you live, and two, because you didn’t think he’d want to see you more today than he already had—a bag in his hand and a shy sort of question on his face.

“Steve? What are you doing here?”

He scratches at the back of his neck with his free hand before responding, a nervous gesture that he hasn’t been able to get rid of. “I thought that maybe, after the day you’ve had, you could use some cheering up. I could, too.”

You remember him telling you about the phone call from his parents, and something in your stomach flutters a little when you realize that his plans to cheer up involve you of all people.

“Okay.” You smile, you can’t really help it, “come in, then.”

He does, closing the door behind him and toeing off his shoes before stepping inside any further. Steve spots your kitchen table easily, and moves to set the bag he’s holding down.

“I thought we could do another thing that might be on your list,” he says. Steve tugs things out of the bag, gingerbread house kits, to be exact. “Gingerbread houses are Christmas bucket list worthy, right?”

“Absolutely,” you search his face, a little confused because last you heard, Steve was not into your whole bucket list thing, but here he is. “And you’re doing this… voluntarily?”

“I have the receipt. I can return them, if you prefer.”

“No! Don’t do that. I just mean- I thought you didn’t like Christmas or my list and that you were just playing along to be nice.”

“I might not be the biggest fan of Christmas, but,” he shrugs, opening one of the boxes of gingerbread, “you’re a good teacher, sunshine.”

You resist the urge to pinch yourself, like you might be dreaming because Steve, who you’ve grown to like an embarrassing amount, is here, offering to do this with you and giving you a compliment like it’s nothing.

When you respond, you hope your voice doesn’t give away how you really feel. Excited, happy, your heart jumping. “Can I get that in writing?”

“Shut up.” He shakes his head, pointing to the unopened box, “now will you come build this gingerbread house or what?”

“Mine’s gonna be way prettier than yours.”

Steve simply rolls his eyes, but there’s the hint of a smile there, too. He’s happy to see that your light is back, that you didn’t let what happened at work get to you too much.

You sit down beside each other at your table, gingerbread kits laid out in front of you. Icing and sprinkles, a cookie roof and chimney. You’re sure it’ll leave a mess, but right now you don’t mind.

There’s a sort of lightness in the air, the knowledge that this thing—friendship, more, whatever it is—between the two of you is something that you’re both happy to bask in. It’s unspoken, and that doesn’t bother you.

You and Steve start by unpacking all of the pieces, yours laid out neatly, his in a leaning pile that makes you bite back a laugh.

“The fucking roof won’t stay on,” Steve says once you’ve both started to put the houses together, and he sounds genuinely annoyed about it.

“Just put some more icing on it,” you say, “there’s no such thing as too much.”

“I don’t think icing will save me now, sunshine.”

You look away from your own gingerbread house over to Steve’s. His hands are holding the roof up, pushing them together so they meet at the top, and he’s staring at the thing with so much determination that you can’t help but giggle.

“You laughing at me?” Steve quirks a brow at you, but there’s a shine in his eyes. They smile even when his mouth doesn’t.

“I can’t believe you’re taking this so seriously,” you laugh, and that smile of his spreads slowly on Steve’s face, blooming like a flower. “It’s alright to admit defeat, Steve. My house is already better than yours.”

“Woah, this isn’t over yet, alright? Mine just needs time, don’t you worry.”

“Whatever you say, Steve.”

“Someone’s feeling brave tonight,” he teases, nudging you with his elbow without letting go of the roof of his house. “Don’t speak too soon, sunshine. I could be the underdog here.”

You lean over with your icing bag in hand, piping some more into the gap in Steve’s roof. “Here, let me help.”

Steve—always reluctant to accept help of any kind, even the smallest things—lets you. While he watches your face as you pipe the icing, the focus, the way your tongue pokes out from between your lips, you take his distraction as an opportunity to move, letting your icing fall onto his hand instead of the house.

“Oops,” you shrug, your tone suggesting that it wasn’t a mistake at all.

Steve gasps overdramatically, then leans closer to you, “Oh, looks like you’ve got something right there.” His hand reaches for your face, and he spreads the icing from it onto your cheek.

“You’re done for, Harrington.”

He only laughs, bright and quick.

Before you know it, you’re having some sort of food fight, putting a dot of icing on Steve’s nose, him tossing sprinkles at you. It’s a mess, but all you can hear is Steve’s laughter, all you can see is his smile. Unguarded for once, free and genuine.

By the time it dies down, there’s stripes of icing on your cheeks, red and green sprinkles scattered about the floor and on the table, and Steve’s got his own patches of icing to deal with.

“You better help me clean this, Harrington,” you say, your giggles still spilling, fizzling out softly. “What are we gonna decorate these houses with now?”

“Mine’s a lost cause,” he admits, the pieces now in a pile the way they’d started.

“So I won, is what I’m hearing.”

Steve looks at you, at the sparkle in your eyes that had been dimmed earlier at work, at the smile that spreads across your face when his eyes meet yours. Fuck. He thinks you’re completely beautiful, icing across your face and all.

His gaze snags on a piece of green in your hair, and before he can think about it, he reaches up and tugs it out for you.

“Sprinkle,” he says.

You look at his hands, messy from the gingerbread houses but never any less strong, and you remember how they felt in yours when you’d been skating. And when you flick your eyes back to his face, he’s already looking at you, gaze dipping to your mouth quickly, like he can’t help it.

And shit, you think. You really, really like this boy.

Before either of you can say anything more, you’re leaning towards each other, meeting in the middle and you’re not sure if you kiss him or he kisses you, but you end up with your mouths pressed together.

It’s featherlight at first, testing the waters. Then, Steve’s hands cup your jaw gently and pull you back to him, and you wouldn’t dream of doing anything but follow.

He kisses you again, still soft somehow, but more certain, his lips dancing with yours like you’ve done this a hundred times before.

You reach up and grasp his wrists in your hands, feeling his pulse under your thumbs. His heart is racing just as much as yours, you notice. Like your heartbeats have synced to a twin pattern, like this kiss was enough to do that.

And while you’re not sure what will happen after this, you know that something has shifted, that both of you are saying things you’re too afraid to say out loud.

When he pulls back, Steve presses one, two more pecks to your mouth, his thumbs tracing over your skin so lightly you might’ve dreamt it.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever think about kissing the same way after you. Steve feels warm the way he does when the sun beams on him in summer, and quickly, he thinks, I could get used to this feeling.

Then, he gets up and finds a small towel in one of the drawers by your sink, wetting it with warm water before coming back to sit with you.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, using a finger to tilt your chin up, swiping the towel over your cheeks to get rid of the icing there as lightly as he can.

And that’s that.

-

December twenty-fourth is your last day at Santa’s Workshop. Christmas Eve snuck up quick, and tomorrow, the twenty-fifth, the mall will be closed.

You’ve always enjoyed the job, but this year’s been your favorite by far. Usually, you and your coworkers would get along just fine, talking during shifts and laughing but never expanding outside of work, but it’s completely different with Steve.

He knocked on your door with gingerbread houses in hand and kissed you like it meant something. You like him so much that it’s in your bones, this feeling he brings out of you, how special you feel when you think about the trust he’s shown you.

But looking back, you think you were screwed from the start. From his scrunched brows asking you if the bells on the elf shoes were really necessary, to confiding in you about his parents, that list you made that seemed to be the beginning of what things have grown into now.

Green elf hat lopsided on his head, Steve smiles at you from where he stands by the camera. You smile back without thinking, like it’s natural, an instinct.

“Alright,” he says, talking to the kids sitting on the bench with Santa. “Everyone say ‘cheese’ on three. One, two-”

“Cheese!”

The camera clicks, and then it’s onto the next, the system you and Steve have created moving along smoothly, family after family.

If someone told Steve when he’d started this job, grouchy and prepared to pout about it every day, that he’d grow to like it, that he’s realized he’ll miss it when it’s gone, he would’ve laughed in their faces.

Never in a million years did Steve think he’d come remotely close to enjoying being an elf, but he has (he still fucking hates the outfit, though). You have everything to do with his surprising not-so-hatred of the job, of his careful fondness growing towards the holidays.

It’s all because of you.

Christmas Eve is a busy day at Starcourt mall, parents rushing about for last minute presents, teenagers taking advantage of holiday sales, and families lined up for their Santa pictures they’d forgotten about until now.

You don’t get breaks between families often today, but once you do, you and Steve are next to each other, making imaginary backstories for random people that pass by, dramatically reading lips of conversations.

The next time there’s an opening, you walk over to Steve, holding up your fist as if there’s a microphone in it. “So, Steve, tell me, how does it feel to have survived December as a Christmas elf?”

“I feel like I should get an award, maybe,” he says into your fake microphone. “I’ve gotten two rashes from this scratchy outfit. Two! And I’ll never hear jingle bells the same again.”

You laugh before clearing your throat and getting back into your news anchor character, “wow. You heard it here folks, North Pole outfits are not luxurious.”

“No, they are not.”

Steve can’t help but grin as he looks at you, as he jokes around with you so easily it feels like he’s known you for years instead of a month. He supposes he has known you longer, but never the way he does now.

“Now, will you be returning to Santa’s Workshop in future Decembers, mister Harrington?”

“Well, that depends,” he says. “I think I’ll require a certain presence to be with me if I come back. Can’t survive it without my doses of sunshine.”

My doses of sunshine.

You’ve never reacted to words the way you do with Steve, but when he says things like that, how can you not react? He compliments you in these indirect ways that only you could understand, and this secret language of yours has your heart skipping, your world tinted-pink.

That one makes you break character, “really?”

“Really.”

Looking up at him, at those soft, melting brown eyes that have always told you more than anything else about him, at the fondness in them, you think about that kiss.

You haven’t spoken about it, but you haven’t felt the need to. It meant something, you know that much, and by the way Steve sneaks touches—a squeeze of your hand, a palm on your back—he does, too.

“You make Christmas better,” he tells you.

He leaves you with that as the next family walks up for their picture, but you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you, his gaze spreading sparkles over your skin.

It’s hard to focus when all you can think about is him calling you sunshine in that soft voice of his he’s only used when you’re alone, but you have to, so it’s back to work you go.

You don’t get to speak much again until your shift is over, the Christmas Eve evening rush swooping in and keeping you both busy.

It’s bittersweet, walking to the back room for the last time from Santa’s Workshop. You’re excited for tomorrow, because it’s Christmas and it’s one of your favorite days of the year, but it’s hitting you now how much you’ll miss seeing Steve nearly every day.

You’ll still see him, of course you will. Whether it’s him getting you to help sneak kids into a movie or maybe something more, something for just the two of you. Either way, you’re at least sure of one thing: Steve Harrington is one of the best people you know.

He’s the first to speak as you step into the staff room. “I have something for you,” he says.

Steve scratches the back of his neck, the smallest hint of pink on his cheeks. He’s nervous, and it’s the sweetest thing. He reaches into his bag, pulling out a small box, a white ribbon tied in a bow around it, a little lopsided, like he’d tied it himself.

You take it from him, smiling down at the box, because no matter what’s in it, he cared enough to get you a gift and that’s what matters, that’s what you’ll hold onto.

“Really?”

“Open it, please.”

You listen, tugging the ribbon loose and opening up the small box. Inside, you find a delicate chain, the pendant in the shape of the sun.

“Steve.” It comes out in a breath, your eyes welling the tiniest bit because this is the best gift you’ve ever received. He’s a gift himself, looking at you shyly, searching your face for a reaction.

“Do you like it?” He asks, his voice soft. “If it’s too much I can-”

“It’s perfect,” you say, and you mean it. “Put it on for me?”

He flashes you a grin, the corners of his mouth tugging up as he nods and takes the necklace from you, undoing the clasp as you turn around and move your hair out of the way.

You can feel his warmth against your back as he drapes the necklace over your collar, his fingers brushing the back of your neck as he fiddles with the clasp.

“There you go,” he says, taking a small step back to give you room to spin back around to face him.

You look down at the sun pendant sitting against your skin, touching it lightly. Steve’s actions speak volumes, and this one makes you feel so many things. But above it all, you feel like his.

He watches your face as you look at the necklace, the slope of your nose and the softness of your cheeks. The flutter of your lashes and the smile you don’t even try to hide. He’s been resisting the urge to kiss you since he’d done it the first time, but it’s stronger than ever now, with his present around your neck.

Your eyes meet when you look back up at him, his brown ones never failing to show how he feels, and your heart skips with how he looks at you. Like he cares, like he doesn’t intend on stopping.

He brushes your hair over your shoulder, fingertips gentle as ever when they brush against the side of your neck.

“I love it, Steve, really. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sunshine.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything, I didn’t expect-”

“Hey,” he cuts you off, his hand shifting to hold yours, fingers lacing with yours easily, “you’ve given me so much.”

Steve doesn’t know how he got lucky enough to get paired with you for this job, how he got lucky enough to have someone look past his slight grumpiness and really see him. You’ve given him Christmas as a whole, erasing bad memories, replacing them with new ones, and he doesn’t think any present could repay you for that.

“Oh wait!” You squeeze his hand before letting go and heading towards your bag, digging until you find what you’d been looking for. You hand Steve a folded piece of paper, “you should have this.”

As he unfolds it, he realizes it’s the bucket list you’d made for him what feels like forever ago, glitter and all. There are activities with check marks beside them, the ones you’d completed, and he shakes his head with the smile he seems to only wear when you’re around.

Very last on the list, your handwriting spells out words that make his chest feel light, his heart full.

‘Make next Christmas just as good.’

Steve finally stops holding himself back and kisses you for the second time, and you’re both certain it won’t be the last.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed, please please consider leaving a reblog or comment and let me know what you think! it would mean a bunch <3

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington story #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington blurbs #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington request #steve harrington requests #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington christmas #steve harrington comfort #steve harrington stranger things #steve stranger things #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve x reader #stranger things steve #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you

[lemoncrushh]

Tattooed Heart - Part II

SUMMARY: You are a cocktail waitress at a swanky lounge. Harry comes in one night, and you instantly dislike him. But another encounter eventually changes your opinion.

PAIRING: Waitress Y/N x Artist/Tattoo Artist Harry

TROPES: Enemies to Lovers

MUST BE 18+ TO READ

WORD COUNT: 3799

STORY PAGE

The pavement was wet from the rain as you stepped onto the curb. You cursed yourself for wearing your best shoes, knowing you’d have blisters by the time you got home. Looking up at the sky, you noticed the rain had let up, so you quickly shut your umbrella, eyeing the cafe in front of you. The HELP WANTED sign in the window caught your attention. With a sigh, you pulled open the door. If you couldn’t find a job today, at least you could dry off with a latte and a muffin.

“What can I get you?” asked the woman behind the counter.

“Yes, I saw your sign up front? What’s the job?”

The older man who had his back to you called out, “You got experience?”

“Uh, yes sir, if you mean waiting tables.”

The man turned around, his face expressionless. “What about cash register?”

“Yes, sir, I’ve done that too. All kinds of retail and customer service.”

“Any days you aren’t available? I need weekends.”

“Yes, sir. I mean…no sir, I’m free everyday.”

“Good. Fill this out.” The man reached behind the counter and pulled out an application, then grabbed a pen from a nearby jar, handing them both to you.

“Thank you,” you grinned. “Oh. And can I get a vanilla latte and a blueberry muffin?”

After paying for your order, you sat down at the nearest table to begin filling out the application. You were nearly halfway through it when a shadow fell over your paper and you heard a familiar voice.

“I don’t believe it.”

Looking up, you saw him standing next to the counter. He wore a black hoodie and shorts, his windblown hair pushed back by sunglasses.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you muttered, gripping the pen tightly. If it had been a pencil, it would have snapped. “What are you doing here?”

“Um…it’s a cafe. I’m getting coffee.”

Pursing your lips, you shifted your chair so you were facing away from him. You heard him order a flat white before his sneakered feet squeaked past you to a table by the window. You grimaced as you watched him open his backpack and pull out a laptop.

“Here you are ma’am,” said the woman who had been behind the counter.

“Thank you,” you smiled up at her as she set your coffee and muffin on the table. Then she walked over to Harry, serving him his order.

“I can’t believe this,” you mumbled to yourself, knowing he had no plans to leave any time soon.

Trying your best to concentrate, you managed to get to the last page of the application before raising your head to find Harry staring at you.

“Do you mind?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Looking for a job?”

You couldn’t tell if he was being facetious or genuine.

“What do you care?” you grumbled.

“I…” he began before changing his mind with a shrug. Then he took a sip of his coffee and returned his attention to his computer.

Signing your name at the bottom of the application, you rose from your chair to turn it in.

“Why’d you leave your last job?” asked the man after he scanned your paper.

Your stomach went sour, your throat closing up. You’d dreaded that question all day. Seemed no one wanted to give a smart-mouth cocktail waitress a second chance.

“It just…wasn’t the right fit for me,” you replied.

“After two years? Zelda’s huh? That some fancy joint?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you think this coffee shop is a better fit?” the man chuckled.

“I don’t know. But I’d like the chance to try.”

Hesitating, the man shrugged. “I’m gonna need a good reference. Is it alright to call your last employer?”

“Oh. Uh…” You thought you might throw up. “I don’t-”

“I can vouch for her, Stan.”

You swung around, incredulous to what you’d just heard. He was vouching for you?

“You know this young lady, Harry?” asked Stan.

“Yeah.” Harry stood up and walked over to you. “Celebrated my birthday at Zelda’s, and she was my waitress.”

“Oh?”

Harry looked you straight in the eye and said, “She was brilliant. Best waitress I ever had.”

If your knees hadn’t just about buckled then, you might have noticed your jaw dropping. What?!

“Well, that’s good enough for me,” offered Stan. “Tell you what. Come back tomorrow. Ten o’clock. We’ll see if it’s a good fit.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Did Harry just help you get a job?

“Thank you,” you let out a breath and quickly beamed at Stan. “See you then.”

Although he remained standing near your table, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at Harry as you gathered your things, gulping down the last of your coffee. Then swinging your purse over your shoulder, you turned for the exit.

“Y/N,” you heard him say, but rather than make the situation more awkward, you merely muttered a quick thanks.

It wasn’t until you were out the door that you heard him call you again, this time louder.

“Y/N!”

With a deep sigh, you stopped walking. Harry caught up to you, something of yours in his hand.

“You forgot your umbrella,” he explained.

“Oh. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” 

As you took it from him, your hands brushed, sending an unexpected electric current through your skin. You finally looked at him then, his eyes sincere. For the first time, you noticed they were a light green, a darker circle lining the irises. The wind whipped around you, and you caught a whiff of his…cologne? Perhaps it was just soap or some kind of body wash. Either way, he smelled nice. Clean. Like he’d just showered, though he’d skipped the shave. You noted the facial hair on his top lip and along his jaw, and found yourself wondering how many unshaven days it took to grow.

Suddenly, you stepped back, worried that you’d been staring and that he’d noticed. Surely, he’d noticed.

“Um…good luck tomorrow,” you heard him say as you pretended to check for something in your bag.

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” Why was he being so nice?

“Well…see ya,” he gave a slight gesture of his hand before turning back toward the cafe.

“Harry?” you called after him.

“Yeah?”

You took two steps closer to him, but careful to still keep a distance.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why…did you do that?”

Harry shrugged as though the answer were simple. “I caused you to lose your last job. So I helped you get a new one.”

Unable to respond, you stood still as you watched him reenter the cafe, feeling completely bewildered.

You sat in the small room in the back of the cafe during your break, sipping on a nitro cold brew that your co-worker Jill had taught you how to make. It was only your third day, but so far you liked working there. It definitely wasn’t Zelda’s, but it was better than nothing. The clientele was different to say the least, but you were enjoying the somewhat pleasant and low-key atmosphere.

Stan, the manager, had seemed to take you under his wing. You wondered if it had to do with Harry, and what exactly his relationship was to him. You assumed he was a regular customer at the cafe, though you hadn’t seen him return since you started working there.

As you scrolled through your phone, you suddenly got a text message from Shae.

Look who’s having a special this weekend.

Underneath was a link to Fine Line Ink’s Instagram page. You’d told your roommate about the entire encounter with Harry and how he’d basically helped you get your new job. Shae had wondered why on earth you hadn’t just kissed him right there in the middle of the cafe, but she always was a bit dramatic.

The truth was, you didn’t know how to feel about Harry anymore. Your head told yourself you still hated him, that he was a dick who was feeling guilty and needed to cleanse his aura. But your gut told you that he was something more than that. That he truly was sorry for getting you fired, and wanted to make amends.

You scrolled through the photos on the Instagram page, beautiful and striking images of ink on skin. Everything from delicate bracelet tats to full back tattoos and sleeves, some in basic black ink, and some in a rainbow of colors. They were all exquisite. He truly was a good tattoo artist.

Checking the time on your phone, you realized your break was over. Tossing your phone in your bag, you returned them to your locker. After a quick stop to the restroom, you stepped out into the cafe to find him sitting at the same table as before, beside the window. This time, however, he didn’t have his laptop, but rather an iPad, a stylus pencil in his hand. Jill had just set down his flat white when she gasped.

“Wow, that’s gorgeous!” she exclaimed. Then looking up, she saw you. “Y/N, c’mere, you have to see this!”

You shuffled hesitantly over to Harry’s table where he sat with his back to you. Gazing over his shoulder, you saw that he had drawn a raven. The detail was so intricate, down to the branches, flowers and moon. You almost felt as though if you were to reach out and touch the drawing, you could feel the bird’s feathers.

“Isn’t it amazing?” asked Jill.

“Stunning,” you breathed.

“He’s a tattoo artist. I keep telling him I’m gonna come get a tattoo from him, but I’m too chicken,” Jill laughed as she made her way back to the counter.

A couple at a corner table got up to leave then, so you quickly walked over to clean it. As you moved the sugar container, you heard your name. You looked up at him quizzically, though you didn’t say a word.

“How’s the job going so far?” he asked.

“It’s good,” you nodded sharply.

“I’m glad. I come here at least twice a week. Have been for a long time. Stan and Carol are good people.”

“Yeah…I…I can tell.” Carol, you’d learned the other day, was the woman who had been behind the counter when you’d walked in. She was Stan’s wife.

The door opened then and a young woman entered. You secretly hoped you could go help her as an excuse to stop talking to Harry, but Jill beat you to it.

“Do you…need another coffee?” you asked him as he lifted his cup.

He gave you a smirk. “Just got this one.”

“Oh. Right. Anything else?”

“No, I’m good.” Taking a slow sip, he watched you over his cup.

You gave a curt nod before returning to the counter. It was a fairly slow afternoon, and other than a handful of customers who came and went with their coffees to go, you didn’t have much to do. Jill continued to train you on a few more things, and you were grateful for the distraction. Because even though he wasn’t doing anything other than drawing on his iPad and sipping his coffee, Harry’s presence was getting to you.

Making the rounds, you refilled napkin dispensers and Sweet & Low packets, all while sneaking looks at what Harry was drawing. You didn’t know why it even mattered to you, but something about his art was captivating. You watched as his pencil glided across the screen, how he’d sometimes use his thumb and forefinger to zoom in and out. Once, you caught a view of a scene he was drawing - not just one focal point, but rather a series of buildings along a city street, nightfall in the background. Each building had various windows lit up, as well as street lamps. If you hadn’t known better, you’d have thought it was a photograph.

Sometime in the process, you finally took notice of his fingers, how long and slender they were. You paid attention to the way they moved and flexed as he drew, and most importantly, how nearly each one was adorned with some kind of ring. Lost in thought, you almost missed it when he lifted his head to look at you.

“It’s so easy to watch him, isn’t it?” remarked Jill, saving you from embarrassment as she stood next to you. “Sometimes I forget where I am!”

Clearing your throat, you grabbed the rag you were cleaning with and stuffed it in your apron. Then as you finished with the last napkin dispenser, you caught a small smile curling on Harry’s mouth.

Finally, an hour later - an hour and eleven minutes to be exact - Harry slipped his iPad into his backpack and zipped it shut. Pretending to busy yourself behind the muffins, you watched as he slipped his arms through. Then shoving his hand in his pocket, he pulled out his wallet, grabbing a couple of bills and leaving them on the table. As he made his way toward the door, he gave a small wave.

“Goodnight, ladies,” he said.

“Bye, Harry,” Jill called. As soon as he was outside, she slumped against the counter. “Oh my God, I hate when he’s here. I can hardly function!”

Holding back a chuckle, you asked, “Does he just come here to draw?”

“Mostly, yeah. Or sometimes he works on his website. He doesn’t just do tattoos. Like, that’s his livelihood and he’s really good at it. But he’s like…a legit artist.”

“Oh,” you sounded. “You mean, like in a gallery?”

“Mmhmm. I think he had some sort of exhibit a few weeks ago. It’s on his website if you wanna check it out. Harry Styles art dot com.”

Huh. So there was more to Harry than just some drunk prick at a bar. You were anxious to get your phone and look up his website.

“Oh my God!” Jill gasped from the table Harry had just left.

“What?”

“Harry usually just leaves a couple bucks for tip. He left two twenties!”

“Seriously?” you asked, rounding the counter. Why would he do that? “He only had one coffee, right?”

“Yep. What a sweetie! Here!”

Jill handed you one of the twenties, but you shook your head. “But I didn’t wait on him.”

“Doesn’t matter. We split tips at the end of the night anyway. This saves us time.”

Taking the bill, you mentally added one more reason to your list of why this Harry Styles was more than he seemed. Mysteriously generous. Was it a good thing? Or did he have an angle?

You didn’t know. But you were determined to find out.

Shae had a date. For the first time in forever, you had a Friday night off. It was weird, being in the apartment alone on a weekend night. After making a quick, easy meal and watching a couple of episodes of SVU, you were bored. You thought about visiting your old pal John at Zelda’s, but you didn’t wanna take the chance of running into your former boss.

Tapping on your phone, you opened the last website you’d visited - Harry Styles art dot com. Over the last twenty-four hours, you’d opened it at least half a dozen times. Displayed on the main page were photos from an art exhibit in January, the one that Jill had mentioned. While the art itself had no doubt been exquisite, your eyes kept veering to the photos of the artist. He stood in a suit, much like the one he’d worn at Zelda’a. In fact, he looked very similar to the way he had that night, the main exception being that he didn’t appear to be drunk, nor was he frowning. On the contrary, he was smiling in nearly every photograph. You noted the dimples in his cheeks, the crinkles beside his eyes when he smiled, the five o’clock shadow. Even you had to admit - albeit secretly - he was a very handsome man.

As you had scrolled through the various pictures from that night, you soon came across a handful of him standing next to a woman in a long, champagne colored dress that fit her curves, her hair pulled back in a tight bun. Taking a closer look, you recognized her as the girl at the bar, the one whose ear was attached to Harry’s tongue.

Nicolette.

For some reason you felt a twinge in your stomach. Jealously? Shaking your head free of the notion, you continued to peruse the website. Eventually you came to a link that brought you to the site for Fine Line Ink. There you saw the announcement at the top, advertising thirty percent off all tattoos, and forty percent off body piercing, just like the text Shae had sent you the day before.

Setting down your phone, you thought for a moment. You figured he’d be pretty busy on any Friday, but particularly this Friday with the special. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea, but somehow you found yourself driving to Fine Line Ink anyway.

The familiar fragrance of incense wafted through your nostrils as soon as you opened the door. Classic rock seemed to be the genre of choice for the evening as Aerosmith pumped through the speakers. You were right in assuming the shop would be busy, as three other customers sat in the waiting area, filling out their forms.

“Hi, how can I help you?” asked a guy who emerged from the back.

“Yeah, um…I don’t really know yet,” you replied. “I just need to talk to Harry…for a second.”

“Oh. Well, he’s in the middle of a tattoo right now.”

“That’s okay,” you grinned. “I can wait.”

“You sure? It may be a while, and he’s pretty booked up. We have other artists who can h-”

“It’s fine,” you held up your hand. “Seriously. I just need to talk to him when he has a minute.”

“O-okay.”

When the guy shuffled away, you took a seat in the waiting area. You scanned the walls, various artwork adorning them until you spotted a large drawing of the Beatles. Had that been there before? Had Harry drawn it? It was really good, the artistic detail spot on.

You watched another man say goodbye to a customer and then bring another one to the back before Harry finally made his way to the front. To call the look on his face surprised when he saw you would have been an understatement. As he chatted a bit with the client he’d just finished, you suddenly felt butterflies in your stomach.

“Hey,” he said when the guy left. “Kyle said someone was waiting to talk to me. I didn’t know it was you.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you let the words slip from your lips.

Harry shook his head, blinking slowly. “That’s not what I meant.”

You exhaled, hoping your quick response hadn’t offended him. Your reflexes were still on alert. Addressing the other customer who sat next to you, Harry smiled.

“I’ll be right with you, Carlo.”

“Yeah, no problem, man.”

Carlo and Harry both looked at you as Harry gave a tiny grin. “Wanna come back?”

Rising from your chair, you followed Harry through the shop, to the very back where he pushed open a door.

“Come on in,” he gestured.

As he shut the door behind you, you noted the desk in the corner, more artwork on the walls, and bookshelves. Pulling out a chair, Harry asked you to sit.

“Everything going well at the cafe?” he asked you.

“Oh, yeah. It’s fine. Actually, that’s what I came to talk to you about.”

“Yeah?” Harry leaned against his desk, his arms crossed. You noticed how tall he seemed standing while you sat.

“Yes,” you cleared your throat. “I realized I never properly thanked you…for helping me get the job.”

His lips twitched as he held back a smile. Or perhaps a smirk. “Alright.”

With a sigh, you looked up at him. “I’m afraid I haven’t acted very grateful. I let my pride and my ego get in the way when you-”

“Y/N,” Harry interrupted. “It’s okay. You have every right to hate me. Still. I said what I did to Stan because I regretted the way I treated you. You didn’t deserve any of it. It was…the only way I knew to make it up to you.”

“Okay…” you swallowed. “Still…thank you.”

“You’re welcome. But…”

“But what?”

Harry shrugged. “I reckon I should have tried to get you your job back at Zelda’s.”

You smiled, looking down at your hands. “It’s fine.”

“Really? ‘Cause…you can’t possibly be making the tips at the cafe.”

Biting your lip, you lifted your head. “Thanks for that, too, by the way.”

“What?”

“The extra tip yesterday.”

“Who said that was for you?” Harry teased with a smirk.

You couldn’t hide your chuckle.

“Listen…” he continued, placing his hand over his chest. “I feel bad. I was honest when I said that wasn’t me that night.”

You nodded, sliding your palms across your thighs. Were you sweating?

“You’re an artist,” you commented.

“I am.”

“I saw your website. You do beautiful work.”

“Thank you,” Harry grinned.

“I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.”

Shaking his head again, Harry pulled his chair in front of you and sat down. Then leaning towards you, he seemed to study your face.

“I gave you plenty of reasons to jump to conclusions about me. Can we start over?”

“Start over? What do you mean?”

His dimples dipping in his cheeks, Harry held out his hand. “Hi. I’m Harry Styles.”

Mimicking his grin, you gently shook his hand. “Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m really excited to get to know you better.”

“Really?” you blushed.

“Yes. Do you work tomorrow?”

“I have a morning shift.”

“How about dinner?”

“No, I don’t work the dinner shift,” you shook your head.

Harry threw his head back laughing, startling you. His cackle rang through the office, vibrating every pulse in your body. What was happening? How did this guy suddenly have this effect on you?

“That’s not what I meant, love.”

“Oh,” you blushed again. Damn it.

“Will you have dinner with me tomorrow?”

“Oh.” Oh! “Um…you don’t work here tomorrow?”

“Nope. My night off.”

Though you tried your best to fight it, you couldn’t hold back the smile that spread across your face. “Yeah. I guess I can do that.”

After settling the plans for the next evening, Harry walked you out to the front where Carlo sat patiently waiting.

“By the way,” said Harry. “What happened with your friend? The one who wanted the tattoo.”

Biting the inside of your lip, you hesitated. “She um…went somewhere else.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Don’t be so disappointed, Harry,” you chuckled. “You forgot one thing.”

“What’s that?” he asked, holding the door open for you.

“I haven’t gotten mine yet.”

FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED

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[justmeinadaze]

Head Filled With Demons (Steddie X You)

A/N: Ok, a few things here. First I played fast and loose with demon mythology as well as a lot of the themes from the episode of Black Mirror this is based on. There are no spoilers for that episode so don't worry. I guess you could say this is an AU Steddie as in this world they are relatively well known demons in their mythology. I pulled some stuff from the show but...you'll see. No spoilers for either show here lol

I hope this is coherent and makes sense lol I had fun with it and I still have more chapters to go :) .

Warnings: Demon Steddie X Human fem reader; SMUT and ANGST with a dash of fluff. The smut has sprinkles of Dom Steddie (spanking, scolding, dirty talk), Mentions of a sick parent and death of another parent, small scene detailing domestic abuse (may be triggering), Steddie gives the reader visions so she sees bad things people in Hawkins do including the end of the world, there is a murder (very brief; blood is mentioned), y/n and Steddie mention a lot of themes regarding feeling stuck and unhappy.

Word Count: 6842

“HELLO!?”

You jump as the customer in front of you slams her items on the counter. 

“I’ve been waiting here for five minutes for service! Are you going to ring me up or not?!”

“Yes, ma’am. I apologize.”

“Don’t apologize. Just do your fucking job.”, she grumbles as you begin scanning the things in front of you. 

This will be the thousandth time TODAY you got caught daydreaming about being anywhere else but this stupid department store in the Hawkins mall. After graduating high school, you thought your options would be endless but once your father got sick, you knew you had to stay home to take care of him. You thought about applying to colleges nearby but everything was too expensive especially with the added medical and regular bills around the house, you needed to find employment fast. 

After the mall was built, you knew there would be a plethora of available positions and found one with a good hourly wage. The problem was it was incredibly boring. Some days you felt like running out of the store and just flipping over the railing to the second floor. At least you might finally feel something. Add in customers like this one and it was a good mix of pain and annoyance to drive you through to the end of your shift. 

“Are you done or what?!”

“Yes ma’am. Here’s your receipt and, please, have a great rest of your day.”, you say with the biggest fake smile you can muster. 

“You need an attitude check, missy.” She spat before turning and walking out the store. 

“Wow, you sure leave an impression.” Carol comes up behind you and leans against the counter, popping her gum obnoxiously. “Mr. Cline wants you to take those boxes to the basement.”

You glance where she’s pointing at the three boxes stalked against the wall that are taller than you both. 

“My last break is coming up. Why can’t you do it?”

“Because he didn’t ask me to. He asked for you.”, she sneered. “Is there a problem?”

“No,”, you grinned in a thin line. “No problem.”

***

You huffed as you threw the boxes on to the ground, not even pretending to care if there was anything delicate within them. Leaning against the wall to catch your breath, you look around the illuminated but still extremely creepy basement. 

Most of the stores in the mall kept a lot of their miscellaneous stock down here, segregated to different areas. Your department store usually kept overstocked clothing items like shoes and jackets until the ones upstairs were sold out or someone asked for something specific that was no longer kept on the shelf. The area was right next to the security guard’s desk but today he didn’t seem to be there. 

You walked over to it, glancing at the papers strewn all over the place. 

“Boo!”

“Jesus Christ, Paul!”, you exhale as you grip your chest. “Scared the crap out of me.”

“Good.”, he chuckles. “See anything interesting?” He laughs harder when you shake your head. “I’m actually glad I saw you. I found something on the floor here the other day I thought you’d think was cool.”

Paul digs into his desk drawer and produces a necklace with a gem tied to the end. 

“Beautiful, huh? The stone looks kind of like a guitar pick, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does. Where did you find it?”

“Like I said, it was on the floor kind of near your stores cage. I’ve never seen you guys sell anything like that and I know you’re into that gems/crystal mumbo jumbo so… I thought I’d give it to you to take a look. At most, maybe, you could ask Richard if they got some new things in.”

“Uh, yeah, ok. Thank you, Paul. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Of course, hon. Tell your dad I said hello!”

You couldn’t stop staring at the little stone connected to the chain as you rode the elevator back up to the main part of the mall. It did look like a guitar pick which wasn’t an abnormal design in the 80s since almost every single metalhead you passed had something like it but this one was different. Usually those necklaces were cheap, the stone on this looked expensive and old. The gorgeous red color shimmered against the light and pierced your eyes in a way that had a small moan leave your lips at its beauty. There were symbols on either side you couldn’t quiet make out. 

It was so odd. As your fingers ran over the material, you got this feeling in your chest, like this thing in your hands was meant for you…

The elevator dinged, startling you back into reality as you quickly hid the item in your pocket and headed back to the store to finish your shift.

##############

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey, dad. What are you doing moving around? You should be in bed.”

You father walked over to give you a hug as you greeted him in the kitchen. 

“I know but I just wanted to wait for you. See how your day was.”

Sighing, you reach into the fridge to grab a snack before turning towards him so he could see your playful frustrated face. “Oh, you know. The regular; angry housewives and bitchy coworkers.”

He chuckles as he takes a seat at the dining table. 

“Y/N, you know you don’t have to work so hard, right?”

“I know, dad. I just want to make sure you’re taken care of.”

“Sweetheart, I’m fine. I can handle…” His cough cuts him off and you quickly run to the cabinet to hand him his medicine. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”, you smile as you lean over to hug him again. “I’m fine. Trust me. I’m going to go munch on this junk and then crash.”

As you head towards your room, you hear his shaky exhale before taking another puff of his inhaler.

***

Sitting at your desk, you examine the necklace Paul gave you further and make notes on what you see. Tomorrow, you had the day off so when you went to the library you wanted to be able to have all the information you could. 

-silver chain

-Red Jasper stone 

            -support for stress

            -brings tranquility and wholeness (balance)

One side has a baseball style bat with thorns… Nails? 

            -Maybe meant for protection

Other side is a guitar from a long time ago. 

This is definitely beautiful. I wonder where it came fr—

“Ow! Shit.”, you wince as you place your thumb in your mouth. While looking at the gem, the bottom sliced through your skin causing you to bleed on your notes and the stone. “Shit, shit, shit.”

You run to the bathroom to grab a tissue, wrapping it around your finger before wiping it along the piece of jewelry. The feeling of wind on your back caused you to hastily turn around. It felt like someone had tried to touch your hair making a shiver run down your spine. 

Shaking away the jitters, you turned around, prepared to clean the blood off the paper when you noticed it was already gone and replaced with red, inked words. 

“I could have sworn…”

“Hello, sweetheart.”

“Did I write that? I don’t think—” You’re not sure what made you do it. Maybe it’s because you were so exhausted or just seeing the word sweetheart triggered a warm, safe feeling in your belly. You scooted your pen below the sentence and responded with a nice, little… 

“Hi.”

“How are you tonight, pretty girl?”

“Jesus Christ!” Your chair falls to the floor as you stand and back up towards your bed. Your hand covers your mouth as you watch more words appear on the paper. 

“Y/N!? Are you ok?!”

“Um…yeah! Yeah, dad, I’m fine. Just… tripped.”

Slowing inching your way forward, you read the notes in front of you.

“Nice going, Ed.”

“Shit. It’s not my fault! I would be scared to if words magically appeared in front of me.”

“Oh my god. It’s finally happened. I’ve lost my mind. I’m going crazy.”

“You are NOT going crazy. I promise you, babe. What’s your name?”

“A sentient paper is asking me my name. Uh okay… I’m Y/N.”

“Aw, I like that. It’s pretty like you.”

“Y-y-you can see me? Right now?”

“Yes.”

You yelped when you felt a breeze again move past your arms.

“Wh-what’s your name?”

“Make you a deal. You give us permission to enter your realm and we’ll tell you our names.”

“Us?”

“Two sides, honey. Two sets of markings on the stone. Two…people.”

You could swear you hear chuckling in the air. 

“Don’t mean to rush you, princess, but we kind of need you to make a choice. Yes or no?”

“I, uh, I don’t—”

“Come on, Y/N. Just say yes. It’s fine. Yes, yes, yes…”

Suddenly, the word “yes” begins to crowd the page repeatedly until it spills over on to your desk. Your breathing picks up as your heartrate increases. Is this really happening? Is this in my head? What’s the downside to this?

“YES!”

Everything in the room stills as the words in front of you disappear. Two words begin to slide across the paper as you lean forward to read them. 

“Good girl.”

The light above you snaps off and you hear the sound of heavy breathing coming from your bed. Your eyes widen as you fall to the floor at the sight of two horned, demon looking figures sitting on your mattress. You cower in the corner covering your eyes as you begin muttering to yourself. 

“This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t—”

“Oh, uh, I forgot humans don’t have people like us running around. Um, sweetheart, what form would make you more comfortable?”

When you don’t answer, they sigh as the bed squeaks when they stand. One creature shuffles beside you towards your door where your poster of Tom Cruise in Risky Business hangs. The other moves towards your picture frame on your dresser of you during your meet and greet with Motley Crue. 

The sound of two sets of snapped fingers fill the room with a glowing red light and when you dare to sneak a peek from under your arm, you no longer see monster legs but a set of sneakers. A strong but soft hand touches your skin and your head shoots up as you push yourself as far back as you can. 

“How’s this? Better?”

The demon in front of you had formed into an everyday man you may see come into your store every now and then. His brown hair fluffed up perfectly and you pushed down the notion to run your fingers through it. Instead of his original rough looking skin, he now donned a soft but muscular form hidden under your typical style polo and jeans. His beautiful brown eyes scanned you over with concern as he kneeled in front of you.

Your eyes flicked to the other one across the room who was now checking himself out in your full-length mirror. His attire was much more torn and rattier than the other ones. His jeans had holes in many different places and the Dio vest was fringing near the bottom. The leather jacket and boots made your tummy flutter. He looked like the kind of man you would have dated back in high school. His long, wavy hair moved quickly as he turned around to face you both, digging into his jacket pocket and producing a cigarette.

“Um, please don’t…my dad…”

He pauses as both boys exchange a look. 

“Don’t worry. He can’t see me or inhale anything I smoke.” They watch as you slowly rise to your feet. “Oh shit. Manners. We made you deal. I’m Eddie. This is Steve.” He wiggles his fingers in a waving motion.

“Why is this happening now? Please. I can’t go crazy yet. My dad still needs me. I—”

“Again, not going crazy.  See, you found our thing here.”, Steve gestures towards the necklace. “You called for us so here we are.”

“No, no, no. I accidently…I didn’t mean…I…”

“Look, we don’t make the rules. We just follow them. Blood. Stone. Permission. Demons. It’s not that complicated.”

Steve rolls his eyes at his friend’s crassness. 

“D-D-Demons?”

“Yeah. It’s not that big a deal really.” Eddie draws a sharp intake of breath he turns towards to you. “I mean not entirely a big deal. Um, you just have to kill a few people or else the world will end but hey! Demons.”

Your eyes turn into saucers as you stumble to the bed. “I-I-I what now?”

“Three people to be exact.”

“Eddie, stop it. You’re scaring her. Y/N, honey…”, Steve kneels in front of you and places his hands on your thighs. Jesus, his palms are huge. “You do have to kill some people I’m afraid but you will be saving so many lives.” 

“Holy hell.”, Eddie sighs in frustration, snapping his fingers. 

The room around you is suddenly burning as sirens wale in the distance. Running to the window, you looked outside to see all of Hawkins in flames. You sunk to your knees as you covered your ears to muffle the screams of people outside. As quickly as it appeared, the images vanished and you were back in your regular room with two demons staring down at you. 

“I know. It’s not pretty, is it?”

Your world went black as your eyes closed and your head hit the floor.

##########

When you shot up the next day, you clutched your chest as you quickly looked around finding only yourself. 

“It was just a dream. Oh my god.”, you exhaled as you laid back down, laughing under your breath. 

After a quick change of clothes, you grabbed your notes and the necklace to head to the library. You peaked into your dad’s room to make sure he was still ok, leaving him a note on the table to tell him where you were. As you entered the library, you immediately did some quick research that led you to a mythology section of the building. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the placement. Hawkins could be so backward with a lot of things. When you started doing more digging on stones and auras when your mom got sick, this was the same section you found yourself in. This town’s definition of myth was extremely broad. 

You found the book you were looking for and slide down to the carpet to lean against the wall. You flipped through, stopping when you found the symbols that matched the ones on the gem. The baseball bat did have nails and represented the demon that referred to himself as Steve. 

“Steven is a known demon of protection, protecting any soul that calls for him by any means necessary. He is known as one of the more violent demons killing many beings and monsters with his signature sword. In later millennia, it is believed that he was cast out of his realm for killing one of his own kind to protect another relatively violent demon, Edward.”

“Edward is one of many demons known for music. Throughout history it was reported that Edward played for souls who were suffering. His music lulled many unsuspecting creatures towards their demise, however. It’s also been noted that not only did he use this tactic for war but for lust. He was accused of killing the King’s daughter and was hunted across the realm. Steven found him first and they both went on the run. The King banished them both, casting out Edward as well.”

“They walked from realm to realm before finding a talisman that wasn’t what it appeared to be. The gem belonged to another being who forced them into a life of servitude, trapping them within its material unless set free by a soul who summons them. Any soul that calls for them must kill three individuals or bring about the end of the soul’s world.”

“See? We weren’t lying.”

“Jesus!”, you jumped out of your skin at the sound of Eddie’s voice. 

Both men were now sitting on either side of you, arms circled around their knees. 

“It’s not a bad gig. I mean at least we still get to move about and watch people die. I wish we had more of a hand in it but…”, he shrugs.

You bring up the book you’re holding just enough to hide your face as you turn slightly toward him. 

“You’re real?”

“Yes, we are.”

“And this…this is accurate? The world will end?”

“That is correct.”, Steve responds.

“You have the wrong person for this. I-I can’t kill people.”

“Uh, technically, we didn’t choose you. You chose us. And WE can’t kill people. You can.”

“What? I—”

“Actually, we can kill people but only if they are hurting you.”

After getting up from the floor, you place the book back before powerwalking out the door. 

You let out a small squeak when they appear in front of you. “Can you stop doing that?”

“Can you stop running so we can clear the air?”

Bypassing your usual route home, you cut through a forest area so no one would see you talking out loud at what would appear to be yourself. 

“Clear the air. Ok, let’s clear the air. How do I know I can trust you? How do I know what you showed me was real?”

“Besides the fact that we LITERALLY showed you the future?”

“How do I know it’s not a trick? Like…killing three people would kick start the apocalypse instead of stopping it…”

“Well, we’re trapped in this realm to so…an end of this world would be the end of us.”, Steve sighs. 

“You’re trapped here?”

“Actually, it’s either here or a blank realm we fancily titled Oblivion.”, Eddie chuckles. 

“Oblivion?”

“Yup. Just a whole lot of nothingness except me and Ed here.”, he grins as he pats him on the back.

“I still don’t understand exactly why you’re stuck here. Why can’t you go back home?”

“Did you read the book or not?”

You scowl at him as you cross your arms. “Did you kill the king’s daughter?”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed as his sarcastic smile fell. “No, I didn’t.”

“Then why did you run?”

“That’s none of your fucking business.”

“That book said you lured people in not just to kill them but to fuck them. Is that why? Was she like a conquest or something? Is that what I am—”

His hand suddenly wrapped around your throat as he roughly pushed you back into a tree. 

“You don’t know anything, little one, so shut your fucking mouth. Do I make myself clear?”

Your eyes widen as you nod and he tosses you to the side.

Steve kneels on his heels as you cough on the ground trying to catch your breath. 

“You’re not a ‘conquest’, Y/N. Trust me, we prefer doing shit like this ourselves. It just…is what it is.” 

When he reaches out to take your hand, you swat it away, rising to your feet and continuing your walk back home. You hear them murmuring behind you the entire way.

***

“Hey my angel. How was your day?”, your dad grins as you step into his room. 

“It was good. I went to the library so…nothing too exciting.” He laughs along with you pausing to cough and gather more air. “I’m going to make dinner now, ok?”

You smile when he nods, gradually leaving the room completely ignoring both demons who are silently waiting for you. As you turn on the faucet to wash your hands, you feel warmth by your side and the sound of snapped fingers before the room around you turns completely dark. You’re no longer in the kitchen but a bedroom from a house when you were much younger. A voice you hadn’t heard in so long echoes through the hallway and you turn to see your mother grinning as she enters.

“Sweetheart, let her sleep.”

“She is sleeping, honey.”, your dad smiles tenderly as he cradles baby you in his arms. “I just can’t believe she’s finally here; you know? She’s going to have the best life. I don’t care what I have to do.”

“Ok, tiger. Calm down.” Your mother pats his back as he carefully lays you back down in your crib. “I understand what you mean though. She deserves the world.”

As she reaches down to caress your cheek, you hear another snap and your current reality comes back into view. You turn to Eddie as a tear falls from your eye. 

“I’m sorry…for…snapping at you.”, he struggles as he tries to apologize. “I thought MAYBE this could be my way of making it up to you.”

“You can see the past and the future?”

His tongue presses into the inside of his cheek as he nods. 

“May I have a moment alone please?”

With that they were gone and you allowed yourself to cry as you began making your dad’s meal. 

#############

After checking in on everything, you grabbed your jacket and headed out the door. 

“Where are you going?” You rolled your eyes at Steve’s question. “It’s not safe to walk around at night, ya know.”

“Well thankfully I have two demons looking out for me.”, you respond sarcastically. 

They follow you as you walk around the town, trying to ignore them as they continue to verbally push you. 

“Hawkins is just rife with people who need to leave this plane of existence. I mean that one there…”, Steve snaps his fingers and images fill your mind. “…he steals from his grandmother to buy drugs for himself.”

“This one…”, Eddie snaps. “She bullied a girl so hard she ended up having a break down and was hospitalized for a year.”

“STOP! Stop it.”, you seethe. “It hurts.”

“It hurts you? Imagine how their victims feel!”

“You don’t think you can kill people. Fine. Why not kill people who are causing harm?”

You sprint till you end up in the woods near your house, skidding to a stop when they appear in front of you again. 

“I can’t ok!?”

“Look, we understand—”

“No, you don’t! You don’t understand! I’m a good person. I—”

“Miss? Are you okay?” Abruptly turning you find a man, standing a few feet from you with worried eyes. “Do you need help?”

“N-n-no. I’m alright.”

“What about him?”, Eddie gestures. “He’s definitely not a good guy.”

“No!”, you whisper.

“No? Are you sure, miss? My home isn’t too far. I can call a doctor or something.”

Fingers snap and images cloud your brain again. 

“He hurts his wife any chance he gets.”, Steve’s voice fills your ears. “Last week she came home from work two minutes too late according to him and he beat her within an inch of her life.”

Something heavy filled your palm as Eddie continued on your other side. “Didn’t even take her to the hospital. She laid there crying for hours till she was finally able to crawl off the floor onto the couch. The next day he took care of her, apologizing.”

“Why do you make me act this way, honey? You know how bad my temper can be.”

“I…I know. I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

“I know, baby.”

Anger filled your heart as you swung your arm, trying to get him away from her. The visions left your eyes and as you looked down you saw the man now bleeding on the ground. Your hand holding the now red stained rock shook as you dropped it and ran.

***

As soon as you got back home, you headed straight to your bedroom, slamming the door behind you as you began to pace. 

“Way to go, pretty girl!”, Eddie clapped from his sudden spot on your bed. 

“One down, two to go.”, Steve followed. 

You continued to move as they spoke, not hearing a word they said. 

“Hey, hey. Come on now. You did amazing.” The metalhead looking boy reached to touch your hand but as soon as his fingers made contact with your skin, your hand flew out to smack him across the face.

“This is your fault. I didn’t want to do this! I just hurt someone.”

Eddie growled as he rose to his feet and slowly began stepping forward. “No. You didn’t hurt someone. You killed someone. Let’s get that distinction right. Congratulations, sweetheart, you’re one of us.” His chest bumped into yours knocking you back towards the wall, his hand pressing up against it near your head as he glared down at you. 

“The only difference is we’ve killed way more people than you can even imagine in so many different ways. In our realm people were afraid of us. Remember that the next time you think about hitting me.” His face leans in so close that his breath hits your lips making you shiver. “I can hurt you and not even think twice.”

Your sudden giggle surprises him as he leans back to look at your face. 

“No, no. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh but… you can’t hurt me. He won’t let you.”, you gesture towards Steve who sighs as he folds his arms. “He said he’s supposed to protect me from ANYONE who tries to hurt me, even you.” You tilted your head to the side as you continued. “And people from your realm must not have been that frightened by you if the banished you. Hell, you didn’t even fight back! You ran!”

“I like her.”, Steve smirks as the other man’s own eyes scan you from head to toe. “She kind of reminds me of—”

Eddie raises his palm to silence his friend. “Hit me again.”

“What? You just said…”

“I know what I said. Listen to what I’m saying now. Hit. Me. Again.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, little one. I know you want to. Just like I know you want to fuck me. Well us.”

You laugh at him again but this time it comes out more shaky than earnest. “Pfft, someone has a big ego.”

“That’s not all we have that’s big.”

Pushing him away, you start to head for the door but it’s still being blocked by Steve. 

“We are yours for the next 3 weeks. Unless you kill two other people pretty quickly…which, let’s face it, probably won’t happen.” He kicks off the wood with his foot stepping forward as you slowly back away from him. “How long has it been, honey, since anyone has made YOU feel good?”

Abruptly, you run into something hard thinking it’s the adjacent wall before Eddie’s arms wrap around your stomach. You should tell him to stop, tell him to leave you alone and not touch you but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel comfortable in his embrace. 

“You took care of your mother when she was sick and now your father. You missed out on opportunities like school and leaving this fucking dreadful town. You work at a job you hate where people degrade you and make you feel worthless. Your last relationship ended because he cheated on you with your coworker yet you still pretend to not know and let her boss you around. Every night you come home and lay in that bed…feeling empty and alone…yet you don’t complain.”

Your head hangs as you try to control the tears from escaping. Fingers snap and you lean back against the other demon’s shoulder as you see the wife of the man you killed grinning as she sits on the floor of her new home cooing at a baby beside her. A man walks in with a wide smile and descends to the woman’s level kissing her lips as she giggles against them. 

“You saved her life, Y/N. If she had stayed with her current husband, he would have killed her within 2 years. He’d go to trial but be out of jail within a year due to a good lawyer and an appeal.”, Steve whispers in a soothing voice. “Now, in three years, she meets this new person who makes her feel loved and respected. He never once lays a hand on her and she finally feels safe. She has two kids with him and dies at 80 a few months after he does.”

He snaps his fingers again and your mind clears for a moment before becoming foggy for a different reason as Steve leans down to kiss your forehead. Your entire body lights up at the feeling of his lips against your skin. Is that normal for demons or is it just him?

Soft kisses trail down your jaw till they attach to your neck making you hum in approval. The hands that had been resting on your tummy glide to your jeans and carefully unbutton them before sliding his fingers through the waistband of your panties. The cold metal of his rings startle you slightly as you push your lower half against his.

“It’s ok, sweetheart. I got you.”, Eddie whispers. Your arm loops around to cling to his neck as your fingers tangle in his hair.  A tiny moan leaves your throat when his thick digits run through your folds. “You are so wet, pretty girl. Let us take care of you. Let us…” You head tilts against his shoulder again as two of his fingers plunge into your core. “…relieve some of this stress you’ve been carrying.”

Steve descended to his knees, tugging your pants and underwear with him, biting his lip at the sight of how his friend’s hand was glistening with your slick. You whined when Eddie removed his fingers only to whimper when it was replaced with the other demon’s exceptionally large tongue.

“Oh my God…”

“No, baby. Don’t say his name. Say ours.”

Your eyes roll back as his lips connect to your throat, sucking on your flesh as your fingers reach down to run through Steve’s hair. The world became hazy around you as his mouth wrapped around your clit while pressing and flicking his tongue in just the right way. Eddie carefully lifted off your shirt and removed your bra, throwing them to the side. 

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N. Do you know that?”, he asked as he rest his chin on your shoulder, looking down at your body as his palms roamed purposely avoiding your tits. 

“Mmm—how-how many people have you said—fuck—said that to?”

“Steven, she’s still able to form sentences. I think you might be a little rusty, my friend.”, he chuckled.

“Oh…oh God…”, you mewled as he began to lick faster, sliding his fingers into your cunt as he pumped them into you matching his pace. 

Eddie grabbed your chin roughly, turning you to face him. “What did I say? You moan our fucking names.”, he snarled through gritted teeth. 

“Eddie, stop.”, Steve warned, replacing his tongue with his thumb. They glared at each other but something in his stare scared even you. “Not tonight.”

“I’m…I’m…” Your knees buckled and the demon behind you quickly gripped your body to keep you from hitting the floor as you came harder than you ever had before. 

“There you go. Good girl. Good fucking girl.” 

As you gradually came down from your high the demon in front you stood up and lightly kissed your lips. A fire ignited in you, through your soul, and straight to your core. Your arms needily wrapped around his neck as you pulled him closer, walking with him backwards to the bed till you both fell on to it.

You squeaked when your palm ran down his chest and you realized he was suddenly naked. Steve couldn’t help but laugh at your shock. 

“Remember, honey, all of this…”, he gestures at his body. “…is for you. To make you more comfortable. Not that I hate it. I’m kind of growing attached to the hair.” Your eyes closed as he started grinding his cock through your dripping folds. “This part is still me though. Do you want to feel it? Do you want to feel what a demon’s dick can do?”

Nodding, you prepared yourself as you reached around to cling to his shoulders. 

“Can you open your eyes for me? I want to watch those beautiful eyes as I stretch you open.”

As soon as you do as he asks, he grins, gripping the base of his cock and guiding it into your entrance. Just the tip of him had your eyebrows furrowing together. He was much bigger than anyone you had ever had and your walls were resisting his size. When he pushed in another inch, your eyes promptly closed again and his angry grumble immediately hit your ears. 

“Y/N, what did I say?”

“I’m…I’m sorry. You’re just…you’re so…”

“Look at me.”, he growled and your eyes snap open. “Fuck, you feel so good. I’ve never had a being as tight as you before.” This time he pushes in a little more forcefully making you groan. “We’re going to fucking ruin you for anyone else. Fuck me.”

Your pussy fluttered at his statement and a sinister laugh echoed from them both. 

“You like that, baby girl?” Steve’s forehead falls on yours as he finally bottoms out. “You like the sound of us ruining this little pussy? Say it.”, he commands in a firm tone as you nod.

“I want…want you…to…” He nods encouragingly, his nose grazing yours. “To…ruin my—mmm—my pussy.”

His hips roughly roll into yours and your jaw goes slack at the intense pleasure that courses through body. 

“Yeah? Ok, pretty girl. We can do that for you.” Steve leans up on to his knees, lifting your left leg up to chest as his palm holds your other open wide against the mattress. His eyes watch his cock as he begins thrusting into you.

Another set of hands suddenly appear and you quickly turn to see Eddie laying by your side as his fingers lightly play with your erect nipples. 

“You never answered my question. DO you know how beautiful you are?” He leans to trail kisses along your neck till his lips find your breast and you moan while he flicks against the bud as he closes his mouth around it. “I actually don’t say that to many beings. Personally, I think your kind is terrible.”

Your fingers thread through his hair as his teeth graze the sensitive area causing your hips to buck up as you moaned loudly. 

“You have to be quiet, sweetheart. You may be the only one that can see us but everyone can hear you.” Eddie leaned over you like you weren’t even there, picking your panties up off the floor, and shoving them into your mouth.

Smirking, he placed his fingers against his lips in a shushing motion before sliding his palm between your legs and rubbing them against your clit. Steve slammed his hips into yours and the world melted away around you. You felt like you were floating in space and the only thing keeping you grounded was their hands on your body. White light blinded your vision as you screamed which was rapidly muffled more by Eddie’s hand. 

“Atta girl, baby. Let go and just feel it.”

Your climax felt like it lasted hours as Steve slowed his pace, thrusting his cock as deep as he could while you came back down to earth. Suddenly, he grunted as you felt warmth coat your insides. 

“That’s it, honey. Fuck…your pussy is just begging for more of my cum. You’re clinging to my dick so fucking tight.” He hovered over your twitching frame, pulling the gag out of your mouth as he continued to slowly pump his hips, allowing your quivering hole to milk him. “Such a good girl. A good, beautiful girl. I know, baby. I know. It feels so good, you want more. It’s Eddie’s turn next. He’ll take good care of you just like I did.”

You whimper when he pulls out, sad at the empty feeling before your roughly turned onto your stomach and aggressive hands lift your ass in the air. In your state of bliss, you can’t make out the words entirely but you hear both demons exchange a few words. 

“Don’t hurt her…isn’t…like us…”

“Calm…not going to…”

Pushing up on your hands, you feel Eddie press his cock to your entrance before easily pushing himself in, your mouth falling open in a silent moan. He was thicker than his friend and even with you and Steve’s most recent orgasm leaking out of you, there was still resistance within your cunt. 

“Y/N, fuck, sweetheart. Steven, how—mmm—how did you control yourself from not just fucking pounding her into the mattress?” Your pussy fluttered at the thought and he groaned as he leaned his chest down against your back. “Yeah? You like the sound of that? Steve thinks—mmm—we need to be gentle with you.” As his breath warmed your ear, he thrust his hips, pushing himself as far into you as your bodies would allow.

“Naw… you’ve been careful your whole life, haven’t you? You just want to…to let go and be fucked so hard—damn—you forget how unhappy you really are.”

When your only response was your moans, he pushed off your chest and held your hips as he thrust into you. Eddie’s fingers harshly kneaded the flesh of your ass before occasionally slapping it making you mewl. Once again, it was like time and matter evaporated except for you and them. With each slap and thrust, you felt like you could see into another world; a better one. 

Your hair was abruptly tugged, yanking you to your knees as his ringed hand held you tightly. As your head tilted to the side, you noticed his eyes were closed as his face scrunched in pleasure. For a second, you forgot who they were and what they were here for. He seemed like any normal man just trying to make you feel good. Your lips moved towards him, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek causing his eyes to fly open and look your way.

Eddie’s movements slowed as he scanned your face, trying to get a read on you. He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t like humans. He struggled to find any real good within them and quite frankly they reminded him of some of the lower level demons he fought back home. You seemed different than everyone else, you reminded him of her. 

He shook the images from his head, pushing your upper half back down against the mattress where you found yourself face to face with Steve. His fingers delicately pushed your hair out of your face before he softly slid them down your skin, reaching under your body and between your legs to rub your clit. 

“Cum again, Y/N. You can do it.” He grabs your panties and places it in your mouth again. “There you go, honey. Go ahead and scream. It’s ok.”

His palm firmly covers your mouth as you see that light once more, blinding you as you shriek and moan into your gag as your orgasm shutters through you.

“Fuck, baby. Yes.”, Eddie grunts as he holds your hips tighter, pumping his hips faster. 

“Good girl. I know. I know, sweetie. You did so well. You deserved this. Can you say that for me?”, he asks as he tosses your underwear back to the floor.

“I…I deserve…this.”, you pant. 

Your body jerks forward as Eddie gives you a few more rough thrusts and you feel his seed spill into you. Like his friend, he continues small pumps to make sure he fully empties into your pussy. Whimpering, he pulls out of your now aching core and collapses beside you. He twirls his fingers and a cigarette appears between them as he quickly lights it, blowing smoke towards the ceiling. 

“Y/N, are you okay?”, Steve asks as he rolls you onto your back and caresses your cheek. You mumble something he can’t hear as your heavy eye lids close. Rolling over to face Eddie, you intertwine your fingers with the free hand that’s between you as you push your back into the other demon’s chest behind you. It startles them both as they exchange a glance. 

Usually, the beings that summoned them wanted to get things over with as quickly as possible. When they were sexual with them, the summoner was a willing participant but was never intimate. They were demons who were going to leave them after they completed the task anyway so what was the point?

Your lips moved again and Eddie tossed his cigarette into a void before turning to face you, placing his palm on your side.

“Can you hear what she’s saying?”, Steve asked.

The other demon nods as he heavily sighs, pulling your blankets up over your waist. 

“She said ‘thank you’.”

#steddie x reader #steddie fluff #steddie smut #steddie fanfiction #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie fanfic #eddie stranger things #steve fanfic #steve smut #steve stranger things #joe keery #joseph quinn #stranger things #fan fiction #steddie x you #steddie x y/n #steve fluff #demon!steddie #demon!Steve harrington #demon eddie munson #au fanfiction

[holllandtrash]

better luck next time | lando norris, pierre gasly

pairing: lando norris x reader, pierre gasly x reader part 5 to better left unsaid (the better series)

what started as a quiet day in monza ends in shatters, tears and painful questions, the most important one being why

word count: 6.2k tags: slight mature content but not really also i think we can probably blame max (fewtrell) for everything

Lando just so happened to be standing outside of the McLaren motorhome when you walked past with Pierre. He might have been in the middle of a conversation with Max, but as you strolled on by, the world seemed to move in slow motion. 

The sunglasses did little to cover how ecstatic you were to be there, nor did they do anything to hide who you were. The media, fans, employees, people knew you as Lando’s friend, but all of that was changing all because you showed up with Pierre. 

A breeze caught your hair and you raised your hand to push the strand out of your face. Your playful smile widened when Pierre leaned in and said something, resulting in you nudging his side jokingly.

Maybe Lando was reading into Pierre’s expression too much, but to him he just seemed smug and arrogant, all because you were at his side. 

Lando knew you were stunning, he wasn’t blind. But today there was a different energy to you as you walked past in your all-white attire that only highlighted your already radiant glow. Your top was sleeveless and cropped, showing off your arms and a bit of your stomach. Your jeans hugged your curves and flared above the only hint of colour in your custom pink and red Air Force 1’s. 

Were you wearing pink shoes because of Alpine? Lando could remember the days you showed up to the paddock in similar neutral outfits but with a hint of papaya so people knew where your support lied.

“Lando.”

He snapped his head towards Max, clearing his throat and trying to play it off as if he wasn’t just checking you out. Lando wasn’t subtle though and before Max could call him out, he glanced back in your direction only to find that you had disappeared somewhere in the paddock.

“You were staring, mate,” Max said. A month ago, Max would be encouraging Lando to do something about this. He would be overjoyed knowing that Lando was finally seeing you the way you had always seen him.

Now, Max was a little annoyed. 

That was evident by the dead stare and semi scowl on his lips. Max wasn’t impressed that Lando was now giving you attention. 

Lando shrugged, “She looked good, that’s all.”

“She always looks good,” Max rolled his eyes. 

“Should I have said hi?” Lando looked down the paddock again. No point though, he knew you were long gone. What was he going to do? Run after you? 

“Absolutely not.”

Lando was taken aback by that answer. “She doesn’t hate me. She said it herself, she still cares about me. It’s not like we’re not friends anymore.”

“Give her time, Lando,” Max told him. Lando wasn’t thinking about anyone but himself. He could have played it off as if he was trying to fix your friendship, but he only wanted to get you away from Pierre, even just for a second. 

Max nudged him towards the doors of the motorhome, knowing that Lando wouldn’t have remembered that he had to get ready for the last practice before qualifying. He’d be thinking about you for the rest of the day, wondering what you were doing in the Alpine motorhome, wondering if Pierre knew to tell the hospitality staff that you liked lemon in your water. 

Lando couldn’t help but think about how he usually kept an extra jumper in his drivers room, strictly for you to use. Pierre probably didn’t know that you didn’t like wearing team branded merch so you would never ask for an Alpine hoodie if you were cold, but you were also too kind for your own good and if it was offered, you wouldn’t know how to say no. 

Pierre probably didn’t know that you preferred to watch practices and qualifying from the hospitality lounge and that you’d only stand in the garage during the races. You hated being in the way and even though Lando assured you time and time again that you were always allowed in the garage, you felt better knowing that you wouldn’t be bothering the team or the drivers during the early sessions. 

Lando did worry a little when he thought about you spending time with a French team. You spoke very little French, barely enough to get by in a conversation and while there were certain rules in the garage and on radios about speaking English, those rules didn’t exist in the motorhome, where you’d probably be spending most of your time. 

You consumed every second of Lando’s thoughts. During the briefing, during the meetings, during interviews and it wasn’t until he was climbing into the car for the last practice session did he finally become aware of his surroundings.

You would have noticed instantly if Lando was distracted. You would have told him to snap out of it and to do his job. Instead, it was Lando’s engineer who asked him if he was alright. 

And the answer was no, Lando was nowhere near alright. He didn’t like that you were somewhere in the paddock but he had no idea where. He didn’t like that you would be watching Pierre all weekend. He didn’t like knowing that you might go these next two days without exchanging so much as a word.

More importantly, Lando didn’t like this burning realisation creeping in, reminding him that he might just be too late. 

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paddocksleuth ohh is that the alpine team i seeee

itselenaberri 💕💕

Hanging out in Alpine’s hospitality lounge with Elena was a fun change of pace. You two got along well, the conversation flowed naturally and it was heartwarming to listen to her talk about her relationship with Esteban. She casually asked if you and Pierre were an item, but you didn’t have an answer for her. 

You wanted to say yes, but you also hadn’t put any labels on it, nor were you in a rush to.

“Look, we both know that Pierre’s history with women isn’t ideal,” Elena took a sip of her mimosa before continuing. “But he seems to really like you. Since the start of the season, he’s never flown someone out to accompany him. He wants you to be here.”

“I can’t remember the last time he was in a relationship,” you admitted, trying to think back to all of those gossip blogs and reports on social media. You came up short. Pierre’s flings with girls never lasted more than a weekend.

“No one’s caught his eye quite like you did,” Elena smiled as she spoke. You wanted to believe she was being honest, she had no reason to lead you in the wrong direction. Stability was something that everyone was after and she had it with Esteban. It made sense she’d want his teammate to find it too.

At the end of FP3, both Alpine drivers came and stopped by. They had obligations all day so you didn’t expect to see Pierre until after qualifying, but then you spotted him walking your way across the hospitality lounge and the warmth that spread through you was undeniable. 

If you were in the middle of a conversation, it was completely disregarded now. You tilted your head up as he approached, a smile spread across your cheeks. Pierre caught you off guard by leaning down pressing his lips to yours, his hand resting where your jaw met your neck. 

He was still in his fireproofs, his racing suit draped around his hips. He had literally come straight from practice and the first thing he wanted to do, before even saying hi, was kiss you like there was no one else in the room. 

You didn’t care that other people were near you. They were probably looking on and gossiping about how you were Pierre’s new girl, but none of them knew that you weren’t like the other paddock flings. You weren’t going to disappear after the race weekend ended. 

They didn’t know that you had woken up this morning with his arms wrapped around you. How he pulled you against his chest and left a trail of kisses along your back. No one here knew about the heated kisses you shared after getting out of bed, making it nearly impossible to make breakfast or get ready for the day. Pierre was intoxicating, filling every one of your senses since your eyes fluttered open and you couldn’t get enough of him. 

“Hi,” Pierre whispered against your lips, bright eyes meeting yours as traced his thumb over your cheek. He gave you one more peck before pulling out the chair next to you and sitting down. Immediately, his hand found your thigh. 

You came to find that Pierre always wanted to be touching you. Either playing with your hair or grabbing your hand, anything really. If he was within an arm's reach, he’d reach for you.

“Are you ready for qualifying?” You asked, turning your body to face him so he knew he had all of your attention. There were a few hours until he had to get back in the car, but you didn’t know how long you’d be able to keep him until he was called away. 

“A little nervous but the nerves are good,” he said. He squeezed your leg, “Are you going to come to the garage to watch?”

You shook your head, “I’ll stay up here. I don’t want to get in anyone's way.”

Pierre found that thought amusing, “Chérie there’s a designated spot for visitors, you wouldn’t be in anyone's way.”

“I think I’d rather watch from here,” you told him. “I never watched-”

You didn’t finish that sentence, not because you lost your train of thought, but because one microscopic gesture from Pierre had you not wanting to finish. He remained expressionless, but you caught the way his left eyebrow twitched, like he was waiting for you to say Lando’s name, almost challenging you to. 

You changed the topic, going for more of a lighter note, “I’ll watch the race from the garage, I promise.”

“Good,” that seemed to suffice and you avoided bringing up Lando. 

“Come on,” Pierre said, tightening his grip on your hand as he stood up, “I want to introduce you to some people.”

———————

When the time came for qualifying, Elena left to go stand in the garage. And even though Pierre had managed to introduce you to a good portion of the Alpine team, all of them telling you that you were more than welcome to stand in the garage, you still decided to watch from the comfort of the Hospitality lounge. 

Qualifying started off as normal. It was hard to get an idea for track conditions and lap time in the first few minutes, but already it seemed as though Pierre was off to a good start.

One driver on the grid who wasn’t starting off strong, was Lando.

You didn’t want to care, but when the camera kept focusing on him and the reporters spoke about how there was an unresolved issue that might keep him from getting out on the track, you started to care a bit. 

You didn’t want to see Lando fail. He was a good driver, you’d always want to see him succeed. 

So in between Pierre’s lap times, you held your breath until finally Lando was given the green light to put in a flying lap. He didn’t have much time, the first session was almost over, but you had faith in his abilities as a driver. 

Pierre was safe in his P10 position and would move on to Q2 so you allowed yourself to focus on Lando’s lap time.

He wasn’t setting any records, but his time was better than the bottom five drivers. As he started the third sector, he was .5 seconds ahead of Zhou who was sitting in 16th. You could breathe. He would make it through. 

Or at least, he would have.

Had he not exceeded track limits.

You watched as the countdown to the end of Q1 hit 0 and the camera focused on Lando’s car heading into the pitlane. He thought he was safe. He thought he made it through.

And then the radio message aired, his engineer telling Lando his time was deleted. 

‘No, no, no,’ he groaned into his headset. F1TV picked it up. The camera still tuned in on him and his car in the garage. Even with the helmet on, the disappointment was evident. 

It was another few seconds until he actually climbed out of the car. He pulled his helmet off and handed it to a team member. He rubbed his face and dragged his fingers through his hair. He was upset with himself. This wasn’t a team error, this was on him.

Had you been watching from the McLaren motorhome, you would have already been on your way to the garage, ready to greet him with open arms as he sulked away from his team. You would have walked with him to the motorhome, reminding him that he still has a fighting chance this weekend and that starting from P20 wasn’t the end of the world. 

But you felt glued to your chair. You didn’t know where you stood with Lando and if he would even want you to attempt to cheer him up.

You opted to text Max instead, waiting a few minutes until you knew Lando would be out of the garage.

You typed out a message and then deleted it and then typed a similar one, only to not hit send again. You knew Max was staring at his phone screen watching that typing bubble appear and disappear until eventually he put a stop to it, already knowing what you were trying to say.

Max: he’d probably appreciate it if you came by

It was embarrassing how fast you stood up. You caught a glimpse at the screen and saw the second qualifying session wasn’t going to start for another few minutes. You could be in and out of McLaren before anyone even noticed you had left Alpine’s Hospitality. 

You walked down the stairs and stepped outside. The paddock was much quieter now compared to earlier, everyone had their eyes on the track, media included. Which meant no one even noticed you opening up the doors to the McLaren motorhome and sneaking inside. 

Lando’s drivers room was on the second floor, but you had to pass the lounge on the main floor to get there. Lucky for you, the only person sitting there was Max. He stood up the second you walked in, looking about as nervous as you felt. 

“Are you sure?” You asked, not even sure what you were asking? Was Max sure he would want to see you? Was he sure it was okay you were even there? 

“Y/N he just had his worst ever qualifying,” Max pointed out, glancing towards the stairs. “He doesn’t want to talk to anyone, but he needs to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to overstep.”

“You won’t.”

“How do you-”

“Before everything, you were his friend,” he reminded you. “And he was yours. That’s what he needs right now. I don’t know where you two stand currently and I don’t even think it matters, but you’re the only person that he’ll listen to, Y/N.”

You looked at the screen behind Max. Less than a minute until the second qualifying session. You’d end up missing the first bit but as long as you caught where Pierre ended up, you’d be fine.

Max nodded his head towards the staircase and neither of you had to say another word. 

Slowly, you walked up the stairs. You heard faint music coming from the other side of the door and you held your breath before knocking. 

“Piss off Max.”

A chuckle passed your lips. That was a very typical Lando response. It was also one of your responses. After spending years together, you picked up on each other's mannerisms and sayings. 

You leaned your head against the white surface, eyeing his name plaque on the wall, “It’s- it’s not Max.”

It wasn’t humanly possible for Lando to open the door any faster than he had. You nearly got whiplash when you blinked and all of a sudden, you were face to face. 

God he looked rough. 

He wasn’t one to get emotional, but you could see the frustration in his features. Max was right, he looked defeated with himself, with the car, with this race. There was no hopeful glint in his eyes, nothing that gave you an ounce of confidence that he would bounce back.

It broke you.

All you could do was step forward and drape your arms around him. Lando hesitated, you felt it, but eventually he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you against his body. He exhaled a heavy breath as his head dipped to the crook of your neck and you could feel his hands tense around you. 

At this point, you had crossed the line you created by stopping by after being the one who said you needed space.

But it didn’t matter. What mattered was Lando was upset and he needed you. This was your downfall, it always would be. You loved being needed by him.

“It’s just one race,” you said, but something told you this reaction was about so much more than this qualifying gone wrong.

You didn’t want to be the first to let go of this embrace, but you had to. You had to at least try and put distance between yourself and him, even if it was the hardest thing you would ever do. 

So you let your arms fall to your side and you stepped back. Lando inhaled a deep breath and this would have been the perfect opportunity for you to leave. The door was still open, there was nothing keeping you there. You gave him a comforting hug, maybe that was all he needed.

But you stayed.

When Lando sat down on the couch, something pulled you to follow. The door swung on its hinges and shut quietly. You just knew that Max was standing at the bottom of the staircase, probably wondering if he had made a mistake by telling you to go see him.

He braced his elbows on his knees as he dipped his head. He loosely pulled his fingers through his hair but his gaze stayed glued to his feet. When your leg brushed against his, Lando didn’t flinch at the contact. 

“You know what’s the worst part?” Lando asked, shaking his head. “It’s all my fault. I’m the one who messed up last race. I’m the one who exceeded track limits. I’m the one who keeps making mistakes.”

“You got a podium in Austria,” you reminded him, but that didn’t seem to lift his spirits. 

“Because of Ferrari’s fuck ups.”

“No, it’s because you’re a good driver,” you nudged your elbow against his, but he didn’t seem convinced. “Lando, you’ve had a few shitty runs, that doesn’t mean you’re a shitty driver.”

“I feel like a shitty driver.”

You didn’t come here to pity him, you came here to help him get his confidence back. 

“Hey do you remember that summer when we were sixteen and we tried to teach ourselves how to play poker?” 

Lando raised his head. It was clear he had no idea where you were going with this trip down memory lane, but he nodded.

Of course he remembered that summer. He was in Formula 3 and during the break his family decided to vacation in the French Riviera and obviously, you were invited. There was one night where his sisters were spending the evening on a friend's boat, his parents had gone out to an event and the two of you were left alone in the summer house. 

It was your idea to learn how to play poker. You pulled up a how-to guide on your phone as Lando found his dads poker set in the billiards room. You weren’t playing for money, just bragging rights, but you both took it way too seriously, determined to learn the ways of the game.

“Do you remember how awful we both were?” You asked, the question followed by a laugh that seemed to lift the corner of Lando’s mouth in response. 

“I remember you were the worst dealer and kept giving me cards I couldn’t do anything with,” Lando said and you smiled to yourself. That was what you wanted him to remember. 

“But yet at the end of the night, you ended up winning.”

Lando shook his head, still not following, “What the hell does poker have to do with Formula 1?” 

You dropped your hand to his knee. You shouldn’t have, but you did it anyway, giving his clothed leg an assuring squeeze, “Because you’re in a similar spot now, Lando. You’ve been dealt some shitty hands but the game isn’t over. This race, this season, none of it’s over. You are the only person who decides when it ends and I don’t think you’re ready to give up yet. I don’t think you’re done fighting.”

He didn’t have a response for you and you considered that a win on your part. Lando loved to argue so the fact that he was staying quiet told you that you managed to get through to him, even just a little. 

Lando smiled again. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was something. It was hope. Despite everything, you still believed in him and his abilities as a driver and that was enough. That was what he needed to hear.

Slowly, you watched the light return to his eyes. His features softened, he unclenched his jaw and he nodded. Lando dropped his hand, letting it rest over top of yours. It was a gesture you had shared hundreds of times before and it wasn’t supposed to be anything but friendly. 

It was impossible to miss the way his gaze dropped, landing on your lips as his tongue darted out to wet him. His eyes quickly met yours again. 

A month ago, a move like that would have weakened you. 

You didn’t know what to feel anymore. 

“You ‘gonna be okay?” You asked and then you felt his hand tighten around yours.

You needed to leave the room. 

“I’d be better if you hung out in McLaren,” Lando admitted. The air in the room suddenly felt heavier. “But yeah, I’ll be okay.”

“Alpine’s not that bad,” you wanted to remind Lando that you were there because of Pierre. Pierre booked your flight. Pierre held your hand as you walked through the paddock. Pierre was the one who made you feel wanted. 

And instead of watching his qualifying session, you were with Lando. 

Because Lando made you feel needed.

Even if it was temporary, even if it was borderline toxic, even if it was just another tactic he would use to keep you around, Lando knew exactly what to do and say to make you feel as though he needed you. That he wasn’t the same person without you in his life.

Space. You needed space. You couldn’t keep allowing yourself to do this. 

You cleared your throat, “I should go.”

Lando nodded, his line of sight darting to the door. The closed door that probably should have remained open for both of your sakes.

Why hadn’t you stood up yet? Why hadn’t Lando let go of your hand? Why did you text Max? Why did you even come to his drivers room in the first place? 

Why? Why? Why? Why?

And what if…

“Lando…” Your voice was barely above a whisper. Whatever you were trying to say didn’t matter, it wasn’t like you were telling him to fuck off or saying goodbye. And the second Lando realised you weren’t going anywhere, you weren’t leaving, the way you said his name sounded like a chorus of angels. 

And then his lips were on yours. 

There was no thinking things through here. If you had thought about the repercussions for even a second, you wouldn’t have left the Alpine hospitality. Instead, Lando’s hand travelled up to cup the side of your face, the pads of his fingers brushing against your hair. 

There were twenty different voices screaming at you, reminding you that this was a bad idea, that Lando didn’t love you, but all of those voices were drowned out by the quiet groan that emerged from the back of his throat when you slid your tongue past his lips. 

He gripped your waist and pulled you to sit on his lap. Your legs straddled either side of his hips as his fingers dug into your skin. You spent hours thinking about what it would be like to make out with him in his driver's room and now here you were, on top of him and clashing your tongue against his. He twisted his fingers tighter through your hair, keeping you as close to him as physically possible. 

You swore under your breath when Lando attached his lips to your jaw. He moved his lips tantalisingly slow, using the grip in your hair to give him better access to your throat as he trailed downwards. When he took your earlobe between his teeth you automatically bucked your hips against his. 

It wasn’t fair. Your body shouldn't have reacted like this with him. You shouldn’t have wanted this as bad as you did, not when you just had one of the best nights of your life with Pierre yesterday. 

But Lando’s breath was hot as his teeth grazed over your skin and it sparked a fire within you. You ran your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling at the strands when he found that spot below your ear and worked to leave a mark like his life depended on it. 

“Lando-” his name was caught off by an embarrassingly loud moan that had you praying there was no one in one of the nearby rooms. Lando kept sucking on your skin, determined to not let you walk out of here without this visible reminder of him, this reminder that no matter what, you’d always be his. 

Even if you were trying to give your heart to someone else, even if he would never love you the way you loved him, you’d always be a little bit his. He’d always had this unspoken control over you. 

“Lando I-” you choked on your words, clenching your legs around him as he pulled back, meeting your eyes. 

He looked proud of himself, of course he was proud of himself. He had a cocky kind of arrogance to him and you wanted to slap that smirk right off his face.

You needed to get the fuck out of this room.

And Lando knew you like the back of his hand. He caught the way you glanced towards the door. He saw your timid swallow when Pierre’s face came to the forefront of your mind. He could see it in your eyes that you were regretting all of this.

“Don’t go,” Lando urged quietly, tightening his hold on your waist when you made the sudden move to stand up. He pulled you closer, spreading his fingers across the small of your back. His lips found your jaw, but his kiss was soft compared to earlier. Gentle, like he was afraid anything more would break you. It probably would.

“I have to,” you laid your hand against his chest to brace yourself as you climbed off of him, feeling his growing erection beneath his trousers as you swung your legs off. 

Lando held on as long as he could, his fingers trailing down your arm and connecting with yours before you finally stepped back. 

You turned around, knowing there was a mirror in this driver's room, but the second you caught your own reflection you had no idea who the girl was staring back. Her hair was dishevelled. Her throat was red with a very prominent, darkening spot below her ear. Her hands were trembling.

You caught Lando’s eyes in the mirror and the haze lifted.

“Oh my god,” you breathed out, fingers hovering over the childish hickey he had left on you. “Lando I can’t- I can’t go back out like this.”

He pushed himself off of the couch and you found yourself frozen as he approached you from behind. One arm snaked around your waist as he gently pulled your hair over your shoulder, so he too could see the mark. 

“So then stay here.”

The nerve of this man. 

He didn’t understand that there would be consequences for your actions. Lando didn’t care that you had to go back to Pierre after this, he only cared that Pierre saw who you really belonged to. 

He was selfish and conceited and vain and didn’t care about what was best for you.

Lando didn’t like that someone else could make you happy. He felt threatened. He felt as though he was losing you, he was, and the only way to keep you from leaving was by giving you what you wanted. 

Because at one point, you did want this. You wanted the intimacy with Lando. For years, you craved it. You wanted Lando to see you the way you saw him.

But it wasn’t real. 

He just didn’t want you looking at someone else the way you once looked at him.

You grabbed his wrist and peeled his hand off of you, practically elbowing him in the chest as you turned around and put space between your bodies. When Lando tried to step forward you backed up, your head hitting the mirror behind you. 

“You can’t do this,” you found your voice. “It’s not fucking fair Lando. I’m with Pierre, you know this. You can’t just decide you want me all of a sudden, that’s not how this works.”

“But you can decide you don’t want me all of a sudden?” Lando retorted. He sounded much more sure of himself than you did. “Come on, Y/N, I know you. You may be with Pierre but you still love me.”

You wanted him to be wrong so fucking bad. You didn’t want to love him. 

“You can’t use that against me!” You snapped at him. “My feelings are not a game, Lando. You can’t just use them to your advantage. You can’t string me along like this. You can’t show me attention because I’m into someone else. You can’t kiss me after making it clear you don’t want me. You can’t pretend to love me now that I’m trying to get over you!”

Tears were starting to well up in the corner of your eyes and you told yourself to hold it together. You were not going to cry over him, in front of him. 

Lando clenched his jaw, “What if I’m not pretending?”

It felt as though your heart fell to the pit of your stomach, “What?”

“What if I’m not pretending?” He repeated. “What if I do love you?”

You so badly wanted to believe that to be true. 

But you shook your head slowly, “You don’t.”

“Y/N-”

“Stop, Lando. Please.”  you cut him off before he could make some sort of grand gesture, before he could sweep you away with the words you’ve been waiting to hear. A shaky inhale passed through your lips, “You don’t love me, you just don’t want me to love anyone else.”

He opened his mouth to argue with you, to dispute everything you had said, but one more weak breath from you had his lips tightening into a thin line. Whatever he had to say, it wouldn’t help. It would only hurt. It would just make things harder.

“I’m leaving,” you finally announced with a sniff. You blinked a few times to get rid of any threatening tears, not like it helped. 

His gaze dropped to your neck and your stomach turned in knots. You couldn’t hide Lando’s mark from Pierre, not forever, but you couldn’t necessarily walk out of this motorhome showing it off either.

You swiftly turned and reached for the closet doors, pulling them open and grabbing a plain black jumper, one that Lando always kept in his driver's room. You slid it on, knowing Lando wasn’t going to fight you on it and it only took a few seconds for you to bunch up the hood around your neck until you were confident you could get through the rest of the day without any judgmental stares. 

Lando just stood off to the side and watched as you fixed yourself as best as you could. He stayed quiet when you dabbed at the corner of your eyes. He bit his tongue to keep from saying anything else in an attempt to get you to stay.

“This didn’t happen,” you told him, referring to everything that had occurred since you stepped foot in this motorhome. Lando’s hand twitched, but he just balled his hand into a fist and nodded. 

When you reached for the door, Lando stepped forward, “Can I just-”

“No,” you were firm, your tone sharp. “You don’t have a fucking right to do or say anything right now. This ends here, Lando.”

You made up your mind. You couldn’t crawl back to Lando. You couldn’t keep letting him have this control over you. You had to stop loving him otherwise you would just end up in this painful cycle, always asking yourself why and what if. 

When you were confident Lando wasn’t going to say a word, you grabbed the handle of the door and pulled it open. There was more commotion in the motorhome now, more people than before. You just slid your hands into the front pocket of the jumper and made your way down the stairs. 

You tried to avoid Max, but he jumped off the couch and followed you outside, at least having the decency to keep his voice down when he grabbed your arm and turned you around.

“What the hell happened?”  Max asked, glancing at the motorhome. “I heard nothing and then I heard yelling and then-”

“It doesn’t matter,” there was a growing lump in your throat, but the second you tried to swallow it away, it triggered the tears you were holding back. You inhaled a strangled sob and shook your head, keeping your eyes away from Max. “I’m leaving. I can’t- I can’t be here. Lando, he-”

But you couldn’t even begin to try and explain yourself. Not with every second word being followed by a gasp for your air. You wiped your eyes and just shook your head. Your were hurt. You made a mistake. Your sudden emotions were the best explanation Max would get for now. 

“Look I don’t want to make things difficult but-”

Max’s words were cut off when you heard your name being called from behind you. You recognized the French accent as it ripped through your chest. 

“Pierre didn’t make it through to Q3,” Max explained quickly. “He texted me asking if he knew where you were and when I didn’t answer he just- well I guess he assumed.”

You couldn’t breathe. 

“Chérie, what-” Pierre approached you, but his words escaped him the second he came face to face with your tear stained cheeks and painful expression. He eyed the McLaren motorhome behind you and you watched as the muscles in his jaw tensed.

Pierre could have jumped to his own conclusions. He could have caused a scene right there in the paddock. He could have assumed the worst, knowing you had left McLaren crying. You wouldn’t have blamed him if he just turned and walked away from you, not wanting to get involved in this type of bullshit Lando created.

But he draped his arm around your shoulders and tugged you into his side. Pierre dropped his chin to the top of your head, pressing his lips to your hair, “Let’s go, okay?”

You nodded, there wasn’t much else you could do. 

Pierre grabbed the pair of sunglasses that was resting on top of his head and handed them over to you, figuring you’d want them to hide how red and puffy your face was. You slid them on and kept your head down, assuring Max you’d text him later.

The two of you barely stepped away from McLaren when the motorhome doors flew open. You looked up, your heart shattering even more when you spotted Lando practically tripping over his own feet to catch up to you. 

Pierre stopped walking and eyed up the British driver slowly. He didn’t drop his arm from your shoulder, making it very clear that he wasn’t going to leave the two of you alone.

Lando obviously hadn’t expected Pierre to show up. It threw a wrench in his plans, whatever they were. Maybe he was going to try that grand gesture again. Maybe he was going to apologise. You had no idea and you honestly didn’t care. 

Shockingly enough though, it was Pierre who spoke first.

He raised his free hand and patted Lando on the shoulder, “Sorry about qualifying, mate.”

Lando nodded, his attention darting between you and Pierre, “Yeah, not ideal obviously.”

Pierre started to back up, taking you with him, “Better luck next time, I guess.”

His words cut deep. Pierre wasn’t just talking about qualifying. Pierre was referring to how Lando was losing his own game, how he played his cards that first night in the club and now barely stood a chance at winning you back.

But you had no idea that Lando wasn’t about to give up that easily.

part 6 here read all parts here

--- this is a shameless plug but i started an f1 podcast with my friend and if you want to listen to the first episode you can find the links to it here hehe

#pierre gasly #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly angst #pierre gasly social media au #f1 requests #pierre gasly smut #f1 one shot #f1 instagram au #f1 social media au #f1 #f1 smut #f1 x you #lando norris #lando norris au #lando norris one shot #lando norris instagram edit #lando norris social media au #holllandtrash

[laundrybiscuits]

(soulmates AU: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3)

“You never told me your folks were soulmates," he says out of the blue. He'd meant to wait until it came up naturally or something, but they're just standing in awkward silence outside what the kids insist on calling the M&M house, waiting for the stupid dragon game to wrap up on the Munson side. He doesn't even know he's going to say it until it's already out there, sitting between them. 

Nancy says "Fuck," very quietly. Steve can't remember if she used to swear so much. He thinks not, but also, she was sixteen the last time he really felt like he knew her.

Steve’s tenth grade geometry teacher once told them: think about railroad tracks. That’s what parallel means, that there are two lines that never get closer together or farther away. No matter how long the railroad tracks get, there’s always exactly the same amount of space between them.

Now Steve thinks maybe that’s bullshit, that you can’t keep going separate from someone else and stay the same distance apart. If you’re not together, if you don’t cling as hard as you can, then the distance between you is going to grow faster and faster until you can’t even see the other person. 

He thinks maybe he doesn’t know Nancy at all anymore. 

Nancy smooths down her skirt in a nervous gesture he doesn’t recognize. “You’ve met my parents, Steve. Did you really think that’s what I want?”

It’s the kind of question where he knows the right answer from the way she’s saying it, but he doesn’t know why. Yeah, he’s met Ted and Karen. He always thought they seemed happy enough. They’ve got three kids, so they have to be happy, right? 

But he’s starting to think that Nancy—the new Nancy, how she is now—might not want to be happy. Or at least that it might not be the most important thing to her, compared to everything else she always talked about. Now that he’s thinking about it for real, he can’t really see her stepping into her mom’s shoes, never really doing anything but chasing after kids and power-walking around the mall. 

Shit, is he the Ted Wheeler in this scenario? Not that there’s anything wrong with Ted, but—wow, okay, he’s starting to understand Nancy’s reaction. 

He hasn’t said anything for a little while, and Nancy sighs. “Steve, I’m sorry, I can’t…”

“It’s fine, Nance,” he says. He even thinks he means it, this time. 

———

“Do you think she’s going to get a cover-up, like Eddie?”

Robin squints at him. “I think she’s the only one who can answer that.”

“Sure, okay, but I can’t ask her because I’ve decided I’m not gonna bring this shit up around her anymore. It’s called tact, Robin.”

“Fuck off, I’m a million times more tactful than you could ever be.” She chucks a roll of NEW RELEASE stickers at him, which he dodges with a little spin, just to show off.

“Are you kidding me? Who was it that got out of a parking ticket last week just by talking to the cop?”

“Uh, who was it that expertly finessed us both jobs at Family Video just by talking to Keith?”

“You gotta stop bringing that up,” Steve groans. “That was like a whole year ago. Get some new material, Buckley.”

“Get us a new job, Harrington! One that pays more than this shit!”

“Nah, I’m gonna be a trophy husband to some rich old lady. That’s my new plan, now that I’m totally unattached.” It comes out pretty steady, he thinks.

She sidles up to him, awkward in the way she gets sometimes, and bumps their shoulders together. “Hey, you know you could totally find someone else, right? It doesn’t have to be…” She trails off, gesturing helplessly.

He tips his head back and stares at the ceiling. The fluorescent lights leave blurry ghosts on his eyelids when he blinks. 

Robin Buckley is the best friend he’ll ever have and does sometimes actually know what tact is, so she just tips her head against his shoulder and stares at the ceiling with him in silence until the next customer comes in. 

———

“You can never, ever tell Steve this.” Nancy’s voice is just barely audible from the front step, and Steve freezes. He snatches his hand back from where he’d been reaching for the doorbell.

“Cross my heart, et cetera, Wheeler.” Eddie sounds lazy, like he doesn’t even care.

“It’s crazy, but I used to feel really—happy. About the soulmark. I mean, it’s every girl’s dream, right? The cutest guy in school with her name on his wrist.”

“Can’t say I relate.” 

Nancy lets out a strangled laugh and Steve silently shuffles as close as he dares, shutting his eyes like that’ll help him hear better or something.

“I know, Eddie, that’s why I’m…I don’t know what changed. I don’t know why that stopped being enough for me. I second-guess myself all the freaking time now, and I hate that! I remember the way it felt when it turned out Steve was actually really sweet, and sometimes I just want to—to crawl back inside that feeling, except it’s not real. I know it’s not real.”

“You sure about that? Doth the lady not protest too much?”

“I’m sure.”

She hadn’t even hesitated. Steve’s nails are cutting into his palms. He feels dizzy with how quick she’d answered; how calm she’d sounded. 

It hits him, then, that it’s actually over, like for real. Maybe he really is an idiot, because it’s been years, and he thought he’d already known that. Turns out there’d been a stupid little corner of hope in him after all.

He tunes back in to hear Eddie say, “Okay, okay, you don’t gotta convince me, Wheeler. If you end up deciding to, y’know, take the plunge…yeah, I can hook you up. But no rush, okay?”

Steve turns around and walks down the drive, all the way around the corner to where he’s parked. Dustin’s stretched all the way across the seats, head poking out of the driver’s side window, squinting in the afternoon sun.

“Is Eddie coming to the arcade with us?” Dustin yells.

“He’s busy, leave him alone,” says Steve.

#not!soulmates AU #the unmarketable ridiculousness continues #I know the Doylist reason Eddie offers so much unsolicited advice in canon is his role as clunky plot mouthpiece #but I choose to interpret it as the extremely gay hobby of overflowing with advice on acquaintances’ personal lives #despite the highly dubious state of one's own #anyway. if/when this goes up on AO3 I'm gonna need to re-edit for Nancy's voice bc I do NOT have it rn

[yes-divine-ruler]

Le Passion - Alex (Adult World)

Requested <3 thank u lovely anon

Summary: Alex finds out reader has been writing her sexual fantasies about him, and wants to show her that he is more than she’s ever imagined.

CW: protected penetrative sex, oral (f receiving), fingering

Taglist: @v-love @evanpetersfav

Word count: 1440

"What are you writing?"

Alex tries to look over your shoulder, and you whisk the notebook away from the counter and hold it to your chest.

"Nothing!" You say abruptly, flashing Alex a fake, but suspicious smile.

"Yeah right," he teases, trying to snatch the notebook from your chest. You dodge his attack, running around to the other side of the counter as he chases you.

"Alex! Leave me alone!" You whine, as he continues to chase you around the store. Eventually, he catches up to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and pulling you into his chest.

He snatches the notebook from you, running to the stock room and closing the door. Your eyes open wide in fear of what he might think if he saw what you were writing, your fists banging at the door that Alex is leaning against to make sure you can’t get in.

"Alex! Please," you beg, your face and ears hot from embarrassment. Alex is silent on the other side of the door, and you bet he's engrossed in the totally revolting erotica you wrote based on him.

Minutes later the door clicks open, and Alex comes out of the stock room. You look down at your shoes, unable to make eye contact with him now that he knows your secret.

"Y/N?" He asks, his voice low and quiet, his finger and thumb tucking under your chin and lifting up your head to face him.

“I feel so embarrassed,” you laughed, breaking eye contact for a second. He just looked back at you, totally immersed in the eye contact you were both sharing.

Then he does the unthinkable, leaning in and connecting your lips in a fiery kiss. You froze for a moment, not knowing if it was real life, before you melted into it, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hand travelled down to your waist.

Alex pulled away, his lips swollen from the intense kiss you just shared, his eyes gleaming with something you didn’t recognise, maybe lust.

“Come to my apartment later? When we get off work?” He asked unexpectedly, his hand still on your waist, his fingers digging into your skin.

You just nodded, dumbfounded.

Your shift went by in a blur, customers coming in and out, the bell by the door ringing in your ears until finally, it was closing time.

Alex had been flustered for the rest of the day, or otherwise deep in thought. His hand was constantly in the front of his black jeans, fixing himself in his pants as he tried to sort stock. The sexual tension was impossible to ignore, and could easily have been cut with a knife.

Alex’s apartment was a few blocks away. You walked side by side as you chatted about the shift you’d just had, disregarding the erotica he’d caught you writing, and the passionate kiss you shared outside the stock room.

That was until you entered his apartment, and he turned to you with that same gleam in his dark eyes.

“Holy shit I cannot wait any longer,” he groaned, finally closing the gap between you and pressing you up against his apartment door, his kiss much more greedy than the one you shared in the store.

His hands on your waist travelled up under your shirt, lifting it up just above your breasts, until you broke the kiss for a moment to take it off. The kiss resumed, his tongue darting into your mouth to savour the taste of the gum you’d been chewing earlier. His lips felt like velvet, moving against yours just the right amount of rough and gentle.

He guided you over to his bed, laying you down and falling between your open legs. Alex moaned softly into the kiss as your hips collided, the friction almost too much to handle after a day of concealing his erection for you.

“Take these off,” he mumbled against your lips, tugging at the waistband of your jeans as you hastily unfastened them, helping him pull them down your legs, leaving you in nothing but your matching bra and panties.

His kisses got lower, first on your jaw, and then your neck, leaving a trail down to your chest, and then your stomach. Just like you’d written in your erotica, Alex’s head was between your legs. His fingers grazed the waistband of your panties, before pulling them down, agonisingly slow.

He watched you squirm for a moment, flustered, your bottom lip between your teeth before he finally wrapped his lips around your clit. He sucked softly, his cheeks hollowing as you let your head fall back, a moan of pleasure leaving your parted lips.

“Just the way you imagined it, hm?” He asked, in a moment away from your heat, before his head dipped down again, this time his tongue running up and down between your folds.

“Alex- oh my god,” you whimpered, his hand coming up to cup your breast through your bra, massaging softly as his tongue returned to your clit.

You felt the knot form in your stomach, the undeniable feeling of an oncoming orgasm, as his tongue worked just in the ways you imagined it - maybe even better.

Your fingers tangled in his soft, dark, curly hair as he left wet kisses, his other hand now at your entrance, his fingers teasing you. You watched as he inserted a finger, his eyes glued to your face as it contorted in pure bliss.

“Alex, oh shit, I’m cumming,” you let out, his tongue not tiring as his finger worked at a steady pace inside you, finally relieving you of all sexual tension and allowing you to reach your climax.

His tongue lapped at your arousal as you came, profanity leaving your lips, clenching around his finger as you rode out your orgasm.

He didn’t stop, even after you became sensitive, his tongue enjoying being able to pleasure you. Until you whimpered, buckling your hips away from his face, that he finally came up from between your legs.

His lips attached back to yours, both of you now sharing the taste of you. The unbuckling of his belt rung out in the room, as he tore off his pants and boxers, discarding them on the floor next to you.

“How’d you like that? Did I live up to your expectations?” He asked, biting on his bottom lip as the tip of his erection slid against your entrance, tempted by your warmth and wetness.

“More than I could’ve ever put on paper,” you breathe out, aching for him to finally enter you, encouraging him by grabbing a hold of his erection and pulling it softly towards where you needed it to be.

He gave you a devious smile, reaching over to his nightstand and pulling a condom out of the drawer, ripping open the foil and sliding it onto his cock.

“Needy girl,” he teased, slowly entering you, the feeling of him finally stretching you out otherworldly.

“Oh my god,” Alex muttered, pushing all the way inside you, his hips touching yours before he began his slow, steady thrusts.

“Shit, shit,” he cursed, his eyes fluttering closed as he rested his forehead against yours, giving you the opportunity to hold him close to you.

“More, Alex,” you begged, wrapping your legs around his waist, caging him in as his thrusts began to pick up speed.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, now thrusting into you fast, the persistent hitting against your g spot setting you up for another release.

Alex’s thumb rested on your sensitive clit, rubbing gentle circles, as you let out soft moans just so he knew how good it all felt.

“Cum again for me,” he commanded, his lips lazily attached to yours as yours fingers scratched down his toned back, the knot in your stomach finally coming undone.

You clenched around him for the second time, which was enough for him to finally release inside you, his thrusts enough for you both to ride out your orgasms.

He pulled out, collapsing beside you. He discarded the condom, tossing it into a nearby bin, before pulling you in to his side. He was sticky with sweat, but you craved his closeness after sharing such an intimate moment.

“Now you can write about that, too,” he mumbled, letting out a laugh as you did.

“I better be getting more inspiration soon,” you teased, drawing small shapes on his shoulder blade as he held you.

“Oh there’s so much more where that came from,” he replied, kissing your shoulder, as you both laid in the satisfaction of the other’s pleasure.

#evan peters #evan peters fanfic #evan peters fanfiction #evan peters requests #evan peters smut #evan peters imagine #evan peters x reader #fem!reader #Evan peters x fem!reader #alex adult world #alex adult world smut #adult world #adult world smut #american horror story

[afreakingdork]

Crush Too Much - Part 7

RotTMNT Donatello x GN!Reader

Warnings: Light Angst, Fluff, Embarrassment, Overbearing Siblings, Aged-up Turtles

Synopsis:  So you met a customer three times at work and that made a pretty big impression on you? That’s nothing to necessarily get worked up over, but when you’re all prepared to ask for his number the next time you see him and his brother gets involved instead, you might be in for something more than you bargained for.

FIRST 💜 PREVIOUS

“This would happen in New Jersey!” Donnie griped from underneath the van.

The street it had broken down on was desolate so you sat beside him on the road leaning against the large rear all-terrain tires. “How did you get your driver’s license?”

“Like anyone else.” He responded in time with the soft clicking of something being tightened.

“It’s hard to picture you standing in line at the DMV.”

“Oh, you meant legally?” Though you couldn’t see him you could tell he was joking. Kicking your leg out, you tapped your shoe against his ankle. “Ow. Oh. Oh no. I have been mortally wounded. Now you’re stuck in this tragic place.” His dry wit brought a lazy smile to your face.

You leaned your head back against the rubber and looked up at the sky. “We’re not gonna make it.”

“Time.”

You pulled out your phone. “Almost 8.”

“A surprising lack of faith from the individual that asked acquaintance to trust them before dragging them to arguably one of the most seedy restaurant fronts in the city.”

Staring at the lock screen photo of the two of you from your rooftop rendezvous, heat pooled in your cheeks. You wouldn’t have asked just any acquaintance to do that. The eventualities had been on the fringes of your thoughts since your meeting with Leo. For now you’d change the subject. “Tell me more about the van.” You shuffled your legs into a straight line and clicked your sneakers together. On the quiet road, you could just hear your aglets clatter against one another.

Donnie slid out from under the vehicle and posed on his side in a French girl manner. “I acknowledge that by changing the subject you are avoiding an admission of guilt, but hoo boy!!” He shouted and jumped to his feet. “I’ll take any opportunity to talk about the Dream Van!”

He held out a hand to help you to your feet and you took it. As soon as you were righted, he released you in favor of hugging the car. You tried to curb your smile by biting your lip.

“I spotted her like a glittering jewel in the desert of Repo Mantis’ scrap yard!” He ran a hand along the side door. “Still mostly intact, though obviously broken down, she called to me in a sweet language only I can hear.” 

You were so glad you were already chewing on your bottom lip. “Purple?”

He stopped and shot you a scandalized glare.

The distant streetlight just barely illuminated the pearlescent paint job in said shade. “You mentioned restoring the original color when I complimented her earlier.” Tipping to one side you let your shoulder bump up against the vehicle.

“Hey!” Donnie pried himself off the van to shoo you away. “Insult the Dream Van and you don’t get to touch the Dream Van.”

Maybe it was the relaxed boredom, but you just wanted to press his buttons a little more tonight. You took a step back, hands raised in defeat. He gave a curt nod and just as he was about to return to his explanation, you reached out a single digit toward the van.

“Don’t…” He warned, throwing up a challenging finger of his own.

As soon as your pointer made contact with the cold steel, you were both off. You kept a hand to the vehicle as your rounded the rear. Donnie forwent the obvious straight chase line and lept straight over the van, cutting you off on the other side. His smug smile turned to dismay as the worn tread on your sneakers skidded on an unknown sidewalk puddle. The two of your unceremoniously collided. You waited for gravity to take over, but the world didn’t seemed to rotate around you. Blinking you looked up to find Donnie had reflexively caught you and was staring at your with a self-satisfied smirk.

“I’m starting to get the feeling that you don’t actually want to hear about the van.”

From your current proximity, you had a clear shot of the just barely marred shred of sadness in his otherwise deadpan gaze. “No, I do!”

He raised a single brow in question.

“I-“ You started and sighed, your eyes cast down from your delinquency. “It’s just we’ve been here for about an hour and I’m no help when it comes to this.” You nodded a head toward the vehicle and Donnie blew a relaxed puff of air out his nose.

“’Idle hands.’” He shook his head. “I have 3 brothers or did the prospect of an exciting night of science distract you from that?”

“You’re used to it.” You shook your head, parsing out his meaning. “I would say I’m a normal amount of excited for LSC After Dark.”

“It’s true.” Donnie tipped his head to the side with mild dismay. “If the Gilder Center had an afterhours event, that would be better suited to my tastes.”

“Are you telling me the science speakeasy and dance floor with a touch of science aren’t your speed?” You put on your best puppy dog eyes knowing full well Donnie had shot down the third Thursday party transformation at the Liberty City Science Center over text.

“Maybe if it actually had a modicum to do with science.” He rolled his eyes, but a thought seemed to strike him. “A techno rave where the beats per minute were set in a way to mimic heart rate.”

“Oh, it could be a five senses sort of thing!” You brightened, catching wind of his idea.

“A full body experience manipulation of one’s faculties.” You watched as he seemed to already be creating a mental map. “The ultimate implementation of jams!”

“Club owner has now been added to Donnie’s to-do list.”

“As if it already wasn’t.” His brows wiggled in a way that said he thought of everything. You smiled cheekily and felt a hum in his chest as his brain switched gears. That exact sound made you realize that he was still holding you. You cursed yourself for not taking the proper time to appreciate the moment. On the other hand, it was jarring that it’d felt so natural you hadn’t noticed it was happening at all. “Most of tonight’s events are placating stunts for masses that’d like to portray themselves as having scientific prowess. I’m more interested in gaining access to the planetarium and picking the brain of tonight’s Space Talk speaker.”

“Which we will miss if you don’t get the van running again.” Any hesitation you had about shifting his attention was immediately eclipsed by the guilt of causing him to miss the events he'd listed. He’d been willing to come all the way out to New Jersey to attend and that said more than enough about his excitement.

“Yes, of course.” He released you and brought a hand to his chin as he rounded the vehicle to gain access to the hood. “I regret having not installed a monitoring system!”

“Why didn’t you?” You followed him at a much slower pace.

He shot you a quick look that said you didn’t need to bother before scouring the engine.

You deserved that. “I wasn’t lying. I did want to know more about the van.”

He made a sound of wry sound of uncertainty, but spoke anyway. “It took many hours of negotiation, but I got the van and fixed her up.” He leaned back and you watched him disappear around the passenger side. “The Turtle Tank is my true baby, but her and Shell Cycles are more team oriented vehicles.” The back door slid open and you watched Donnie through the driver side window as he climbed in. “This is for my own personal use only. As such I retrofitted the interior with a miniature lab, but I left the exterior and major components street legal.”

“The dash certainly has a spaceship vibe.” You mused, turning your window attention to said lights and knobs.

“Mostly street legal.” He corrected himself and disappeared into the very back of the van. “I would have needed to rehaul the suspension to add a monitoring system!” He raised his voice to compensate for his distance. “The frame is basically just flat steel so the weight of the tech would have overtaxed the current build!”

“But because it’s an older car it was able to survive being junked to get into your hands, right?”

“Absolutely.” The vehicle shook as Donnie shuffled back out the door and rounded to the engine once more. “As Michael described it, I trend toward the ‘shiny and new,’ but there is a slew of merits to certain older technology. The first of which, in our current case, is there’s only so many things that can be wrong…”

You nodded, having not quite followed all the checks he had done so far.

Planting one hand on either side of the engine block, Donnie huffed. “The battery isn’t dead because the lights work, I tightened the terminals so those are fine, no sign that the alternator is bad, it turns over so ignition and starter work, and no sounds indicate timing belt or distributor…” He trailed off, clicking his tongue.

“So what’s left…?”

“That’s just it.” He lifted and smacked his hands down in frustration. “With my own two hands, I put every single part in this beautiful creature. I know where they’ve all been and where they all go-"

You watched as his face froze up. You blinked rapidly, making sure your vision was still good. Everything else seemed to be fine; it was just Donnie that had gone statuesque. “Uh…” You moved to his side. “Donnie? Earth to Donnie?” He was unresponsive so you waved a hand in front of his face. “Hello?” You were just about to touch him when his left eye twitched.

“That…”

“Wha-?”

“AbsolUTE IGNORAMUS!!!!” He roared back to life and you stumbled backward. Your heel caught the sidewalk and you sputtered to keep from falling. Donnie moved in an instant, snatching both of your wrists. You would have thanked him, but the look on his face said he had not done it for you safety. “Vacuum cleaner.”

“Vacuum cleaner?” You probably looked as pale as you felt.

“I was intensely focused on building the engine block!” Releasing you, Donnie whipped around and all but flung himself back into the van. The car bounced comically until he emerged with a small tool in his hand and dove straight into the engine. “Mikey had just finished his first whittling project and Raphael offered to vacuum up the saw dust.”

“Uh huh…?” You stared, mouth slightly agape. You had no idea what he was talking about, but you could hear something pop and the sound of a little trickle of liquid.

“It’s delicate work!” Donnie growled, pieces moving out of your view. “It takes a lot of focus!!”

“You rebuilt an engine from scratch…” You could only affirm what you knew for sure.

“They know how focused I can get! Which is why-" Donnie emerged with a small cylinder in his hand. “-when I was asked if the vacuum’s new filter had come in, I just brushed it off. Anyone of them is more than capable of opening packages!” He growled and held the cylinder out for you to see. As he jostled it the top popped off. “It’s not supposed to do that!” He hissed.

“What is-?”

“I had to special order some parts because of their age.” He reached down and grasped the lid of the object. “One such item was a fuel filter.”

“Which is…” You brought a feeble finger up. “That?”

“The filter that goes into the vacuum is cylindrical also.” He pulled the top off and blackened gunk clung to the ridges of the filter inside. “But why…?” Donnie dropped to his knees and held the object out in front of him in dismay. “Why did Raph think you had to saw through metal to get to a filter?! Why did he presumably put it in the vacuum, use said vacuum, then take it BACK OUT, PUT IT BACK INTO THE METAL CASING, AND INTO THE BOX FROM WHENST IT CAME?!”

You stared in twisted awe. You had never seen Donnie both this mad or this distraught before. “P-probably because it didn’t work…?”

“It didn’t…” Donnie’s voice had dropped down low along with his head. You leaned in slight. “OF COURSE IT DIDN’T WORK, IT’S FOR A CAR!!!” He screamed at you while snapping to his feet.

Now under the direct fire of the fury, you froze.

The fear must have translated to your face because Donnie dropped out of the snarl and you watched his eyes dart around your features. He pulled back and closed a hand around the filter. “I apologize. I’m not mad at you… I just…” He hung his head and went silent.

Still coming off the frightened adrenaline rush, you shifted your shoulders. “It’s… ok…”

“No, it’s not.”

“Donnie…” Tightened restraints wrapped around your heart as you realized he was distraught in a different way now.

“I’ll order you a ride home.” With his free hand, he unearthed his phone from his hoodie’s pocket.

“Wait!” It wasn’t just your mouth for once. Your whole body moved before your mind could process it. You leapt forward and covered his phone with your hands.

“It’s probably better for you to go home. I’ll wait here with the Dream Van until an auto shop opens up and get the part.”

You might have let him get away with it if had he moved even a muscle. Instead, he continued to keep his head down, staring at your hands. “Worries was one of the things we promised to discuss, remember?”

He was quiet, but gave a single tight nod.

“You were really excited for tonight.”

Another nod.

“Do you want to ship me off and let it end like this?” You wished so badly that he would look at you,

“It’s already 9, we really weren’t ever going to make it.”

“What did you say before?” You put force down on the phone. Like a pulley system, as his hands went down and his head lifted up. “Changing subjects was admitting guilt?”

“Incorrect.” His gaze was guarded.

“Ok, I didn’t get the exact words you used…”

“No.” He shook his head. “Incorrect as in I was not admitting guilt. I don’t want the night to end like this.”

“So, you just want to ship me off?” You didn’t mean for it to sound bitter, but maybe it was just the inherent content of the sentence.

“Absolutely not!” You were taken back by his sudden sternness. “I just…” He turned his head away. “I find it hard to look at you right now because when I do I’m reminded of the face you made earlier.”

You weren’t sure what to say.

“I snapped at you and you were scared of me.” You could feel the slightest tremble of his hands through the phone. “Your easy going temperament means you’re quick to forgive, but the same can't be said about me.”

“I don’t know if I would call myself easy-going…” The notion seemed ridiculous given your ever present anxieties.

 “You put up with me.” He turned and gave you a serious glance. His tone dripped with scornful sarcasm.

“Is that what you think?” You pushed his phone down all the way and stepped right into his personal space so he was forced to look at you. “I love spending time with you. Our banter, discussions, even when you just come in to pick up your weekly pizza order! Did any of that seem like I was just dealingwith your existence?”

It was a logic query that you knew he had no chance of rationalizing himself out of.

It took several moments, but the creases in his brow softened. “Emotions tend to be a grey area for me. When I feel them, I am often swept and bested.”

You tilted your head. That was familiar. “You must be joking.”

He was taken aback, but before he could protest, you continued.

“Yes, this time you got too heated, but this whole situation is beyond frustrating!” You swung your arms in a wide gesture. “It’s a very normal reaction.” He was so close you could see your reflection in his eyes. “I have never once thought of you as emotionless. You’re not heartless; you just struggle with articulating your emotions sometimes.”

He stared down at you with such intensity that you thought you might wilt under his gaze alone. Just as the speed of your heart rate was reaching critical levels, he took a step back and centered himself deep breath.  “Since, and you won’t hear me often admit this because it almost never happens, but I am not in my right mind. What do you propose we do now?”

You cleared your throat to get ahold of your own emotions before looking at him ruefully. “We make the guys, specifically Raph, pick us and the Dream Van up. When we’re on our way home, explaining what happened, you should show him the part without letting on that you know what happened.”

You watched as some life was breathed back into the otherwise limp hero. “Make him stew?” Donnie craned an eyebrow up in tentative curiosity.

“Just this once I thought I’d take inspiration from someone.” You rolled on the balls of your feet while giving him occasional side eyes.

“Finally.” He rounded the van and closed the open door. You were about to follow when he hopped on top of the vehicle and looked down at you. “I was wondering when I’d rub off on you.”

You smiled up at him and he offered his hand. Curious, you took it and squeaked in surprise as he hoisted you up onto the van with him. “Is it ok to be on top of your second baby?”

“She’s reinforced.” He noted and collapsed back onto the roof. He then held his phone above his head and appeared to be typing something out.

You folded your legs up against you body and rested your chin on your knees. You listened to the soft pattering of fingers on a phone screen until there was a thump against the roof. You turned to find Donnie had let his arm collapse, phone in hand one hand and the fuel filter in the other.

“Our target will be here in T-minus 24 minutes.” He reported with his eyes drifting shut.

“When you say it like that I don’t know how long I’ll be able to play the part.” You chuckled lightly, your lids feeling a similar tug.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.” A long swath of silence stretched out between you before Donnie broke it with a barely legible, “Thank you.”

In case that was some kind of sleepy comment not meant for your ears, you responded with a soft hum of affirmation. You thought he might have fallen asleep when another sentence slipped from him.

“This is just like when Jupiter Jim became stranded on Sectron…”

That name sounded vaguely familiar. “Jupiter Jim.” You whispered carefully. “Is that like a movie character?” You had truly meant it as a wonder for yourself.

“Yeah, you know.” He folded his phone hand over his chest. “Marcus Moncrief?”

“Huh, never seen it.”

Donnie snapped upright so fast the whole van shook.

“Par-DON!?”

-

You didn’t think you had ever been this tired in your whole life. The final scenes of the movie swam across your face. You tried to keep your eyes focused as Lou Jitsu tore his way through a sea of bad guys. Every time you lost focus, the image would start to blur. You squinted as suddenly the action stopped. You allowed yourself to blink for what felt like the first time in several minutes. When you opened them a snappy one-liner was quipped and then a big ‘The End’ card appeared. Sleep drunk, the room darkened as the only light source scrolled with credits.

“Did…” You own voice sounded foreign. “Did we do it?”

“Every-” Donnie’s speech seemed as affected as yours. You could hear him lick his lips, but it seemed like too much energy to turn and look at him. “Single Jupiter Jim and Lou Jitsu movie has been consumed. Congratulations. You are now caught up.”

“Hurray.” You couldn’t muster any emotion to the word. After his discovery the night of the failed museum trip, Donnie had been hyperfocused on getting you caught up on ‘all the good cinema you had missed.’ He was very lucky in several regards. The first was that it was now summer so your schedule had freed up. The second was you no longer had any summer classes to attend to with your internship on its way and, finally, that said internship did not start until the beginning of the next month. Based on Donnie incessant pestering though, you wouldn’t have lasted more than a week without succumbing to the movie marathon. In fact, you’d made it exactly three days and only had to trade one shift to squeeze the event in.

As if on cue, both of you collapsed back into the couch at the same time. When had you even started leaning forward? With only back support now squared away and lethally low energy in the tank, you body threatened to fall further. You were trying to calculate if you would hit your head on the armrest if you fell to the right when Donnie’s hand shuffled between you to unearth his phone. The simple movement bumped your shoulders and your body gave into the motion. With a soft thump, the side of your head gently plopped right onto his shoulder. You weren’t sure if it was pure exhaustion, but he didn’t seem to notice. From your new view, you could see he was now holding his phone in hand, tilted so both of you could see it. Staring at the dark screen, his thumb seemed to move in slow motion as he activated the device. It read the time and date against a glowing purple motherboard background.

“That’s…” You stared. It took so much effort to speak. “How long…?” You hoped and hoped that he understood.

“31 hours, 32 minutes, and 47 seconds…” He didn’t unlock his phone and you both watched as it went back to sleep.

“I… will never move… again…” You whined softly.

“When…” He trailed off and took a deep breath. “When do you normally go to sleep?”

That seemed like an odd question, but you couldn’t think of what a normal one would even be. “Around 2am?”

“Then we need to stay awake for 27 more minutes.”

“You’re joking!” It was so surprising that it gave you just enough energy to boost your voice.

“No.” You could see his reflection in the darkened phone screen and his face was the definition of neutral. “It’ll keep your sleep schedule on track.”

“How…?” You wanted to ask how you would stay awake, but the rest of the sentence was lost.

“I can’t... explain…” You watched his reflection close its eyes in defeat. You felt bad for mirror Donnie until it sunk in what he had said. You had to try harder, for his sake.

“No…” You shifted your head enough to just bump his. “How will we stay up… that long?”

“Oh.” His reflection’s mouth formed a perfect circle. His thumb moved again and the screen illuminated once more. He unlocked his phone and opened an internet window. It then sat there, static, with only suggested articles at the bottom.

“Donnie?” You wondered and his head flopped over atop yours.

“Thinking.” He responded weekly, his thumb hovering over the screen.

If you had a shred of your mind left, you would have screamed at your current contact. Instead you were left as a husk with no inhibitions. “I don’t think I can… make it home…”

“Sleep here.” If he meant literally right where you were on the couch, that sounded like everything good and perfect in this world. When you’d first arrived at the lair at 5pm the previous day, you’d been blown away by the short tour. His family had dropped in throughout the marathon in stages, but for the last 2 movies only you and Donnie remained.

“You say sleep…” Why were you wasting energy on this? “I say how high.” That didn’t even make sense.

“Dumb.” He responded, finally typing something into the search bar. Your eyes lost focus again. When it returned you were staring at a news feed.

“Nooo…” You whined. That was going to put you more to sleep.

“Don’t complain.” His voice was somehow flatter than usual. “You have 11 minutes and 17 seconds on me.”

“What… are you talking about?” You couldn’t see his reflection anymore in the bright screen.

“You micronapped during Punch Chowder.” He thumbed over the screen, scrolling.

“I did?” You wondered how he knew to the very second how long you were out.

“One fight sequence missed.” Another line of articles floated by.

“Did I miss… a lot?”

He shook his head and you could feel the motion as if he was settling down further into your hair. “We’ll discuss… later.”

“Many movie discuss…” You nodded also. You were really starting to lose touch with reality now that you had nothing to focus on.

“Pick one.”

“An article?” That seemed like so much work.

“16 minutes left.”

Was that an answer to your question? How had both so much and so little time passed?

With the phone balanced on Donnie’s right thigh, you managed to drag your left hand out from where it was squished between both your legs and plop it next to the device. Your index finger wobbled as you pointed at the screen and managed to flick through a few articles. A pretty picture of a starry sky caught your attention. “That one.” You pointed at the photograph while simultaneously opening the article.

“There’s a meteor shower next week…” Donnie paraphrased the headline. He then took back control of the phone and scrolled over the blur of text.

You swore an entirely different Donatello had talked about a planetarium.

“Wanna go?”

“Mm.” It was more of a hum, but it sounded like a confirmation. “Together?”

That was more concrete. “Yeah.”

“Ok.” He gave another nod and you were sure your hair was going to look like a nest. “New telescope…” There was just the tiniest dash of excitement to that. He was too cute. You wished you were more awake so you could enjoy how sleepy he was.

“It’s a date.”

His thumb stopped, but it was also at the end of the article. You watched as he moved to the back button, but hovered over it instead of clicking. Why was he hesitating?

“It’s a date.” He finally spoke after what had seemed like hours had passed.

“Think we’ll remember?” You could barely remember the last thing you said. There was a nagging feeling it was important.

Donnie made another inconspicuous noise and closed the internet browser. He then thumbed over to a calendar that was packed with dozens of multicolored notes. You had no energy to marvel at his efficiencies as he opened up a specific day next week and added a new event.

‘Meteor Shower Date’

You watched him thumb quickly through several reminders, but your eyes refused to focus enough to tell you when they were set. He closed the window and the home screen picture of both of you was marred by a atomic clock.

“Three minutes.”

“Can’t we cheat it?”

“No.” 

You both fell asleep with one minute remaining.

NEXT

A/N: What's the Dream Van you ask? It's a Donatello-themed Hot Wheels Toy I saw! The XGW is technically not a real car, except it is now.

So there’s like 8 Lou Jitsu movies named in Rise and in "Repo Mantis" Donnie says there’s 60 sequels to “Jupiter Jim’s Last Trip to the Moon” alone, but man there’s like only 40 Godzilla movies so… I used the number for when I did my own marathon which was watching every single episode of Ed, Edd, and Eddy in a row to the premiere of Big Picture Show so like… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#crushtoomuchfic #rottmnt donnie x reader #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt x reader #donatello hamato #donnie x reader #rise donnie #rise donnie x reader #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt donnie #cartoons #fanfiction #my fanfiction #me

[spicyicetea]

To change a thief’s heart

Yandere Persona 5 X Reader

Chapter 1: What a nice coffee

Art by Anastasiya Osichkina

Warning: This story is a yandere x reader story and will contain obsessive, violent and inappropriate behaviour. This story will eventually contain NSFW and various kinks, decently large age gaps and potentially triggering themes so please only read at your own discretion. MDNI

I took the final sip of the warm coffee/tea as the bell above the door jingled. The soft thudding of shoes filled the shop as I placed the cup down and fished around in my bag for my wallet. The cup was almost completely refilled by the time I had placed the cup back on the saucer.

“Ah, you’re back, and you brought your friends. Don’t make a mess or bother the customers alright?” A voice said as I looked to the door at the group of people in uniform.

“Oh? I had no idea you knew people who went to Shujin. You should’ve told me Sojiro, you know I’ve been looking into the Kamoshida incident…” I mumbled puffing my cheeks out.

He just chuckled as he turned to face the group in the doorway. With a flick of the wrist he motioned them in and they gathered around the counter. A girl with pale blonde pigtails messed with her hair before looking at Sojiro.

“Is this your girlfriend mr Sakura?”

I coughed on my coffee and spun to look at them. He laughed, taking the now spilt coffee away from me. After patting my back a few times he put the cloth he had been cleaning with down.

“No, this is Miss Y/N, she’s an… old friend of mine.”

“Hey! I’m not that old Sojiro,” I laughed, standing up from the stool I was on. Fixing my hair, dusting off my sweater vest while smiling at the group. I offered my hand to the central black haired person. “Hello, my name is F/N L/N, I take it you’re the one staying upstairs.”

“Uh, how did you-“

Sojiro interrupted the boy with a hearty chuckle.

“She’s always been like that, people used to think she’s psychic when she first started getting coffee here.”

“So you come here often? I’ve never seen you here before…” The girl questioned.

“Oh, I’ve been away on business. I’m a detective investigating the strange mind breaking incidents. Recently I’ve heard about those Phantom thieves and I think their recent acts are similar and potentially their methods could be linked to the mind breaks.”

“Wait! You for real believe they’re behind it?!”

“No, but I do believe learning their methods could help understand who is abusing this strange phenomenon to murder people.”

“So do you think that the Phantom thieves are… just?” The black haired one said.

I smiled as I slung my bag over my shoulder. “I think those who can view mementos should use their powers for good. So yes, I think they are.” I say before leaving, not missing the shocked face the boy had.

As I left I turned as the black haired person held a boon I had been reading to me. I thanked him and bowed before he said it was unnecessary. He seemed to be holding something back so I just smiled and ran a hand through my hair.

“Your name is Akira, correct?”

His eyes widened and he just nodded.

“I won’t ask you upfront, I know even if you had the answer I suspected you wouldn’t answer truthfully. But, I think I could help you… but I’d need something in return. You were involved in the Kamoshida incident, correct?”

“Do you want to use me for information? Like an interrogation?”

“No, it’s just… my boss is putting pressure on me to find the phantom thieves… he wants them arrested.”

“You want my help to find them?”

“… His name is Akihiro Junpei, he treats the station and all of his colleagues as slaves. He believes that place is his Mansion and we’re just his servants.”

His phone buzzed and he looked at it with wide eyes. Bingo, a perfect hit. I spun on my heel and walked off. It’s going to be fun playing cat and mouse with the phantom thieves.

#x reader #yandere x reader #yandere persona 5 x reader #yandere persona x reader #yandere persona #yandere persona 5 #persona 5 x reader #persona #persona 5

[ineffableaddiction]

Part 6: Not even at Gunpoint?

A Good Omens Fan Fic

He woke up. It was morning somewhere, but judging by the light filtering through the windows, it was probably afternoon here. Putting on dark glasses, then glancing at his watch, he realized just how long he’d been asleep.

The next thing he noticed was a scent which quickly pulled him downstairs. Examining his surroundings, he soon realized his error. “To sleep…. perchance to dream,” he murmured to no one in particular.

Walking over to the desk, Crowley sat down and gazed at the shelves to his right. He reached out a hand and let it move over various books, journals, and an assortment of other purely Aziraphale things. His hand paused on one in particular. Without thinking, he took the small, bound book from the shelf and just held it. This is the scent that drove him downstairs so quickly. It was everywhere.

He would need to get used to that. Crowley had taken his plants from the Bentley and set them up in the guest room of the bookshop before closing his eyes to sleep, and for the first time had woken up to the lingering presence of Aziraphale. Crowley missed his best friend.

Muriel was still new to Earth and didn’t find a need to sleep. Or eat. Crowley did convince her that she needed an outfit more appropriate for one who sells books.

The new clothes made the angel less obvious, yet she was still not quite blending in. She hadn’t been on Earth long enough to see what is current for the times, so she dressed as one would in a book, and in that book was from the 1930s. Muriel chose a blue dress with evenly distributed white spots, which was worn underneath a white jacket, and accessorized with a thin white belt and white shoes with what Muriel determined were practical heels. It made her seem either very much from a different time or on the cutting edge of fashion. Crowley had been around long enough to see certain styles fall in and out of favor.

At some point before his nap, Crowley seemed to have agreed to run the bookshop, with Muriel acting as his assistant. He recalled a conversation that was something about blending in and something else about not knowing how humans ran bookshops.

“Demons don’t know how to run bookshops either. Do I look like I’d run a bookshop?”

The thought of actual customers coming into the shop intimidated Muriel. “I don’t know how to handle the people. What if they ask me something a human should know? What if they insist on buying a book? If they find out I’m an angel, I can get in a lot of trouble.”

Crowley grudgingly agreed to take over the management of the bookshop. Aziraphale had entrusted him with it once, not that long ago. How hard could it be, only being open one or two hours on various days, not selling anything and scaring away customers?

Today marked the not-so-grand reopening that was both not advertised nor really wanted. Still holding the book, Crowley turned the sign on the door to indicate that the bookshop was open, then returned to the desk. Muriel was nervously pacing and rehearsing some of the pleasantries that Crowley had taught her. “How can I assist you?” “We’re closing soon.” “We don’t have that book in stock.” “They probably have that book at the shop a few blocks away.” “Have a pleasant day.”

Crowley glanced down at the book in his hand and opened it. He turned to a random page, and for quite awhile forgot to breathe. He recognized Aziraphale’s script and realized he was looking at a journal or diary and what was written wasn’t meant for him. He gently closed the book and just held it, seemingly deep in thought.

The chime of the bell on the door didn’t register at first, but then he heard Muriel asking the customer how she could be of assistance. Shifting his gaze to Muriel, it struck Crowley as odd when he noticed a small, neatly wrapped package in the customer’s hand. The customer was trying to give it to Muriel, who had not rehearsed what to do when a customer tried to bring you things and was beginning to panic. As he put that piece of Aziraphale back on the shelf, something fell from the book. He glanced down and stopped breathing for the second time. He’d have to deal with that later.

Seconds passed, and Crowley appeared beside the customer, announced that he was the shopkeeper and could he be of service. Muriel, with a look of relief. stood and observed.

“I was told to bring this here, but this is the first time I’ve seen your shop open.” The customer handed him the package, which was addressed to the bookshop in care of AJC. That was odd.

The customer left as quickly as they’d arrived.

“What is that?” Muriel was beside him, looking at the package with a mix of curiosity, distrust and confusion.

“I’m not quite sure, but let’s find out.” Crowley went back to the desk and sat down. He opened the package, which contained a book that had Aziraphale’s name written on the first page in his neat handwriting. There was nothing else written in the book, but there was a small note, decidedly not in Aziraphale’s handwriting, that said:

3rd Alt Rendezvous

Crowley looked through the packaging to be sure something wasn’t missed, but found nothing.

“That was a fabulous first day. I need to go. Don’t let anyone in.” Turning the sign on the door back to closed as he left, he was quickly in his Bentley heading towards the bandstand. He glanced at the book, now sitting on the seat beside him, frustrated and unsure how long the delivery had been delayed. The shop, while never keeping regular hours, had been open for less than fifteen minutes since the morning after the ball. The method of delivery didn’t indicate when they were assigned this task.

At least the Bentley was allowing him to drive at his normal speed.

On arrival, Crowley parked the car and rushed to the bandstand. It was empty, so he surveyed his surroundings and found nothing out of place. Alone, he opened the book and stared at Aziraphale’s name. “What is this? Who sent it? Am I too late?” Closing the book, Crowley anxiously paced and began talking to no one rather loudly. “Do you need me Aziraphale? Did you send me this bloody book? Why here?”

No answer came, so Crowley waited.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens fanfiction #are you a bookseller too #not even at gunpoint #the bookshop #ineffable spouses

[toecrust69]

I love the Batsis that’s obsessed with cat woman, can we see how she Interacts with Selina in person?

A/N: OMG IM LITERALLY SO GLAD U ASKED. Also, sorry if this took a long time to answer!!

Oh and ur like 13 or 12 in this and Bruce and Selina are in a relationship (sorry if this was a stupid thing to metion)

I feel like it definitely depends on the situation, yk?

By that I mean whether or not batsis knows about Selina being Catwoman

If she doesn't know about it, she'll definitely fangirl about it to her

Since nobody else in the manor wants to talk about it, she's your last resort

It doesn't make her uncomfortable tho, she actually finds it kinda amusing

Like

Can you imagine your boyfriends daughter fangiling about how hot, badass, cool, and iconic you are without even knowing they're fangirling over you?

She'd listen closely to every word you say, pride swelling up in her chest

"She's so cool! I'm honestly kinda jealous of Batman." She smirked and looked over her shoulder at you before responding.

"Really? How so?" She asked curiously.

"I dunno man, I think it's the fact that he gets to hang out with her everyday. If I ever see batman I'm gonna ask him for her number."

"Hang on, how old are you? And how do you know Bruce won't blow up?" You stopped chewing on your cereal for a second, thinking about what you'd say next

"First of all, Bruce should be proud of me! I just got the phone number of one of the hottest and most iconic people to ever live. If he doesn't feel proud or at the very least jealous, I don't know how he'd feel" you shrugged mindlessly

"Ok, but how old are you?"

"... old enough"

Your definitely her favorite, but she'll never admit it

About the body pillow...

She'd probably buy you more just to piss off Bruce (he had no idea you bought it)

She'd also buy you a bunch of merchandise of her

This includes shirts, shoes, pants, hats, pillows, underwear, glasses, posters, socks, etc.

Are you sad?? Don't worry, she has a catwoman mug in her purse custom made just for you :))

On the other hand, if you already know who she is, it's gonna be a bit of a mess

You'd definitely figure it out after fangirling about her for almost 6 months

You'd feel a bit embarrassed for a second before quickly recovering and going back to normal (for the most part)

To say the least, you'd constantly try to get her number or at the very least flirt with her

You know those tiktoks talking abt poetic rizz? Just imagine that if they were brought to life and now it's you

You'd follow her around the halls of the manor and batcave while reading out one of the latest poems you either read or made just for her

She ends up having to stiffle a laughe whenever your reading it to her and Bruce comes in with a huge frown on his face

He'd tell you to stop only for you to continue shortly after he leaves the room

" I would rather swim in a stormy sea than sail calm waters without yo-" you were quickly interrupted when Bruce came busting through the door with a huge frown on his face

"Stop it! She's almost 20 years older than you, leave her alone"

"Oh my bad, I'll stop" you answered dryly

"Good" He said sternly before walking out the room, leaving you and Selina alone. You turned around to look at her with a cocktail smirk, "I think he's jealous I'm trying to steal his girl and it's actually working ;)"

Yea no Bruce absolutely hates it

He doesn't like the fact that her daughter is getting more attention from his gf than him😭😭

But he knows that she'd never leave him for a 13 year old girl with amazing rizz like you, right?

... right?

Every time she comes back from a mission without you, you'd ask he about it

You'll listen intently to every word she says, making tiny comments every now and then

Once you turn 18, you'd rent an apartment and let her know so she can visit whenever she wants (yea ur still obsessed with her)

One time, you ended up not going on patrol for a whole week because you were sickand she came to visit you with chicken soup in her hands

You thanked her profusely and kept on offering her some stuff like water or food but she always declined

She was your guest after all

Am iconic one at that

She'd watch movies with you for a while before eventually forcing you to sleep

Then next day she'd invite you to go rob some jewelry stores with her, ivy, and harley

Speaking of ivy and harley

they absolutely adore you!!

Ivy never fails to notice how all the plants around you seem to lean into you when you walk past them

Your like a magnet and she seems to have gotten stuck onto you as well

I REALLY HOPE THAT MADE SENSE😭😭

Harley also can't help but notice the way her hyenas cuddle up to your legs whenever you come over to her apartment

She'd smile softly from the kitchen as she watched you play around with Bud and Lou

Oh and Selinas cats also like u

You're actually kinda fond of cats but you've never met any until one day when you can over to Selinas appartment

You'd only ever seen cats on TV or on the internet but never in real life

You were having fun playing around with her 10 cats until you began aggressively sneezing lmao

You ended up spread out on the floor, arms outstretched as the cats began surrounding you

You were still sneezing, just not as bad anymore

That was until one of the cats walked up to your face and began licking your face

You could feel a strong sneeze coming up but you didn't want to scare him away so you ended up having to hold your breath so you wouldnt sneeze

You held it in for such a long time that even Selina wondered how you were still alive

But you couldn't hold it in for too long so you ended up sneezing anyways lmao

Sorry if this was kinda short, should I make a pt.2??

Oh and credits to @thesharktanksdriver , she inspired me to make this and u can tell bc I used the same layout as her. Her writing is amazing and I highly recommend you read it!!

#fake scenarios #fanfiction #batfam x reader #batfam x batsis #selina x bruce #selina x reader #cat woman x reader #headcannons #lovely anon #answered #catwoman #selina wayne #pt2??? #im definitely better at headcannons than actuall stories lmao

[hizzygizzy]

Unrequited Love?

Part 2(DISCONTINUED) lol

Part 1

Note: idk why this took hours, not proofread I'm so sorry in advance. Also bad writing

It's been three days since I last spoke to Wanda, and in the time since, I've tried to strike up a conversation with her whenever I see her. I searched for her in the cafeteria, the hallways, and wherever else, but time and time again I would find myself disappointed when I was met with her cold indifference.

She was avoiding me.

But why?

I sigh, continuing to unpack boxes of food supplies in the backroom of 7-Eleven. To free my mind from Wanda, I decide to help my uncle instead.

Just then, my uncle calls out for me.

"Y/N!" he requests. "can you watch the store for a bit? I gotta run to Ikea to get new seal rings and parts." He sighs, smacking the slush machine in an attempt to make it work, frustration evident on his face. "The damn thing is leaking again."

"Sure, yeah" I reply to him smiling before he left.

Time passes, and I continue serving customers who walked in.

---

"Is that all?" I ask the customer as I pack the items she purchased into a paper bag.

"Yeah, thank y-" she replies, but she's quickly cut off by a loud sound, shattering glass. I turn my head to find a boy next to a broken wine bottle.

"Peter!" the woman yells, running to the boy's side. She checks him over to see if he's okay, before turning to me.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" she apologizes, and I swiftly reply, "No, it's okay!"

"Peter, what did I tell you about running around?" the lady scolds. With a sigh, she places her palm to her face in disappointment.

"It's alright," I assure them. "I can clean these up." I look at the boy, who stands awkwardly, too ashamed and embarrassed to raise his head. He merely looks down at his shoes.

---

After returning to the counter and being tipped $60 for the wasted wine and trouble, I sighed in frustration and went to the backroom to get a mop.

Cleaning the mess quickly, I returned to the backroom to return the mop before promptly bumping into the shelf at the back of the counter. "shit!" I curse my clumsiness

I then had to pick up the products that fell to the ground.

As I did so, the bell at the door rang, signalling another customer had entered the store.

I ignored the bell and resumed gathering up the fallen products.

"Hey, how much are these?" I heard a familiar voice speak up.

I turned around to see who it is and was met with beautiful emerald-green eyes her emerald-green eyes

"Wanda...?" I stumbled over my words, my voice caught in my throat at the sight of Wanda standing before me, wearing an oversized black sweater that hugged her curves without it being too big and faded blue jeans that fit snuggly on her hips.

"Great..." she says, annoyed, rolling her eyes as she looks over to see me.

"What are you doing here?" I ask her, surprised. She holds up the pack of beef jerky in front of me.

Oh, right. It's a store. I facepalm myself mentally

After apologizing, I started to check the prices of the items Wanda had selected, my embarrassment growing as a tense silence settled over us.

Trying to break the awkward atmosphere, I couldn't help but smile thoughtfully as I asked her, "You like beef jerky?" hoping that would prompt a response.

Silence.

Trying to reassure her, I blurted out, "Don't worry, I like these t-"

"Can you hurry up?" Wanda demanded cutting me off, her tone cold and dismissive.

the weight of her words making me shrink back in the face of her aggression.

I quickly gathered the items she'd selected.

---

After silently bagging the items, I reluctantly handed them to Wanda. She took out her wallet, paying me without another word before walking off.

Gazing after her retreating figure, I felt my heart twisting with longing, despite the cold treatment she'd given me.

Why was I so drawn to her?

What was it about Wanda that had me yearning for more?

Was it her captivating green eyes, their depth stirring my imagination? Or perhaps it was her long red hair, each strand shining with its own individual brightness, as it flowed gently down her bac- What the fuck?!

Wait...Am I falling for the woman?!

My uncle's voice broke my gaze, drawing me from my thoughts.

"I'm back," he said, surprising me as he entered with a box and a bag in his arms.

Pushing away all other thoughts, I decided to put my feelings to the side and help my uncle.

Am I forgetting something?

"Shit!" I completely forgot to ask Wanda why she had helped me the other day.

"Language!" my uncle yelled from the back room as a reminder, but with a hint of humor in his voice.

I cursed to myself again after remembering that I wasn't alone in the room and that my uncle had a low tolerance for expletives.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda fanfic #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda x fem!reader #wanda x y/n #pussy eater #fuck overcooked chickens

[ambiguouspuzuma]

The Cobbler

Cordelia wasn't supposed to be a pirate. Most pirates weren't, of course, but she imagined that they'd started out as sailors or thieves and transitioned in one direction or the other. For her part, she'd only been a cobbler, a mender of old boots: she'd never stolen nor sailed at all, let alone served as a buccaneering captain. But this ship had needed a crew, and so she'd cobbled one together. 

It was all in aid of the mission, or so the prophets had explained. The Caterian Empire had hung for too long like a shadow across their coastline, lurking just across the water from the town where Cordelia had been born, raised, and hoped to one day retire, if they survived this voyage of the damned. Their island was small, and couldn't muster much of an army to slow the Empire's ravenous advance, which had already consumed so many of their peers.

But it could muster her - and she'd pulled together the rest.

"Why have you come to me?" she'd protested at the time, when the prophets appeared at her door. Cordelia had understood their warnings of imminent doom, the threat of conquest, the need for a chosen one to defeat the evil once and for all - she just hadn't understood why that meant her. "I'm not a soldier. I'm a shoemaker, for crying out loud. I'm not the sort of person who wins battles."

"Well, that's sort of the point," one of the prophets had replied, knocking one of a pair of boots off the shelf behind him. "Are you familiar with the concept of langrage?"

"Not unless that's you struggling to speak ours."

"It's a nautical term," he continued, ignoring her. "When a ship runs out of conventional shot, it loads its guns with whatever lies handy: nuts and bolts, cutlery and clockwork, anything that might tear an opposing sail to shreds. Even shoes, in a pinch. Sometimes they even do it by choice, a cannonade of loose ephemera over your traditional balls of steel."

"That still doesn't answer my question," Cordelia stood firm, demonstrating some of the latter. "Why are you in my home? What do you want from me?"

"We've studied the histories," another said, and from the lines around his eyes she believed him. "Any sufficiently potent evil, your archetypical dark lord or dragon, is always defeated by a motley band of unlikely heroes. Always and only. The soldiers on their own can't make it all the way. We don't know why, but something about having a mixture of backgrounds and skillsets works out better."

"Many organisations have found they benefit from diverse hiring practices," the first prophet said. "Why not an army?"

The other shoe dropped, and Cordelia leant against a wall, momentarily deflated. "You want to build an army... of people like me?"

"Well, sort of."

"A load of old cobblers?"

"We thought so too, but it checks out." The prophet paused to stack the boots back up. "But the point is to find people who aren't like you. A real assortment of profiles, you know? Think about all the tools you use in your craft, the rasp and last and awl and all of that. Each serves a different function. That's the sort of effect we're going for."

"But who, specifically?" she asked, still wondering why they'd chosen her. Perhaps they hadn't, and just knocked on a random door. "How will you decide upon this perfect, random mix?"

"Well," they said. "We were rather hoping that you would."

Cordelia tried her best to follow their approach. If she was planning this endeavour of her own accord - perhaps after some trauma to the head - she knew that there were certain people she'd look to recruit for her crew, and others who she wouldn't trust to scrub the decks. But if the prophets had chosen her house at random, she would have to do the same.

Her list of customers was a solidly mixed assortment of potential allies, and she thought about drawing names from a hat, before realising that she already had them in order: she had a schedule of commissions, and figured she'd just press-gang those who'd come to her. It would mean acting out a reverse Cinderella: choosing anyone who had a shoe that didn't fit.

She had to start somewhere, so she started with those who already owed her for repairs, including Aldous, the actor whose boots had been shelved by the door. A career of treading the boards had worn them down. She wondered how he'd feel about walking the plank.

"I've got your boots," she said, once he opened the door. There was no time for pleasantries. They'd have plenty of chance to catch up on the open seas.

"Ah, wonderful." He beamed for his audience of one. "You know, costumes come and go, but you absolutely cannot beat a comfy pair of shoes. One does so much of one's work on one's feet, and people really do underestimate-"

"Speaking of which," she interrupted, wishing to be spared the soliloquy. "Are you in the market for a new role?"

"Well, one would never rule oneself out at first blush, so to say, at least without-"

"Excellent. It's yours."

"Mine? I mean, one's? But what is it?"

"First mate."

"A nautical tale?"

"A pirate adventure."

"Oh, how marvellous! Yes, one always fancied oneself as a swashbuckler, but of course such roles are rare nowadays. When do we start rehearsals?"

"The ship is being readied as we speak. We leave at dawn, two days for now." Then, because it was important to maintain a sense of fun. "Please bring your own costume."

It hadn't been how she'd pictured it, until the prophets had explained. The Caterian Empire was a fortress, their borders well-defended, and even a small band of adventurers would struggle to sneak all the way into the palace at its heart. But sea was a different matter, and every now and again the Emperor found the need to travel to one vassal isle or the next, placing himself uniquely vulnerable to attack.

"If you challenge them under the flags of this island, there will be reprisals here first," they'd said. "But under a black flag, you can operate in the shadows. Befriend the others who live there, if you can. Form a pirate fleet, guerrillas of the sea, chipping away at the Empire's naval strength. If they can't leave the mainland, their armies are irrelevant. That is how you'll win."

"By starting at a disadvantage."

"The heroes always do. They're never under an official flag, the admiral of their own armada. They're rogues, rascals, underdogs against overwhelming odds. The less likely your victory, the more inevitable it will be."

Cordelia's next recruit came to her, which was convenient, although she wouldn't have chosen her in a million years. Janina worked in the citrus orchards, and was famously all fingers and thumbs with anything smaller than a clementine, but she just about managed to knock on the door with a pair of shoes in her other hand.

"I'm sorry to bother you with this," he said, handing one over with some gratitude. "But I'm afraid I've done something awful to the laces. They'd unravelled when I came to put them on this morning, and I seem to have made more of a mess trying to rethread them. Sorry, I know it's a difficult one."

"Mhm." Cordelia held her tongue, and inspected the eyelets around it. She didn't know much about sailing, but she suspected a pirate's life involved some quantity of ropes and knots. If she was choosing a crew from her customers, she might choose those who tied the neatest bows. But the prophets had stressed the hodgepodge nature of successful groups, thrown together by fate. She would have to trust in the randomness of shoe entropy.

"Oh, thank you so much," Janina said, once the first aglet was successfully laced back through. "I don't know what I'd do without your help. Is there anything I can do to make it worth your while?"

"Funny you should say that," Cordelia said. "I'm looking for a quartermaster, and a bulk order of oranges. have some concerns about scurvy."

So it was that she formed her makeshift crew. Aldous and Janina were followed by Leonore, a smith whose steel toecaps had come loose, and Florian, a draper who had simply lost his sole. As the prophets had insisted, they were a diverse mix of characters as well as trades. Leonore was a pillar of the community, as straight-laced as they came, whereas Florian had been a misfit his whole life - although Cordelia had given him some insoles to help with that.

"Have you ever made a sail before?" she asked, making her own stitches where the rubber had come away.

"I have many customers," he said, taken aback.

"No - I mean for a ship. I'm looking to commission one. I'll need help with the installation, too."

"Oh, well. Yes, I could certainly help with that."

She felt a bit of a heel, fixing his shoe for so great a cost, weaving him into her multicoloured tapestry. None of these people knew how to fight, or sail; life at sea would be hard for them, even without the dangers of rebellion . But she was in the same boat, and supposedly that was the point. They were bystanders turned to weapons: collateral damage that went the other way, a human sword instead of a shield. That was what the prophets said would work.

So it was they assembled two days later, arrayed across the deck like cards of different suits. The prophets had arranged the ship, and dubbed it in her honour: the Shoemaker’s Levy, for the rabble she'd been able to rouse. Not the island's most seaworthy individuals, nor the most skilled, but those who'd had the most trouble walking on land.

Those who hadn't already been assigned were quickly shoehorned into roles, but it would take a while before they could be called a crew. Even Cordelia would struggle to adjust to life as their captain: she'd always been a sole practitioner, only used to working with winklepickers and brothelcreepers, not actors and blacksmiths and the rest. She wasn't supposed to be a pirate, let alone their leader. But they would have to learn the ropes together, just as she'd once learnt about shoes. One foot after the other. One step at a time.

#writing #short story #writeblr #creative writing #original writing

[soobjvn]

TULIPS 🌷⁎︎° ✳︎ CHAPTER 9 : “ deja vu ,,

↳︎ cw: written ch! kinda long… sry, i got carried away ngl </3

[ prev. ✧︎ toc. ✧︎ next. ]

“YOU STILL HAVEN’T told me where we’re going, yeonjun.” y/n looked at him, her arm resting on the open window.

“we’re almost there.” he laughed at how her face contorted with the dodging of her request. “are you hungry?”

“hungry for KNOWLEDGE. choi yeonjun where are you taking me?!”’

“patience, y/n, patience.” she sighed over-dramatically, turning to the open window, stray strands of her hair following the wind’s path. they drove in verbal silence, the only ambience being the road noise and the low hum of the radio. though they didn’t speak, it wasn’t uncomfortable; both of them felt oddly at ease in the quietness of the car ride, them having expected to feel rather awkward. nonetheless, they were grateful for such a feeling. however it didn’t last too long.

“ok, can i just have a hint?”

“no.”

“UGH.”

WHEN THEY’D PARKED by a curb in a fairly busy part of downtown seoul, y/n turned to grab her things, nearly jumping when she looked back to see yeonjun standing politely with her car door open for her. her cheeks heated. but just ever so slightly, she’d tell herself when recalling the event later that night. plus, it was warm out.

yeonjun shut the door behind her, and they began walking—yeonjun, of course, being the guide, seeing as he wouldn’t tell her where they were going. but the area was one she recognized, one she’d grown up near. this was where their old high school is.

she’d begun reminiscing of memories with her high school friends (including taehyun) that had taken place here after school. one stuck out greatly, though, once she and yeonjun were now stood outside of one of the cafes, and his eyes turned to her face with a knowing grin.

“well?”

“no way,” she looked up, meeting his gaze. “i haven’t been here since-”

“since freshman year.” he finished for her, his smile never faltering.

“yeah,” y/n said softly, looking from yeonjun to the entrance of the family-owned american diner which had been operating since her parents attended high school in the area. she frowned slightly seeing the “closing soon” sign plastered on one of the windows. “well, i’m starving. let’s go!” she skipped to the door happily.

yeonjun found his ears heating as he gushed at her lively personality, wondering how he managed to go so long without talking to her.

he held the door open for her, to which he received a “thanks!” for, and asked for a table for two. being back inside sent an immediate wave of deja vu through the pair, recalling their post-school study session here with taehyun. he remembered how y/n had introduced him to the (at the time) foreign idea of dipping fries in milkshakes. he’d done it ever since.

yeonjun and y/n sat down across from one another at the nearest booth, as instructed by the hostess. they ordered the meals they had years ago—after a hearty debate about whether taehyun would order the burger or chicken salad—but half of it had gone cold. their focus was on one another.

“so, when did you develop a thing for dancers?” he asked, reaching over to dip his fry in y/n’s honey mustard.

“oh my god, yeonjun.” she covered her face with one of her hands.

“what? you said dancers were hot.”

“that is NOT what i said.”

“i’m the only dancer you find hot then?”

“i’ll literally leave.”

“nooo, not again, y/n,” yeonjun ate another fry, looking up to see y/n’s face had turned somber with guilt. he nearly choked on the fry. “oh- god, y/n i meant in our messages.”

“oh! oh.” her face softened, and her cheeks bloomed a bright red. “duh.” tension lingered in the air for a moment, leaving yeonjun with the guilty feeling. he looked down at his shoes beneath the table.

“you know, y/n,” he grinned, looking back up at her. “my shoes are pretty dirty. i may take you up on that shoe shining offer.”

“YEONJUN.”

BY THE TIME they’d left the diner, the customer dynamic had shifted from young couples and friend groups to workers getting off of their late shifts. y/n made sure to tip extra for their extended stay. it was the least she could do, seeing as yeonjun refused to let her pay a cent of the bill.

y/n slightly sulked walking into the less-humid-than-during-daylight night air, realizing her time with yeonjun was coming to an end. yeonjun had thought the same, but quickly came up with a solution to score more time.

“how about ice cream?”

“is that even a question?” she responded, skipping to the end of the sidewalk where an ice cream stand was. she asked the vendor for cookie dough (which yeonjun, obviously, made a mental note of for later), and yeonjun ordered mint chocolate. she managed to slip her card to the vendor before yeonjun noticed, earning an annoyed smile from him when he’d realized. they walked to yeonjun’s car, eating their ice cream and retelling old memories.

y/n realized yeonjun was still the sweet classmate he was years ago.

yeonjun realized his feelings for y/n were worse than he’d imagined.

———

#my txt #txt soobin #txt texts #txt post #txt huening kai #txt taehyun #txt yeonjun #txt #txt beomgyu #txt smau #tomorrow x together #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun #yeonjun smau #soobin #beomgyu #huening txt #hueningkai #kang taehyun

[for-parker]

Familiar feelings and faces

summary Peter attempts to really talk to you many times after the spell wiped your memory of him. He didn't think he was being suspicious, until Ned went up to him and told him to just ask you out instead of staring all the time.

word count 2047 or so

tags MJ!reader, Peter being cute and shy, f!reader, kinda open/happy ending

a/n since @idrinkteedarling said MJ instead of x reader, I clarified and: we're doing x reader! Since it wasn't the original request though, I wanna write 2 versions! I haven't done it yet but I hope I will soon. Thanks for the request 💓

original request:

Smiling at the familiar sight of you talking to Ned while still manning the register, Peter shook the snow off his shoes and managed a decent but shy smile in your direction.

It's been nearly two months and he's been coming here everyday for a coffee and one of the stale donuts, just to see his two ex best friends.

"Good afternoon, Peter Parker," you greeted with a grin. After the first time he came here and embarrassed himself by saying his full name to order a coffee, it became some kind of a joke between you (and Ned, but he usually just watched Peter being a nervous wreck in front of you).

"Hi," he smiled back. "The usual?" He nodded and put a five dollar bill down (he made sure to tip you whenever he was here, he knew what a measly pay you received) before moving to sit two seats away from Ned, who was leaning over some math assignment.

Peter looked it over - it was one of the only subjects Ned struggled with - always has. "Uh, you need help with that?" Peter asked timidly, scared of stepping over the line. Ned looked up in surprise but also relief, "Gosh, yes, dude. You're a lifesaver!" He thanked and moved to sit next to Peter.

While he looked over it once, you leaned on the counter as well, setting the steaming cup and donut down. "Thanks," Peter mumbles with red cheeks. You nod and wink, walking back to the cash register when a new customer comes inside.

Peter starts explaining the subject to Ned in the way he knew the boy would understand. Fifteen minutes later and Ned is happily finishing the task, slapping the folder closed with a huff.

"You gotta be, like, a genius to understand this, I swear."

You watch their interaction and can't help but feel as if it was something familiar - they seemed like they'd known each other their whole lives. Peter blushes at the praise and shakes his head with a nervous chuckle, denying it.

Your best friend turns around at your staring and smirks before turning back to Peter. Oh, well. He knew all about your not so tiny crush on the brown haired regular - you just hoped he wasn't going to do anything stupid like tell him before you got to do it yourself.

"When are you asking her out? I know you're not coming for this," with a disgusted look on his face Ned slightly touches the donut which basically crumbles fully, "because that'd be gross." He makes sure to speak at a volume you can't hear, which Peter is glad for.

Peter stumbles over his words - was he that obvious? What if you had moved on? You had promised to find him again but it seemed without knowing you'd ever planned on doing that, you weren't going to.

"I just- she reminds me of someone," he settles on saying. Ned nods, "Alright. Don't see her as a replacement, though. That would be so not cool, dude," Peter quickly assures him that's not what he meant, being glad that you had someone that looked out for you like Ned seemingly did.

"Ask her out now. No one's here and she's been looking at you for ages. It's getting almost as annoying as her crush on Spider-Man," Ned rolls his eyes and takes the donut still on Peter's plate, eating it with furrowed brows. Peter couldn't grasp why someone would do that to themselves - even with his neverending hunger he never dared eating this donut expect once (you had watched him after serving him the order for the first time and he felt like he'd disappoint you if he didn't eat it. After almost throwing back up and turning embarrassingly greenish you made him some kind of calming tea free of charge).

But Peter's world stops spinning for a second - you had a crush on his alter ego? If you ever got to that point, it'd make it so much easier to reveal his secret to you! And it meant you hadn't changed when it came to your taste in partners. He had to admit it was a relief you were attracted to him even if you didn't know it was him under the mask.

"She has a crush on Spider-Man?"

"She has a name that both of you know and she has crushes on people that do the right thing without wanting something in return. Ned, put that donut down. I have no idea how long that's been laying out here."

With a gulp Ned puts it down and you throw it away, while Peter gulps for a different reason. He could smell your perfume - it was the one he'd gotten you for your birthday a few months ago. "Uh, you smell nice."

Smiling, you thank him, "I got it from someone, I don't remember who, but he must've known me well to get me this. It's the perfect smell, really." Peter smiles and looks down at his hands. Before being able to answer something else, Ned gasps.

"Wait, you were gonna let me eat a stale donut! I could've literally died!"

-

After that, conversation flowed easier. Him and Ned became closer again and you started giving him fresh pastries you had baked yourself, just for him (he'd almost cried in happiness when you gave him the first one with the Spider-Man emblem on it, saying Peter reminded you of him - always happy to help without wanting anything in return).

It has now been close to six months, when Peter gets over himself and asks you out.

He had waited for your shift to end, pushing a cup of Starbucks coffee to you with a small smile. "You're a lifesaver. The coffee here is horrible, I don't know why people come back here." He laughs and shrugs - he certainly knew why he kept coming back.

"So? You waited all this time, there's gotta be something you wanna tell me?" Your eyes are locked on his, your head cocked to the side. His cheeks redden and he fidgets with his hands. "You see, uh…"

How did he do this the first time?? Just get over with it? But he should explain a little and ask you out on a date after. What if he messed this up and lost both of his new (old?) friends?

"I like you." He blurted out and paled when you chuckle. "I know, you're not very good at keeping secrets."

His heart halts - that's exactly what you had said after finding out about his secret identity a year ago.

"Oh," he laughs sheepishly, "Would you… want to go on a date with me?" He makes eye contact and this time it's your heart stuttering. "I'd love to. Don't make it boring," he grins widely as you take out paper to write your address and phone number down. He takes it with a smile, as if he didn't know these things by heart.

"I don't know what it is with you, but you feel so familiar. Like I've known you my whole life." You look at him earnestly, something raw in your expression that you usually hide behind sarcasm and dry jokes.

He doesn't really know what to answer but he was just incredibly happy that you felt the same way and didn't feel like he was a total stranger that had a huge crush on you.

"Thank you, you too."

You smile at him and roll your eyes when your boss calls for you to clean. "We'll see each other," he smiles and nods before getting up as well, watching you walk to the kitchen again - the cup of your favorite drink clutched in your hand.

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