#snowflakes & cashmere

[pinkxokissesxo]

[allthingsscented]

it got so cold at night a while ago that i had to grab a winter scent early! i paired it with salted caramel apricot to bring the fall vibe back in though 🧡

[sapphire-imeo]

My Fav Bath and Body Works ❄️💗

[babycactus]

got a handcream from bbw and it smells soo good

[twinklesparklelights]

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 | angus tully x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | visiting home for the holidays, Angus runs into his old babysitter... or perhaps more importantly, his first real crush. the older, unattainable girl next door; the one that made him realize maybe cooties aren't all that bad. now he's older, too, and maybe you aren't quite as unattainable-- so long as he can play it cool and not make a complete idiot out of himself...

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.6k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ only!!), age gap (not huge but angus is 18 and the reader is just out of college), semi-public/car sex, drug use (watch out for the devil's lettuce y'all!!) as well as brief cigarette use, inexperienced/virgin angus, no spoilers for the holdovers (2023) nor any significant relationship to the plot of it lol

technically this is a christmas fic so if you noticed that I'm posting it in january, no you didn't and mind your business <3

The sky was pitch black, and the world was dark— even with all those Christmas lights, their colorful glow seemed to be absorbed so quickly in the gloom of the evening. 

The white snow served as a nice contrast, but it did look sort of grey in all the shadows, even as it was freshly falling to cover the ground.  The snowflakes fell fast, they looked almost heavy: not that cute, fluffy snow that looks all whimsical and floats on the wind.  

It was the sort of weather that should’ve made him appreciate being safe and warm inside, but as he pressed his nose to the cold glass, he wished rather ungratefully for escape.

The doorbell stirred him out of the moment, and Angus looked back over his shoulder towards the foyer.  “Honey!  Can you get that?” his mother called out to him from the kitchen.  She made herself seem so busy when he knew she hadn’t really cooked at all— she was just arranging everything she’d bought on fancy plates to look homemade.  The crinkle of tinfoil gave away that she was too busy disposing of the evidence to greet her guests herself.  She was lucky all the ones who had already arrived were too busy drinking in the living room to notice.

Rolling his eyes a bit, he propelled himself off of his lean on the wall, stuffing one hand in his khaki pocket and the other opening the front door.

Your parents were always really… energetic.  They greeted Angus with massive smiles and ecstatic faces, as if they could hardly believe he was letting them in to his own house.  To be fair, he wasn’t here most of the year, but it wasn’t like he was a celebrity or anything…

“Angus!” your mom squealed joyfully.

“Hey, buddy!” your dad greeted, forcing Angus to fight back a cringe.  

“Nice to see you,” he offered them, “come on in, the food’s almost ready.”

Your mom was preoccupied with the casserole dish she was holding, but your dad’s hands were free so he of course had to give Angus a playful punch to the shoulder as he stepped inside.  “Wo-hoah!  You been workin’ out?” your dad joked— as if Angus’ noodly arm in a red cashmere sweater was ever going to fool anyone into thinking he lifted weights…

As he turned to shut the door, he realized you were standing there, taking one last puff of a cigarette before dropping it on the ground and snuffing it out with your shoe.

He hadn’t known you were coming over— if he had, he would’ve… done something.  Fixed his hair or not worn something so dorky, maybe?  

“H-hey,” he greeted you, feeling pierced by even just your passing glance up at him.

“Hey, kid,” you nodded, making him frown as you walked in past him.

Your parents and his mom were already chatting up a storm, that sort of high-pitched suburban babble he’d learned to tune out easily.  In fact, it really just muffled into a distant whirr as he watched you slip off your coat, revealing your outfit beneath.  He always remembered you wearing jeans when you came over to babysit— and dresses at church.  So the skirt and blazer sort of caught him off-guard.  It made you seem even older— in a good way, like you were a businesswoman or something— and the seam of your stockings running down the back of your legs… his head tilted as his eyes followed it 

“Well shut the door, Angus, you’re letting the cold air in!” his mother scolded gently, knocking him out of the thought.

“O-oh, sorry,” he mumbled, shutting it as you looked back at him over your shoulder and smiled a bit.  He felt like such a loser when you looked at him like that…

“Let me make you two some drinks!  What are you having?”

He wasn’t listening again, of course; he was staring at you again, wondering if you hadn’t changed at all— you were exactly how he remembered you, even though it was probably impossible that you looked the same as his 17-year-old babysitter as you did now.  He hoped that he looked totally different to you, that you were thinking to yourself right now how much more mature he looked.  He hoped that you could barely believe he was the same boy you watched when he was younger— or, better yet, that you’d just totally forgotten about all that.

“Would you help set the table, please, honey?” his mother requested as she zipped back into the kitchen.  He nodded and hesitated before quickly brushing past you to get the silverware out of the cabinet by the table, placing a setting in front of each chair.  She reappeared behind him, but he didn’t look up— not at her or you, even though you were the one she was talking to.  “I’m sorry, sweetie, I forgot to ask— did you want a glass of wine or something?”

“No, I’m alright— thanks, ma’am,” you replied.  “I’ll help with the silverware.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet,” she cooed at you before departing again, and Angus felt his hands get a little clammier around the handful of utensils as you reached out for them. 

“Give me some,” you instructed him, and he only briefly glanced at your face; he tried to hand you the forks without touching your fingers, but all that accomplished was dropping some of them loudly onto the table while still brushing up against your soft hand.  You snorted, picking them up and starting to set them around the placemats as well.

He tried to ignore you, both of you working around the table, but he sighed as he took a closer look at your work.  “No the— that’s a salad fork,” he corrected, “that should go inside.”

“What?” 

“The smaller fork goes on the other side, closest to the plate,” he explained, switching the utensils you’d just placed.  “Dessert spoon goes at the top, butter knife on the left—”

You scoffed a bit.  “And where should I put the opium spoon?”

“Listen, I know it’s stupid,” he assured as he looked at your face again— you were so close, standing right beside him, and his heart was racing.  “But my stepdad will blow a gasket if it’s wrong,” he added in a lower voice.

“He sounds like a tool,” you mumbled back, and the two of you smiled a bit, in that way people smile when they share a secret.  Not that his stepdad being a tool was all that exclusive of a secret…

“Alright!” his mom emerged again, carrying some ceramic dish with oven mitts, and you both straightened up.  “Food’s coming out!  Oh, are the Shaws not here yet?”

Your dad was carrying the platter of ham, and your mom behind him with another side.  “I, uh, guess not,” Angus answered her question.

“Well, we’ll have to start eating without them,” she sighed, wiping her forehead with the back of her head as the dishes were set down— like she was so exhausted.  She probably was, but not from cooking or physical labor: just from the constant anxiety she’d been exuding for the last three days because of this stupid dinner party.  She acted like the President or the Pope were coming, and not just a bunch of boring old people.

And you.  She’d never mentioned you.

As she gathered the guests for dinner, Angus looked at you, and realized he should say something— be polite, at least.  He was terrified to open his mouth and embarrass himself, but if he didn’t try, he’d seem like even more of a loser.

Quickly rubbing his palms against his trousers, he broke the silence.  “So, um, how’ve you been?” he asked, and you looked back at him, seeming a little surprised that he talked to you at all.  

“Oh,” you responded, “good, I’ve been good— just kinda busy.  What have you been doing?”

“You know, just… whatever,” he shrugged, not wanting to admit he was still in high school.

“Aren’t you still in high school?” you questioned with a furrowed brow.

Shit.  That illusion didn’t last long.  “Yeah,” he admitted sheepishly, “but I’m eighteen!”

You gave him a little pitying smile that made him realize too late how pathetic his statement was.  Bragging about being eighteen wasn’t doing him any favors in terms of coming off as mature to you— why did he think that would work?

“U-uh, you… you’re in college, right?”

“Well— I was, until about a week ago,” you answered.  “I graduated a semester early.”

“Oh, congrats,” he offered with a nod, “that’s great.  You’ve always been really smart…”

“Well, it didn’t take a genius to help you with your seventh grade math homework,” you deflected his compliment with a tilted smirk, and he laughed nervously.

“I, um, can’t believe you remember that,” he mumbled.

“Of course,” you said, and just as he started to wonder what that meant, his stepdad spoke up over the dull roar of conversation.

“Alright, everyone, take your seats around the table,” he encouraged, “and we’ll all pray before we enjoy this lovely meal.”

Aside from the late arrival of the Shaws, dinner went off without a hitch— Angus fielded the same four questions on repeat, glanced at you every thirty seconds, and only got caught about a dozen times.

The only thing more boring than the dinner was the time afterwards, the indefinite mingling phase.  He usually just counted the minutes until he could get excused to his room, where he could read or sketch or really do anything quiet.  But now that you were here, he wasn’t as sure what to do: he wanted to talk to you, but he didn’t want to seem too excited to talk to you, but he didn’t want to seem like an asshole or anything…

So he pretty much just sat on a couch, as far away from the bustle of the party as he could reasonably get away with, trying to look busy while not actually doing anything.  Occasionally looking at you, but usually trying not to— until he realized you were coming towards him.  Now was it okay to look at you?

He tried to act like he didn’t even notice you coming closer until you sat next to him on the couch; you were a little close, sitting on your side and putting one of your arms up on the back of the sofa cushions like you were trapping him in.  He put his legs together so they wouldn’t bump into your knees which were dangerously close to him now.

“You look bored,” you noticed.

“Yeah?  I wonder why,” he replied with a small smirk.

“You didn’t really tell me how you’ve been,” you remembered.  “What’s boarding school like?”

“Uh, you know, pretty much your average hellhole,” he joked— not that it wasn’t at least mostly true.  “Not that living at home would be all that much better.”

“You Barton boys get into any trouble up there?” you asked, and he shrugged a bit.

“Some,” he said.  “If you’re not an idiot, you can mostly avoid getting caught for anything.”

“Like what?” you pressed.  “Do kids ever get busted with pot?”

“Oh, all the time,” he laughed.  “It’s really not hard to get away with it, honestly.  I mean, I never got caught, so…”

You raised an eyebrow.  “You smoke?”

He loved the way you said it, not quite under your breath but a secretive mumble.  He just shrugged again, and you laughed a little.  “What?” he wondered.

“You just don’t seem the type,” you explained.

“You don’t know me that well,” he countered, lowering his voice, hoping you would pick up on the undertone.  But if you did, you didn’t quite respond to it.

“Well, are you the type to sneak out of this boring dinner and go smoke?” you wondered.  He thought you looked really sexy asking him a question like that, eyes lighting up as you suggested something that risky.

He grinned excitedly.  “Right now?”

“You’re not scared to get caught, are you?” you challenged.

“Fuck no,” he laughed, “let’s do it.”

~

“Where are we gonna go?” he wondered aloud, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets.

“My car,” you explained, having to talk a little louder to be heard over the wind.  “I’m parked down the street— by the park, so nobody’s gonna notice us.”

You trudged through the snow together, each step a deep crunch into the frozen snow, and you squinted your eyes when a sharp, icy wind struck right in your face.

You picked up the pace a bit when you saw your car, excited to escape the freezing cold; and as you turned the key in the driver’s door, unlocking the rest, Angus came up beside you.

“Get in on the other side,” you told him, and he walked around the back as you got in yourself.

When you first got in the car, you could still see your breath in the air— but it was still a nice reprieve from the wind outside, and you unzipped your coat and tossed it into the passenger seat in front of you.  Angus hopped in a moment later, and when he shut his door, you were both submerged suddenly into the quietest place you’d been all night.  No wind, no dinner guests, no records playing— just each other’s breathing.

You considered turning the heat on, but you figured the chill would pass soon enough with Angus’ and your own body heat filling the space.

You clicked on the ceiling light, a dim yellow glow illuminating the inside of the car and really bringing out the dinginess of the grey-beige carpet and fabric all over everything.  He simply sat on the seat, waiting patiently with his legs spread a bit and his hands on his knees, blowing out a breath through his cheeks which swelled with air; he watched you lean back and open the front console, bending somewhat awkwardly over it to reach in and rifle around.

“There we go,” you mumbled as your hand found the fabric bag underneath loose bills and receipts; you pulled it out and opened the drawstring, revealing with a proud smile the baggy inside.  “Ta-da!” you announced softly, brandishing the crushed leaf and rolling papers.  “Wanna show me your joint-rolling skills?” 

You held the bag towards him in offering, but he shook his head and seemed to shrink away slightly.  “N-no, I’ll let you do the honors,” he decided in a soft voice.

You rubbed your hands together to try to warm them up first, because the detailed task was trickier with cold fingers, but you managed alright in the end.  His eyes were glued to the way your tongue slid along the paper before sealing it; it did intrigue you just a bit, wondering what he was imagining while you did that.

“Were you always a bad girl, and I just didn’t know it?” he asked.  “Or did college make you more rebellious?”

“A bad girl, huh?” you snorted, and his face flushed a bit.

“That didn’t sound weird in my head,” he promised.

“Save it for when you can blame it on the flower, dude,” you laughed as you handed him the blunt and got your lighter ready.  “You can have the first hit, I’ll light it up for you.”

He put it between his lips as you struck the BIC, and he leaned forward until the end was in the flames.  

You watched him breathe it in, that singe-y, crispy sound of the weed burning with each inhale making you smile a bit in anticipation… though you had to admit, it wasn’t just your excitement to get high that had your heart beating faster.

He only managed to hold it in for a second before coughing roughly, clearly trying to suppress it at first before bringing his fist to his mouth and really hacking a few times.  You smacked him on the back with a grin, and he nodded at you; poor thing, his eyes were all red, actually his whole face was red, but he eventually recovered.

“You don’t really smoke, do you?” you noticed with a tilted smile.

He cleared his throat and shook his head.  “N-not really, no,” he admitted.  “I mean, I’ve tried it before, I swear—”

“It’s fine,” you assured, “I just don’t want you losing a lung.”

“Let me try again,” he pleaded, reaching for the blunt, but you held it away from him and laughed.

“I’ve got a better idea, this might make it easier,” you offered, leaning in closer.  He seemed to tense up a bit, like he wasn't sure what you were leaning in for, but he watched you with half-lidded eyes as you took a long drag.

You grabbed his jaw— not hard, but enough to make him open his mouth a bit— and exhaled the smoke into his face.  He got the idea and breathed in deeply, staring right into your eyes.

“Better?” you asked.

“U-um, yeah,” he whispered, “I didn't cough that time…”

“Then we’ll just do it this way,” you decided, biting your lip a little when he shifted in the seat.  You were having way too much fun with him, and you knew it was unfair, but how often do you get to tease somebody like this?

After a few more hits that way, you saw his eyes get a little glassier.  You yourself were starting to feel it, and you smiled at him as you brought your mouth a bit closer to his for the next shared breath.

“How does it feel?” you asked him softly as you leaned back again— he chased you for a minute, like he wanted to stay close, but relaxed quickly.

“U-uh, kinda… floaty…” he mumbled.  “Don’t you think my parents are gonna notice the smell when we go back in?”

“I’ve got perfume for that,” you explained.

“So I’m gonna smell, like… fruity?” he frowned, and you giggled.

“That’s what you think my perfume smells like?” you wondered.

“Yeah, not— not that I was, you know… sniffing you…” he trailed off, face getting pink again, and you laughed.

“I think you need another hit,” you decided, and he nodded in agreement.  Inhaling deeply, you pulled him closer and breathed into his open mouth, looking back into his eyes through the thin veil of excess smoke.

After that, you leaned back against the door, basking for a moment in your own high.  You watched the snow falling outside the window, letting your vision get a little blurry; the quietness of the moment didn’t seem awkward to you at all, it seemed peaceful, but apparently Angus was the more anxious type of smoker and felt the need to break the silence.  “I always had the biggest crush on you,” he blurted out, and you sighed a bit, lips pressing into a pitying smile even though you didn’t look back at him.  “I was kinda surprised you didn’t notice…”

“I did,” you mumbled.

“R-really?” he choked.  “I, uh… I thought you just saw me as some little twerp.”

“I did,” you said again, smiling wider, and he laughed nervously.

“Oh,” he nodded as he looked away, “that’s… fair.”

He only let the silence linger for a second before interrupting it again.

“But I’ve grown up a lot, you know,” he reminded you.  “I’m eighteen.”

“You mentioned that.”

“Right.  Um,” he stalled, “but it’s not just that.  I mean, I like to think I’m pretty… mature.  At least, I am compared to the idiots at my school— but I probably still seem like a little kid to you.  I can’t really compete with college guys…”

“Compete?” you repeated, tilting your head.  “What are you competing for?”

“O-oh, I just meant like, um—” he stammered, and you scooted closer to him on the seat with a devious smile.  

“What are you competing with those ‘college guys’ for, Angus?” you pressed again.  “My attention?”

“Some… something like that, yeah,” he answered, speaking a little softer.  

“Well, there’s not much competition here, is there?” you noticed, looking around the car.  “It’s just you and me… we’re alone.”

He started to open his mouth to speak, but you reached up to drag one finger over his chest for a moment, and he only choked out a little gasp.  “Yeah, I… guess that’s true,” he mumbled, going back and forth from watching your finger draw circles on his sweater to watching your face.  

You wordlessly brought the joint to your lips again, seeing that it was about halfway gone already.  You took a long, deep breath in, exhaling towards him without really pursing your lips, letting him come closer for his share this time.  Except, finally, this time he didn’t stop.  He just kept leaning in towards you until his lips brushed over yours and you shut your eyes.

His kiss was patient, almost too gentle, like he was holding back.  You set the joint aside quickly in the ashtray and brought your hands up to his face, so you could kiss him a little harder and maybe encourage him somehow.  It seemed to work; he got a little more ambitious, moving his lips against yours, sighing gently as you combed your fingers through his wild curls.

You heard the wind howl outside, whistling around the car, not that you really paid much attention to it.  Instead, your attention was drawn to the way his hands were still sat in his lap; you smirked a little.  What a polite boy.

“You can touch me, you know,” you whispered to him, never breaking away from his lips.  One of your hands wrapped gingerly around one of his wrists, guiding it to your waist.

“Right, sorry,” he mumbled back, grabbing onto you with a touch more confidence.  He even pulled you a little closer as you kissed him harder, your hands traveling up to his shoulders in return.

Other than needing some guidance on the auxiliary stuff, Angus was a good kisser.  You were actually a little surprised when he slipped his tongue into your mouth, but it was certainly a pleasant surprise: it seemed like a good sign he wasn’t holding back anymore.

One of your legs hiked up over his, just something instinctive to keep him close, and his hand trailed down over your hip to caress that leg; it was a shame you needed tights for the weather, because you would’ve loved to feel his touch right on your skin.  “These are cute,” he informed you in a mumble against your lips, quickly pinching and popping the elastic-y fabric back against your leg.  You broke away to look down at his hand on your thigh, which he did as well.

“Really?” you asked sweetly, not sure you were pulling off the innocent vibe of the question.

“Yeah,” he nodded, meeting your gaze again, “I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

You hummed and he kissed you again— and this time, as his hand slid back up to your waist, it took a route along the curve of your ass.  You wouldn’t have minded at all if he got a nice handful of it, pulled you closer, gotten a little rougher with you… but obviously, he didn’t.  It was still Angus, after all.

In fact, it took a few more minutes of kissing for him to even muster the courage to touch your chest through your sweater, but you both sighed a bit when he finally did.  He groped at you a bit, but you didn’t care much for all the layers in between, so you sat up and perched yourself in his lap, breaking the kiss to shed your blazer and pull your sweater up over your bra.  “O-oh,” he breathed as you did it, and you felt something tighten up inside you when he absent-mindedly bit his lip.

You sighed shakily, even though you didn’t know why you felt just a bit nervous— and you pulled your bra up, too, exposing yourself entirely to him.

He whispered your name; your pussy clenched again instantly.

He put his hands over you carefully, and you jumped slightly when those long fingers of his brushed over your skin— and he pulled back quickly in response.  “Fuck, are my hands cold?  I’m sorry,” he stammered nervously, but you just smiled back at him.

“It’s fine,” you promised, and he put his hands back on you with a long sigh.

“Wow,” he mumbled under his breath.  You couldn’t help but laugh softly at the wide-eyed, awe-filled stare that never left your tits as he carefully massaged them; he toyed with your nipples briefly before groping a bit more confidently, your hips shifting in his lap without you really meaning for them to.

Your smile fell, though, when he suddenly leaned forward and latched his mouth onto one of them.  “O-oh, fuck,” you mumbled under your breath as he suckled— rather voraciously, really— and fluttered his eyes shut, his tongue running all over the skin in his mouth.  You looked down at him for a minute, thinking he looked pretty cute doing that, but had to shut your eyes and lean your head back when he sucked even harder at you.  “Fuck, Angus—”

“Does that feel good?” he asked quietly as he broke away; you bit your lip and nodded, and he moved to the other one as you leaned back even further, held up only by the front seats.  He, of course, gladly leaned forward with you to stay close, and kept a hand on the breast no longer in his mouth.

You could’ve sworn you felt yourself get especially wet when his tongue swirled around your nipple, and through the high that clouded your brain (equally from the pot and the pleasure) you realized that you were about to fuck Angus Tully.  You sort of couldn’t believe it, and yet the thought didn’t disgust or offend you as much as you thought it would.  You figured you would at least feel a little more guilty, but… you didn’t.  Not very much, at least.  Certainly not enough to stop you.

You sat back up and moved your hips back a bit, making him stop what he was doing just to wonder what you were up to; he groaned a bit when you reached down between your own legs to try to open his belt.  “O-oh, fuck,” he whispered, lifting his hips a bit as well to make it easier for you to reach.  “We're really gonna—?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, finally getting his belt open and working on his button and fly next; you could feel his cock already through the fabric, and it flexed a bit against the back of your hand in anticipation.

He groaned a little when you reached into his boxers and wrapped your hand around his length.

“You're so hard,” you noticed with a little gasp, gripping him tighter as you tried to (carefully) pull his cock out of the khakis and plaid underwear.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “fuck, yeah… you're really, um— you're hot.”

You giggled a bit, glancing up at his nervous expression.  “You're sweet,” you offered, but your mouth was agape when you finally got a glimpse of him.  “You're… fuck, Angus, you're big…”

“Oh, uh, really?” he perked up, cock flexing against your palm.

Giving him a few lazy strokes as you nodded, you giggled when his hips started to buck up towards your touch.  “Fuck, I want you,” you moaned softly, and his cock just flexed in your hand again.

“You— god, you can’t even imagine how long I’ve wanted you,” he assured, making you smile wide.

“I’m sure I can, but I’ll try not to,” you decided as you let go of him.  He seemed disappointed until he realized why: reaching up under your skirt, you pulled your tights and panties down your thighs.  

“What if somebody sees?” he wondered nervously.

“They’re all busy inside, nobody’s coming out here in this weather,” you assured.  “I can turn the light off if you want though—”

“N-no,” he stopped you before you could keep reaching for the ceiling light.  “No, I still wanna see.”

You laughed a little and kissed him again, quickly.  “Me too,” you agreed as you lifted yourself up over his lap, guiding his cock’s head to your entrance.  

He sighed a little as soon as it touched you, but that was nothing compared to the way he reacted when you lowered yourself and he slipped inside.

“Fuck,” you groaned deeply, loving the way he stretched you out— not painful, but just the right amount of challenge.  The body high seemed to make everything a little extra tingly and soft, though you didn’t have a sober version of this experience to compare it to.

“Oh my god,” he breathed, “oh my god…”

You finally sank down completely into his lap, and he took hold of your waist with a little moan.  “Fuck,” you said again, more of a whisper, your head falling back as you started to rock against him.  “Oh, it’s so deep, Angus—”

He interrupted you with a sort of whine, like he couldn’t take hearing you talk like that… but that just made you want to do it more.

“So fucking good,” you praised with a sigh, feeling him press his forehead against your chest as he moaned quietly.  “You feel so fucking good…”

He whimpered, grabbing on painfully-tight to your hips, until his head fell back and his Adam's apple bobbed with each noise he made.

A sharp, needy moan jumped out of his throat— and at the same time, you felt him pulse inside you.  Your eyes went wide as he relaxed slightly under you.  “Did you… just come?” you asked.

He was still panting, his face starting to flush red.  “Um… yeah?” he replied breathlessly.  “Sorry, I-I tried not to—”

“It’s okay,” you promised with a soft laugh, “are you— or, uh, were you a virgin?”

“Uh…” he stalled anxiously.  “Yeah, I am— or was— sorry, I should’ve said something, but I thought you might—”

“It’s fine,” you assured, resting a hand on his chest to try to soothe him.  “It’s cute, honestly.  I don’t mind being your first.”

“I always wanted you to be,” he admitted.  “I imagined it like this.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing around at the car.  “Like this?”

“Well, not exactly like this,” he laughed.  “There was a lot more time involved, for one, and a bed.  And whipped cream—”

“Okay, let’s not unpack all that right now,” you interjected, “we should get cleaned up and go back inside anyway…”

You tried to get off his lap, but he held you down by your hips (with more strength than you expected from him) and pleaded with you: “No, wait, not yet— I want you to come, too.”

“It’s okay, really, we need to go back before your parents notice you’re gone,” you insisted.

“No, they don’t care— please?  Please just keep going?  I’m still hard, I can—”

“Angus,” you interrupted, and he sighed a little because he knew already you weren’t going to be convinced.  “You’ll get another chance to make me come, alright?  We just have to get back inside now.”

He lit up instantly.  “Really?  So we can— we’ll do this again?”

“If you want,” you shrugged.

“Hmm, no thanks— I’ll just go back to being a horny loser,” he joked, making you snort.  “Of course I wanna see you again.  I can’t believe I have to do… anything else but that until then!”

“You’ll live,” you promised as you got up off of him— you both winced, but you mostly just focused on getting your panties and tights back up before anything, uh, spilled.

You pulled your bra and sweater down again, and figured out where your blazer ended up so you could slip it back on while Angus lifted his hips to be able to get himself back into the khakis.

Opening the console again, you put your paraphernalia back in and dug around for a glass bottle instead.  “Hopefully this can cover up weed and sex,” you said as you spritzed yourself a couple times with the perfume, then got him once or twice for good measure.

“How am I supposed to hide this?” he asked with an annoyed groan, struggling to adjust his boner inside his trousers in a way that wasn’t obvious.

“Sorry, all I can help with is the smell,” you laughed, putting the perfume back and slipping your coat on.  “You ready?”

“Yeah, guess so,” he sighed, “ready as I’ll ever be.  W-wait— can I kiss you one more time first, before we go?”

You thought it was funny, and sweet, that he thought he had to ask.  You nodded, and he pulled you into a kiss that was much more passionate than you expected.  Not filthy or anything, but not as tired and slow as you expected after just coming.  His hands held your head, and you had to really remind yourself not to get lost in it before your better judgment was overruled.

Pulling back slowly, you looked at him for a second and wondered if anyone had ever looked back at you quite like that before.

You leaned for the door handle, but just before you pulled it, a final thought popped into your mind.  “Oh, I almost forgot— Merry Christmas, by the way,” you offered him with a smile.

“Yeah, no shit,” he laughed, almost sounding like he was in disbelief, “that’s about the merriest fucking Christmas I’ve ever had.”

[series masterlist here]

[wifetomegatron]

a study in metal and silk. mtmte imagines.

I think there's just something about the stark contrast between fabric and metal that makes me feral. The sharp, striking counterpoint of sentio metallico against human skin. It makes me lightheaded to think of the gentle brushes and soft strokes exchanged between cybertronians and their humans lovers — how painfully tender these titans try to be with hands that have most likely torn ships apart.

Fort Max holding your coat up and letting you glide one arm in after the other, cashmere wool against cyberium — and to think that when in oil form, it has the chance of poisoning you. Yet welded into his armor, the metal was ( what you claimed ) your favorite thing about him. You'd pepper kisses along his servos, feather-light and playful, against each finger to thank him for being such a gentlemech. He was always at a loss when it came to your soft gestures as if his hands hadn't been bloodied and torn and scathed with energon. Yet he doesn't have the strength to protest when you lay your cheek against his palm, which was big enough to cover your entire head, even with his mass displaced.

First Aid helping his beloved into their shirt, your eyes barely open as the sunlight hits you square in the face. You wanted to ask him why he had opened the curtains this early in the morning, on a Sunday too, but you can't seem to focus on anything else but his servos. The bed creaked and dipped on his side, the mattress straining under his weight even if you've lined it with a layer of metal below. He looks funny against the pristine blankets, and despite his reputation for a set of steady hands, they were still bulky and square. So he takes his time looping the buttons into their respective holes, and you rest your forehead against his shoulder, already lulling back to sleep. Your heartbeat was a strange, distant sound against the humming of his spark.

Minimus slowly eased his human out of their ballet slippers, untying the ribbons one by one: careful, patient, servos already soothing the irritated skin. The pink satin looks alien against his grip, out of place. And yet he handles them with care, knowing how much you prize them. His mouth ghosts over your knee, trailing down as he massages your ankle. He's saying something about not pushing yourself too hard, and you want to call him out for being a hypocrite, but it's impossible to speak when you're drowning in the sensation of his touch as it brushes over the hem of your skirt. So you sit in silence; admiring, watching, as he continues to give you a lecture (lovingly, of course).

Rodimus, adjusting you as you cling onto his back, arms looped around his neck as he grips both of your thighs on either side of his waist. He gives you a playful squeeze, and you laugh into his jugular cables, high heels — black leather and polymer — dangling off your fingers as he piggybacks you back home. He tells you that you should've gone with the more practical choice, and you tease him about sounding like his co-captain. Relishing in the subtle thrum of his frame against your chest, slumping forward to press your lips against his cheek — smooth, unbending, yet warm to the touch. Different from your perception of what metal feels like, you have to remind yourself living metal is far from cold. 

Ratchet sliding your gloves over your hands, the article of clothing an inconvenient little thing to a Cybertronian. And yet, for you, they help keep the cold out — especially when insulated by wool. The golden brooch by the ends of each wrist glinted under the streetlamp. Above, snowflakes danced in the light, a choreographed ballet conducted by the gentle wind. You tell him you feel warmer already, yet the medic doesn't seem convinced, holding your arms and lifting your fingers to his intake. He ex-vents, once, twice, the air warm enough for you to feel past the fabric. He then lays your palms across his chest and scoffs, pulling you flush against him. Ratchet says that if you were cold, you should've said it ages ago.

(suggestive, mdni!)

Megatron kneeling before you, servos dextrous as they give your stockings an experimental tug upwards, before rolling them down to your knee in one fluid movement. He hovers his intake over your inner thigh, the stiff arch of his helm, dipping against the curve of your skin. Your breathing quickened, and he seemed to hear this, already moving to undo the other leg. He holds you like you'll break any second. As if you were a porcelain doll, a thing of glass. You tell him that you can be malleable. That you can learn to bend and embrace him — and he seems drunk at the thought. He pushed the straps of your chemise, thin and flimsy, down each shoulder. Easing you back on the bed. And the fabric pooled around your waist to reveal your chest, silk moving like water against the seams of his plating.

[neiptune]

'tis the damn season

❄️ eren x female reader

❄️ older brother's best friend trope

wc: over 5k

warnings: mentions of alcohol

a/n: it's been a while & literally can't believe i ended up writing for this maniac but it's december and i become weird around the holidays. enjoy!

It was almost Christmas, the first time he had shown up at your house.

You vividly remember each detail of that day: the smell of the gingerbread cookies you were baking with your parents, Tequila, your dog, running to the door as soon as it had flung open, nails impatiently scratching the parquet floors, paired with joyful barks that signaled your older brother’s long awaited return. Your mom’s puzzled face, as she was not expecting Armin to bring someone over with him, confusion quickly replaced by a warm smile as the his flight was cancelled due to a snow storm and he would’ve been the only one staying at our dorm for the holidays explanations were gently offered while taking coats off and hanging burgundy scarves on hooks.

“No need to make a fuss, he’s welcome to spend the holidays with us. Is this the infamous Eren?”, your mom smiled again as she cleaned her flour covered hands on her apron.

As you went to hug your brother, you were only able to catch a glimpse of the smile the stranger next to him offered to your parents.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry to barge in like this, Armin insisted–”

“Please, it’s Anna. And this is Conrad. We’re happy to have you here, why don’t you boys leave those bags and come sit with us? I’ll make some tea”

“Missed you”, you murmured into the collar of Armins’ sweater, and he lightly chuckled while gently rubbing your back.

“Missed you too. Let me see”, he pulled away from the hug and creases of fake concentration formed between his eyebrows, “definitely taller. And have you cut your hair?”

You rolled your eyes, fond and relieved smile stretching your chapped lips. He still noticed everything, the time spent apart since he had started going to college hadn’t changed that.

“Yeah, Jean preferred it longer, so...”

“I like the purple tips”, his voice was so morbid you couldn’t properly focus on your brother’s laugh.

The stranger was smiling, he seemed a little embarrassed still, as if he felt out of place in such a warm family reunion. It was weird of him, you thought, cause he looked perfectly in place while fondly scratching behind Tequila’s ears, eyes dangerously limpid and oddly familiar, though they definitely looked better in person than in the pictures you saw on Armin’s instagram account.

“Thanks”, you replied, painfully aware of how pathetically thin your voice had come out.

“I’m Eren”, the stranger offered a hand, warm as it enveloped yours while some stubborn snowflakes had finally began to melt in his brown locks.

“It’s so nice to finally meet Armin’s little sister. He never shuts up about you”

Your nose scrunched up in slight annoyance, cause you hated whenever his friends addressed you as his little sister. They were sophomores and you were basically done with high school, you weren’t that much younger anymore.

“He never shuts up about you either”, you retorted, letting go of his hand first and shooting your brother an amused look as he jokingly bumped his shoulder into yours.

What was soon to become a devastating crush had begun during that first holiday season, with Eren being around almost all day and insisting to help in the kitchen, participating in your traditional board game nights, Eren who had been thoughtful enough to bring both your parents a gift to unwrap on Christmas morning—a cashmere sweater for your mom, a Fleetwood Mac vinyl for your dad—Eren who had the warmest, brightest smile whenever you two engaged in heated discussions concerning music, movies or classes. He seemed to like talking to you, was always interested enough to ask questions, had Armin rolling his eyes when his cheeks would get dusted with pink each time you disagreed over something “essential” and he felt the responsibility to change your mind or, as he would usually put it, help you acquire the correct opinion.

You saw him again the following summer, shortly after you had graduated and were almost accustomed to the idea of soon moving across the country to begin your college adventure. His family situation was a bit messed up, with his parents getting a divorce and everything, so Armin had invited him to stay over for a few weeks. He was there when you would leave the house in short skirts and heels to attend alcohol fueled parties, almost always still awake and watching tv whenever you snuck back in the middle of the night, not once sober and shoes in your hand, shaking his head with an amused smile when you would bring your finger to your mouth and whisper a way too loud shhhh.

He was there when your stupidly loud friends would come over to pick you up for beach days, Tequila resting in his lap as he played video games with Armin, apparently deaf to Sasha asking you who the dream boat parked on your couch was.

He was also there to help you move into your dorm, him and Armin carrying boxes, comforter, blankets, a fan, sheets, books and even a printer up and down the stairs. Trost: same town, different college. Your parents were happy about you not having to be completely on your own as soon as you had moved out, and your brother wasn’t one to get annoyed by his younger sister living so close to him. Armin was genuinely happy he could be there for you and was determined to provide help, support, coffees dates and exploration routes to make you feel as comfortable as possible.

The only time you were alone with Eren for a consistent amount of time was when him and your brother were supposed to meet you at the movies, but Armin’s girlfriend ended up going through some sudden food poisoning and he didn’t want to leave her alone. You liked Annie, she was incredibly different from your brother but their characters balanced each other surprisingly well. She reminded you of Eren so much you often wondered if the two were friends. Stubborn, witty, stupidly good looking, popular as hell.

You thought something special was finally going to happen, as you sat so close to him you could smell the leather of his jacket and the amberwood of his cologne. Your heart was beating so fast it was impossible to focus throughout the entirety of the movie and when he offered to grab dinner in a taco place he often enjoyed going to with his friends, you couldn’t control the sweat covering your palms. That was until the most gorgeous girl you had ever laid eyes on suddenly came out of a shop and smiled, excitedly calling him and waving.

It was excruciating, really, watching him wrap his arms around her.

“This is y/n, she’s Armin’s sister. We were just about to go grab something to eat, why don’t you come along?”, he had never sounded sweeter.

You cleared your throat.

“Actually, I think I’m gonna go. My first class tomorrow starts quite early”

Eren tilted his head, confusion coating his emerald gaze.

“But you didn’t eat anything”

“Yeah, not really hungry. I’ll see you around”

You didn’t want to learn her name or acknowledge the amused look on her face. In about 30 seconds she was able to grasp something Eren hadn’t been able to get in almost three years.

His mom was out of town when he threw himself a birthday party during spring break the following year. Annie and Armin were still going strong and were a joy to be around, you and Floch not so much. Your brother disliked him and didn’t exactly make a secret of it. Still, you were determined to bring him with you, just in case the glorious Mikasa would be there as well.

She wasn’t. And Eren was so different from his usual self, that night. Some of your friends from college knew him, one of them even claiming to have actually slept with him, and the general opinion was unanimous: self absorbed asshole. A definition that was so far from the person you had come to know.

That night, however, proved your friends right. Eren was drunk, and rude, and mocking. Especially towards you. When you first arrived, kissed him on the cheek and gave him his gift (two tickets to a Blink-182 concert) he didn’t know what to say. He let out an incredulous snort and gave you a hug, your heart still stubbornly skipping several beats at the sudden, unexpected proximity. Then, he let go and Floch’s hand was on your waist as he wished him a happy birthday, man. Eren smiled thanking him, gave you one last glance before busying himself with taking care of his incredibly numerous guests.

He got wasted so quickly and you got so worried, cause he could barely stand and still hadn’t had the chance to cut the cake, you asked Armin to check on him.

“He was making out with Christa less than a minute ago, he’ll be fine”, he had muttered in his cup, a little tipsy himself.

“He emptied three cups of champagne in one go”

And he’s being an ass.

“Nothing unusual there”

“Where even is he?”

“Why don’t you go look for him?”, Annie proposed with a wink that, thank fuck, Armin absolutely missed. You shot her a glare and she defensively raised her palms.

“I’m just sayin’, he didn’t look great. Think I saw him go upstairs”

You took one final sip from the red cup in your hand and got up, scanning the room to locate Floch. He was chatting with another one of Armin’s friends, Connie, too busy in conversation to pay attention to you.

Making your way across the room, through the bodies of several equally drunk guests and up the stairs, you found yourself roaming through rooms you had never seen, timidly knocking on doors and waiting for a reply that didn’t come. The bathroom was your last resort and sure enough there he was, barely able to stand against the sink, a few strands of hair having escaped his bun, hands uncovering his face as soon as you peered through the door.

“Can I come in?”, you asked softly, too worried to be your usual nervous self at that point.

A nod was all you got and you quietly closed the door behind you, taking a hesitant step forward.

“You okay? I think you should drink some water”

“I think you should mind your business”, the words came out slurred but they didn’t sting any less.

“Fair enough”, you tried to crack a smile, “what’s all this about? Bad breakup?”

But Eren wasn’t Eren, so he wasn’t up for jokes. He was annoyed, and unpleasant, and clearly unhappy that you were around.

“What’s all that about?”, he asked, gaze flickering from your face to your shorter-than-usual dress.

“What do you mean?”, your voice came out as thin as it did the first day you had met him.

He uncrossed his arms and moved forward, his tall figure towering yours despite the heels. You could smell the alcohol in his breath from miles.

“Whose attention do you need? You’re here with your boyfriend, aren’t you?”

“Eren, you’re wasted”

So drink the goddamn water.

“I’m used to wasting”, he irrationally mumbled, gaze suddenly turning pensive as his fingers reached to grab tips of your hair, head slightly tilted to the side.

“You cut it again”, the observation shouldn’t have made your ears ring, blood pressure probably skyrocketing through the roof. It was unfair, the power he still held over you.

“I like it”, he almost whispered, gaze suddenly reflecting yours. A weird and not entirely uncomfortable silence settled between you two, your hair still in his hand, your heart basically trying to free itself from your ribcage.

I like you, you wanted to retort. It’s desperate how much I like you, really. But Eren’s features finally relaxed and he flashed you a gentle, familiar smile, the warmth radiating from his hand leaving your cheek suddenly cold as he patted your head.

“Thanks for checking on me. Let’s head back”

It’s your last year in college, the last opportunity to act and live as if you’re not supposed to soon become a functional adult, something you have a real hard time identifying with. You hold on tight to the familiarity of what you’re feeling traveling home for the holidays: excitement, nostalgia, sadness. Each time you come back you can’t help but notice tiny changes, small details that are suddenly out of place and remind you of the fact that you’re growing apart from what you have always known: your town, your parents, your house, even your room. Tequila is so much older now, your mom hardly dyes her hair anymore, your dad isn’t able to care for the garden as much, your favorite mug is nowhere to be found, there’s a new couch in the living room.

For once, Armin is home before you. He’s still in college, as an assistant professor, Annie has moved in with him and will arrive in a couple days, after your parents had insisted for months that she spent at least one Christmas with them.

The house smells like ginger and the freshly ignited logs in the fireplace give the environment that familiar warmth whose absence you can’t seem to get used to. It feels good, having a place to come back to. Having your brother instantly envelop you in his affectionate hug, witnessing the fondness in your dad’s gaze as he jokingly ruffles your hair and then kisses your forehead, a barely audible missed you, kid, mumbled with Armin’s arms still around you.

“It’s good to be home”, you smile, cheeks still cold from the ungodly weather you had to walk in after getting off the bus, cause you're still not interested in getting a driver’s license.

“Welcome back”, you haven’t heard his voice in so long and yet, it still sounds familiar. Perfectly in place, too. Like it belongs there, in your living room, right before Christmas. Warmth blossoms in your chest when you see him, arms crossed, gracefully resting against the door frame. He’s wearing a white, chunky sweater and his usual black jeans, he’s smiling and you have to resist the urge to go hug him as well.

“Hey, ‘Ren”, you resort to a simple greeting while you take off your boots, absentmindedly asking “spending the holidays with us this year?”

“Eren was nice enough to come say goodbye”, your mom sighs, putting her hands on his shoulders with an expression of both affection and gloom taking over her features.

And just like that, you stop. One boot removed, the other just unzipped.

“What?”, maybe you should be more attentive, camouflage the panic distorting your voice, but there’s no time left for such nonsense apparently. Goodbye.

“I’m moving to my dad’s”, his eyes haven’t left yours ever since he entered the room.

Blinking in confusion, lips parted, you just stare back. Armin clears his throat.

“He lives overseas”, your brother explains in a soft voice, sympathy evident in his eyes as he looks at you.

The ringing in your eyes becomes louder and louder, time freezing as the fire continues to crackle and Tequila’s paws on your thighs demand your attention.

You’d like to say something, ask questions. Something along the lines of are you fucking insane? or this is fucking ridiculous.

“I leave tomorrow. Wanted to thank you all for the kindness and hospitality you’ve let me abuse throughout the years”, he attempts another smile, one less convincing than the previous, eyes leaving yours to shortly focus on your parents.

“Nonsense. You’re like a second son to us”, your dad puts an arm around his shoulders and your mom gently removes a strand of his hair from his face, securing it behind his ear.

“And we expect you to visit, from time to time”

“Thank you, Conrad, Anne”, he gently squeezes your dad’s shoulder, in the same way Armin is squeezing yours.

You break your trance and abruptly bend over to put the removed boot on again, zipping the other one up and turning around in a swift motion to grab Tequila’s leash.

“That’s great”, you mumble, busy securing the leash on your very much now excited Barbado da Terceira.

“Honey, we just walked her—”

“It’s okay, mom, I felt like taking a stroll before dinner anyway”, you smile, intentionally avoiding the one gaze you don’t want to capture. Why would you need to, anyway? It’s already carved in your mind, skin, bones and all. You know every nuance of those eyes.

“It’s snowing”, Eren observes, but you barely acknowledge it by pulling the hood of your coat up.

“Can I come?”, Armin whispers in your ear while pretending to fix the hood for you. A nod is all you have the energy to give as a response.

He’s quiet as he walks with you, patient and considerate as always, never pushing your boundaries. But you don’t know what to say, even if you know he knows by now, cause how could he not? He has always been able to read you so well, ever since you were kids. And, frankly, you practically never found it in yourself to lie to Armin. First, it would’ve been pointless. Second, you would’ve felt like a dumb idiot, cause he’s the one person in your life who has always been there, no matter what. Which doesn’t mean that he’s always been indulgent.

You’ve had your fights, his integrity sometimes exasperating you: whenever he would tell you he was disappointed by some shit you had pulled, you would tell him you were, by contrast, absolutely delighted by the 40 inches long stick residing up his ass.

Very mature, he would mutter. But then he wouldn’t even give you enough time to feel guilty and reach out to make up, cause he was always, always the first one to plop next to you on the couch, or at the end of your bed, a soft wanna talk about it? rolling off his tongue.

“I’m sorry”, you mutter, eyes on your boots as they march through the soft snow, Tequila’s tail wagging happily in front of you.

“For what?”, your brother asks, not looking at you either. He knows it makes it easier.

“I’m overreacting”

“You’re taking a walk”

“You know what I mean”

Armin stays silent for a few seconds, then shoves his hands in the pockets of his olive green parka.

“Do you love him?”

You almost choke on your own spit and are forced to an abrupt stop, finally turning to look at him.

“No. Of course not. It’s a stupid crush and it’s gonna go away”

Your brother sighs at how defensive you get. You still did that, whenever he happened to be right. Whether you were aware of it or not.

“Since when?”, he asks, one eyebrow quirked skeptically.

You nervously shift your weight from one leg to the other.

“Doesn’t matter”

“Matters to me”

“Why?”

“You’re in pain”, his voice is gentle, coated with concern, which is almost, almost enough to make you burst into tears on the spot.

“Don’t use such big words. I’m just a little sad, s’all”, your pathetic attempts at dissimulating are not working one bit, but you’ve always been the stubborn one. He sighs again.

“I’m sorry I brought him. He just really wanted to say goodbye, thank mom and dad”

You faintly kick a bit of snow with the tip of your shoe.

“This is a me problem, not anyone else’s. You can bring him whenever you want, he’s your best friend”

“And you’re my little sister”

You roll your eyes but he doesn’t give you the chance to convey a sarcastic remark as he pulls you in for another hug, one hand resting on the nape of your neck. Defeated, you nuzzle against his shoulder and let out a shaky breath.

God, how did he manage to always make you cry on him? Endless breakups, failed classes, finished friendships, the unquantifiable amount of sorrow wetting his hoodies, coats and shirts throughout the years weighing on you. And for once, you truly feel little. Young, immature, so inexperienced you don’t have the means to explain the sorrow your heart is getting wrecked by.

I am your little sister, you internally scream as his grip around you tightens. I am so glad I still get to be your little sister.

According to your phone screen, it’s 3am. According to your body, it may as well be the middle of the damn afternoon cause you had failed to get a single ounce of sleep ever since you had excused yourself from what you were dramatic enough to mentally address as the last supper, went to bed and blasted your best punk rock playlist through your headphones.

Turning and tossing and turning some more ended up unnerving you to the point you snorted, kicked your covers away and got up. Which is exactly how you ended up tiptoeing downstairs, letting out a sigh of relief as you finally reached the living room without waking up the two lightest sleepers of the family: Armin and Tequila.

Both the tv and the Christmas tree lights are on, which is both odd and unacceptable, given your phobia of house fires.

“I always tell you not to leave this thing on”, you mumble under your breath, cursing your brother while trying to reach the socket behind the tree without making too much noise.

“You always tell me what?”

With some luck, the ungodly yelp you let out hasn’t reached the three people and the one dog snoring upstairs. Of course you panic, lose your balance and end up on your ass while simultaneously knocking over three to four decorations, a silver angel rolling all the way over to a pair of dark blue socks.

Shocked and panting, you bring a hand to your chest.

“Fuckin’— christ! You scared the shit out of me!”

Eren is trying so hard not to laugh he only manages to infuriate you more as he moves the glass of water to his left hand to offer you the other one.

You get up on your own—not without some difficulty—and shoot him a glare.

“What are you even doing up? It’s the middle of the night! And don’t you know that the cause of one in every four home Christmas tree fires stems from electrical problems? It has been reported by the NFPA!”

He watches as you bend down to pick up each fallen decoration and hang it once again, creases of indignation comically settling on your forehead.

“I’ll turn it off when I go to sleep, I promise. Let me have it just for a little while longer”

The softness in his tone catches you off guard and you suspiciously eye him as he sits on the couch, glass held with both hands, elbows resting on his knees. You hate the way he looks at you, the way he’s been looking at you ever since you had arrived. Like he knows, and finds it so pathetic he’s waiting for your fragile little self to just shatter right in front of him.

“Okay. I just wanted to get some water”, you lie, clearing your throat, “have a good night”, you hope it’s casual, the way you walk away. Or at least, attempt to do so.

“That’s it then?”, he calls after you, voice way too loud that causes you to instantly turn around.

“Keep it down!”, you hiss.

“Make me”

You stare, in utter disbelief. He’s teasing you? No, worse, he’s making fun of you? By what right, exactly?

“What do you want, Eren? I don’t have time for whatever this is”, still, you angrily march back and stand (figuratively) tall in front of his sitting figure. A figure that leaves his glass on the coffee table and gets up, eyes glistening with something you can’t quite pinpoint.

“What do you think this is?”, his voice is low this time, barely audible even, a tone in sharp contrast with his hardening features.

“I don’t know, you sleepwalking, almost starting a fire and then wanting to pick a fight?”, it sounds every bit as ridiculous and childish as you thought it would sound but you’re honestly done giving a shit.

Eren almost, almost bursts out laughing. He thinks you’re exasperating. He thinks you’re so goddamn similar to your brother. He thinks you’re a menace. He thinks he wants to kiss you.

“My God,” he whispers, nonchalantly brushing a strand of hair from your face, cracking a smile as he hears the distinct hitch of breath. “You’re so fucking dense”

“I’m not... I’m not dense”, you breathe out, far too appalled to collect your thoughts.

“You’re as dense as a brick, y/n”

He bends enough for his lips to graze yours, it’s not even a kiss, it’s more of a touch. A brush against. When he pulls back, the hand he was resting on the side of your neck rises up to your cheek, thumb stroking your parted lips.

“Dry as always”, he mutters. And it’s enough for you to take a sudden step back, eyes filling with tears of rage and outrage and humiliation.

“What the fuck? What was that? What do you think you’re doing?”, you snap, hands covering your mouth, eyes wide and shock vibrating throughout your body.

Eren isn’t one to panic, but this time he does. He doesn’t know what to say, equally stunned, scared even.

“I’m not gonna do it”, you frantically shake your head, bitter smile stretching your lips, “I’m not gonna be your little impulsive gesture right before you move across the fucking ocean. I never believed anyone who told me how much of an asshole you are, turns out I was very fucking wrong”

He blinks one time, two times, three times. Then it dawns on him and, once again, he has to suppress an incredulous laugh.

“Impulsive. You think that was impulsive”, words roll off his tongue almost mockingly, which only infuriates you more.

“Do you feel sorry for your best friend’s pathetic little sister? No, you’re looking for a final excitement, one last rush. Of course. Why the fuck else would you do it? God, don’t you feel even the slightest hint of sha—”, venom infused words are abruptly cut off from his thumb, once again on your lips, pressing just a little harder. How did he close the distance between you two so quickly?

“Can you shut up for three whole seconds and let me talk?”, as opposed to the words, his tone is actually gentle. Maybe it’s because, despite the darkness, he has noticed the tears glistening in your eyes.

You comply, too focused on stopping them from rolling down your cheeks in what would result in becoming one of the most humiliating moments in all of recorded history. Well, your history anyway.

Eren sighs while holding your face. He looks upset, perhaps mad, certainly conflicted.

“If you think”, he begins, voice dangerously hoarse, “I would play some sort of fucked up game with you of all people, you’re a goddamn idiot”

You quietly search for any signs of deception in his stare, only to find nothing but genuine concern and overwhelming honesty.

“You’re Armin’s sister. I wouldn’t dream of touching you. I couldn’t even think of—”, he takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes for a moment, “but you just were always fucking there. Always the brightest, funniest, kindest person in every room. With a crush on me, to make matters very fucking worse”

Maybe this was going to become one of the most humiliating moments in all of your recorded history, after all. You try to take a step back again but his grip grows tighter,

“And I enjoyed it, alright? The idea of someone like you, being into someone not nearly as smart nor selfless. If it would’ve been anyone else, I wouldn’t have wasted a second. But having been lucky enough to score both Armin and you in my life and risking to fuck it all up? Not even I am that stupid”

You gently remove his thumb from your lips.

“Why do it now, then? You’re leaving. You’re telling me all this and you’re leaving”, you fail to keep your voice steady and he sighs.

“I can’t do it if you don’t ask me”

“Do what?”

“Stay”

You smile a stunned smile.

“You want me to ask you to stay? Are you fucking kidding me?”

But he isn’t. It’s shocking, how much he isn’t.

“Don’t you understand? I need you to tell me. Put me out of my misery, please, just tell me”

You want to call him a coward so bad. You want to think he’s this pathetic, whiny person who can’t stand up for his feelings, someone that has been hiding behind some unnecessary, ridiculous hesitation. But you know him. You know he’s been looking after you for years, in his own, stupid way. He knew, probably from day one he knew, and has never made you feel lame about it, has never taken advantage of that juvenile adoration. Could you describe someone like that as pathetic? Could you even believe he wanted to kiss you just as much as you’ve been dying to kiss him for what felt like geological eras?

“Eren”, you mumble his name carefully, hands shaky and certainly way too cold to be pleasant rising up to rest on both sides of his neck. You hold him level in your gaze and take a moment to notice how pretty he looks, with green, red and yellow lights brightening his face at regular intervals. “I know you’re technically older than me but I swear if you get on that plane, I’ll kick your ass”, you ignore the flush creeping up your throat and give neither of you the time to even crack a smile as you slot your mouth to his. And if it isn’t the best, most satisfying feeling in the world to have his palms flatten against your back, pressing you firmly against him but still not hard enough, you decide, as your arms wrap around his neck.

If you had enough air left in your lungs, you would probably throw your head back in laughter for the joy of his hesitation disappearing into thin air as the tip of his tongue teases against your own. He drags you with him as he clumsily walks backwards towards the couch, a chuckle escaping your lips at last as you ungracefully straddle him and bump your head against his in the process.

“Should this feel wrong?”, he pants, your hands anticipating his to brush some hair back from his face. The pressure from his fingers on your hips feels blissful.

“Does it?”, you ask, leaning forward to start tracing his neck with soft, explorative kisses that earn a soft groan.

“Not one bit”, he rasps, one of his hands leaving your hip to sneak up under the fabric of the old sweatshirt you usually sleep in, causing goosebumps to blossom on your feverish skin. You smile against the flesh of his neck, gently sucking right where his fluttering pulse resides. Another low groan vibrates against your lips and you feel one hand on your cheek, gently pulling you away just enough for a half-lidded gaze to find yours.

“Behave”, he warns quietly and you have to suppress a chuckle.

“Kiss me?”, the request comes out sheepishly, because that look in his eyes makes you feel vulnerable, wide open in front of him, with nowhere to hide anymore. And as much as you know you’re an adult who’s doing nothing wrong, nothing to be ashamed of because the person underneath you seems to want you just as much as you want him, Eren is still Eren. And you still feel like a kid, a younger, awkward sibling.

But then he turns his head to the side, just enough to take one of your fingers in his mouth and gently suck on it. The simple gesture sends shock waves through your entire body.

“Ask again. Without overthinking”, he mutters before slowly nibbling at your fingertip, the hand under your sweatshirt lightly stroking your skin.

“Kiss me”, you breathe out and his hand rises all the way up to your ribs, the other skillfully closing around your throat to bring you close as his lips press softly to yours. His kiss is sweet and yet deep, needy. He kisses you until his lungs start burning from the lack of oxygen, but even as he takes a second to catch his breath he refuses to let you go, your laboured exhales burning on his lips, glossy with spit.

“You’re not gonna leave, are you?”, the question comes out in a whisper and Eren lets out an airy chuckle, forehead suddenly resting on your collarbone as he tries his best to be quiet. Cause there he was, struggling to keep himself from devouring you on the same couch where he had watched a Christmas movie with your family just hours prior, and there you were, still asking dumb questions. He wants to wonder how oblivious a person can truly be but would it make sense, honestly? With Armin being his best friend? He’s had plenty of experience already with unawareness and guillibility, it’s just his luck that he now has to double it.

So Eren sighs, pushing back some hair from your face, marveling at how much he misses your lips on his already.

“I wouldn’t want to get my ass kicked”

[lemon-towne]

No one asked.

Michaela Hcs !! (Mainly hstv Michaela)

As a kid she probably hated wearing hair barrettes, no bcs of how they looked but she hated the feeling of them

Her nails are almost always done, whether she’s wearing nail polish or she gets acrylics, but she didn’t rlly start to tend to them until she became an adult

She lets ppl know that she’s ready to go to sleep by doing two things, putting on her mumu and wrapping her hair up (I fucking loveee mumus)

When it’s wash day, leave her ALONE. Washing her hair is a multi hour process

Just like Michael, she ALWAYS smells good, she probably developed signature scents over the years, but her most recognizable ones (that you can get and smell for yourself!) are Paris amour from bath and body works, Snowflakes and Cashmere from bath and body works, and as an adult she probably switched to Marc Jacob’s Daisy (I have all of these) and if she’s feeling rlly fancy, Black Opium

When moving in with Victor (Tori), they mutually agreed that one section of the bathroom is hers and hers alone, it’s where she keeps all of her body washes, soaps, sugar scrubs, hair products, etc (not makeup, feels like she would have a vanity in their room)

She mainly wears gold jewelry opposed to silver

During speed skating szn, tracksuits are her best friends.

Despite her nails being long, she can still put in her contacts and take them out

[allthingsscented]

reorganized my bins today for late fall, here's what i've got up front to easily grab and use throughout november:

Fall:

- Leaves

- White Pumpkin & Chai

- Golden Clementine & Amber

- Ruby Apple & Rosewood

- Brown Sugar & Fig

- Coffee & Whiskey

- Sweet Whiskey

- Cozy Vanilla Bourbon

- Fairytale

- Toasted Pear & Praline

Winter:

- Be Joyful

- Fireside Flurries

- Gingerbread Latte

- Winter Peach Marshmallow

- Jolly Gingerbread Village

- Woodlands

- Snowflakes & Cashmere

- Frosted Coconut Snowball

- Winter Cherry Blossom

[fruitchouli]

the more controversial a bath and body works fragrance is, the more likely it is to be interesting and slay. the negative reviews are so much more helpful than the positive because a lot of times what they don’t like about it are things that appeal to me (not sweet enough, old lady, too spicy, etc). when i see a scent with overwhelmingly positive reviews, i know it will be the most boring thing in the entire world like SNOWFLAKES AND CASHMERE!!!!!$! u know what’s a controversial scent? strawberry poundcake. and jolly gingerbread village. both slay. also the best scent from the ballet line is the most controversial, ballet nights. anyways it’s time for SAS soon.

[weird-an]

Steve sees that Billy is freezing. He's only wearing his denim jacket, his lips are pale and his teeth are actually chattering.

"Here, have my scarf." Steve wraps his black cashmere scarf around him. His jacket is warm enough, he doesn't need it.

"It‘s ph-phine, Stebe."

He can barely make out Billy's words, because he's shaking so much. That man would never admit to needing anything, even if he is bleeding and dying. Or freezing to death.

"That's enough, we're going home," Steve decides.

"I‘m not c-c-cold," Billy insists. A few snowflakes fall on his mullet.

Steve groans and wants to stomp his feet like a toddler. "Then I am cold. Let's go."

"You are s-s-uch a p-p-pussy."

"Yeah, yeah." Steve grabs Billy's ice cold hands and drags him towards his car. Walking through winter wonderland with a freezing Californian is a pain in the ass.

At home he makes them hot chocolate with marshmallows, drags Billy to the couch and wraps three of the biggest, softest blankets he can find around them.

"I don't need that," Billy tells him when Steve gives him the steaming mug. He scowls at the drink until he takes a sip from it. Chocolate sticks to his thin mustache. He hides his grin when Steve turns around, but Steve saw it.

"Do you wanna watch a movie?" Steve asks when Billy finally sinks a bit further into their nests of blankets. Steve has won this round.

Billy shrugs, leans over and rubs his cold nose against Steve's neck. His icy hand slips Steve's sweater. Steve tries not to squirm at the cold.

"We can warm each other's dicks," Billy suggests. He sounds tired and not up for it at all.

"Sure," Steve humours him, rubbing Billy's back. That's the trick. Agreement with Billy's denial on the outside, working against it on the inside. Billy doesn't move.

It only takes seconds. Steve manages to grab Billy's chocolate before it slips out of his hand.

Billy is snoring against his skin, nose still cold. Steve wraps the blankets tighter around them.

_____

Majorly inspired by @wrecked-fuse

[tokillamockingbird427]

Running low on my snowflakes and cashmere body lotion, I’m gonna cry. It’s a seasonal scent bruh WHY

[dhr-advent]

The Snowflake Effect by dreamsofdramione

The Snowflake Effect (4997 words) by dreamsofdramione Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger Additional Tags: Soft Draco Malfoy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Epistolary, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Smut, POV Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Post-Hogwarts, Vignettes, Love Letters, Falling In Love, Romance, Pining, Butterfly Effect, featherlight angst, Draco is softer than a cashmere sweater, Winter, Community: dhr_advent Summary:

Hermione, Sentimentality has never been my strong suit, but consider this an act of Firewhisky-fuelled bravery. When I sat down to write this, I had no idea what would end up on this page. I’ve spent this evening thinking back on our history and I’m feeling rather wistful.

the butterfly effect: noun - (in chaos theory) the phenomenon whereby a minute localised change in a complex system can have large effects elsewhere.

DHr Advent 2022

[writing-whump]

Cold with a chance of fluff

Seline comes down with a cold. Isaiah is frustrated she didn't tell him. Some fluff and cuddles.

Isaiah came home around 5 pm, snowflakes melting in his black waves as he shook off his coat.

"Sel! I waited for you in front of the uni. Where were you?" His eyes widened as he approached the living room, where she was wrapped in blankets and her fluffy bathrobe with an ereader on her lap.

"Wait. You didn't go anywhere today?" he said with disbelief.

Seline shrugged, leaning against the cushions behind her. "Nope. My throat was all scratchy yesterday so I thought I would take an easy day and maybe the cold wouldn't go all out."

"A cold?"

"Yeah. It's been really going around at work. 7 people called in sick this week, can you believe that? As if the Christmas coming closer and the promise of holiday makes everyone unguarded."

Seline was rather eager to play the whole thing off. It was nothing. Sh felt the cold coming up for some time, hoping she could fight it off without any symptoms. The first indicator were the giant aphtas on her right cheek. They spread around at the start of the week, but there was still a chance they would go away if she just didn't poke at them...

But then the mucus started to gather at the back of her throat and it hurt to swallow. And she was tired and cold, even more than usual, going to the bathroom several times a day to just hold her hands under the hot water to unfreeze. It was horrible how cold she was after sitting for one hour while everyone else praised how well the university building's heating system worked this year.

Being sick always meant free days when she was small. Her mom fussing, making her honeyed tea and overflowing with home remedies like onions with sugar in a jar to take little spoons off and snuggling up in blankets by the fireplace with her favourite movies running in the backround.

During the decade of her travelling with the train back and forth, sickness became tiring. It was a gamble between 'I don't feel too bad but if I have to travel for two hours to the city and back I might' and the stress of when was she strong enough to return again. The darkness falling early, the frozen streets covered with snow, the sheer coldness in the air, the feeling of being stranded in the city...

She felt stranded even now. Away from her family cushioning, sick with something stupid and small that shouldn't stress her out. At least she had 5 days free in a row, since there was a holiday of some sort she didn't even know the name off and because she had classes only on three days and work was dying out. Students didn't really want to work on their thesis before the big holidays. She had some stuff to hand it, but her head felt stuffed with cotton from the early morning, so she gave up that.

Instead, she resolved to fight the cold with tea, warmth and movies, hopefully strong enough till the evening, when the boys came home.

She was not going to be stressed out, emotional and whiny over a cold, just cause she wasn't home, didn't like anything she cooked and wished for nothing more than a fresh warm soup. No way she was that childish.

And no way she was going to ask or demand too much again. She had asked guys to stay with her at least until the next train came. She asked if she could tag along for a Christmas Market visit or a lecture or if they would wait for her to show her a way to a pub every local knew but she never heard off.

No way she was going to ask anything like that again.

Isaiah still looked stunned as he unwrapped his cashmere scarf with black-gray-white stripes. "And you didn't think to mention that in the morning? Or message me?"

"It's nothing serious. And the end of the year is stressful for you, you are handing in your master thesis proposal after all."

Isaiah regarded her with a frown. "Did you eat anything?"

"Eggs and bread. We are out of both though." And Matthew's protein shakes. Cause there was nothing that could fill you up so reliably while the taste didn't matter. And you could make it with boiling water! Anything warm was a plus.

Isaiah scoffed, going behind the sofa into the kitchen, opening the cupboards in a quick succession. "I'll make you a soup. Beans and noddles sound okay?" He already had beans in the water since yesterday evening.

Warm soup of anything sounded wonderful, though she never heard about noodles combined in a bean soup. "You don't have to-"

"Do you like it or not?" His voice was frustrated.

"Ah, yes, of course," she said a little coyly.

Isaiah threw the beans in and cooked the noodles parallely next to it. The kitchen soon warmed up with the smells and light that spread over the floor.

Seline stood up from her little nest on the sofa, feeling obligated to contribute in some way.

Her head began to pound almost immediately when she got into a standing position and she felt terribly self-conscious about the bathrobe and her pyjamas. She didn't bother changing, knowing she would just sweat through anything and the loose pjs were the most comfortable.

Isaiah watched her from the corner of his eye, steering the soup and adding salt and paprika inside. "Sit down."

"Can I-"

"Please, don't." His voice was weirdly clipped.

He didn't give her a hello kiss or reach to hug her or touch her. It was rather strange, making her chest all tight.

She recoiled in response just a little, hugging herself.

"Go sit down," he said, tone softening. Then he turned a little towards her, cupping the side of her face. "And take your temperature as well."

Seline leaned into his touch just a little, enjoying the warmth of his palm against her skin and the weird cotton feeling inside her scull. "Okay," she said with a small voice.

Staggering back onto the couch was a relief. She huddled back into the blankets. Even reaching for the handkerchief inside her bathrobe felt embarrassing, cause what would he thing? It was a bad idea to have come here, she should have just stayed in her room and be gross there...

Isaiah brought her a green tea with lemon just a few minutes later, gingerly putting it onto the table. "Sugar?"

"No, thank you." Her voice was all clogged up, but she was too shy to blow her nose in front of him. Oh hell, she was being so irrational, even to herself.

Isaiah sat down beside her, stirring the tea with care, taking the tea bag out on a small plate on the tray he brought.

"Are you going to say that everytime I try to give you something? 'No, thanks'?"

Her head snapped back a little from suprise. "What?"

Isaiah pouted, looking at the tea cup in his hands. "You didn't tell me you were sick. And you are all embarrassed and red and flinch, when I get close."

"Aw, come on, Isaiah. It's not like that." Seline looked for the handkrief, pulling it out of the bathrobe pocket to wave it at him. "You can't seriously want to see this, can you?"

"Oh? And what's up with all the 'why don't you want me near, Isaiah?' Or 'you feeling sick, can I help you, Isaiah?'. Or my favourite 'I couldn't find you disgusting if I tried'?"

She shrank at the reminder. "But that's dif-"

"You think I could do anything less for you?"

"You don't have to do it just because you owe me-"

"Owe you?" His eyebrows shot up.

Yeah, what was she supposed to say to that? They just started dating. Sure, they saw each other in some embarrassing or vulnerable situations, but Isaiah's issues were more serious than hers. And he didn't owe her so much as she owed him for having such a difficult argumentative personality, for picking up fights and asking sensitive questions and driving people mad with topics they were too tired or unwilling to talk about...about for being a witch that wasn't willing to get along or to tolerate rules or get along with others, who walked around the city just finding things she disagreed with, feeling alienated and and alone and like the world was against her.

Isaiah came, made her break her rules about getting involved with wolves. Then he made her feel safe and fascinated and like she wasn't a burden to wait for at the train station or in front of the University or ask about a German word that still escapes her after living in Austria for 14 years...

Isaiah slid closer on the sofa, taking both of her hands in his, snotty handkerchief still balled up in one of her fists.

"What if I want to do this? What then?" he asked, leaning closer to her, forehead almost touching hers.

Her breath hitched a little and she reddened at the closeness.

Isaiah's lips brushed against her ear. "Didn't I tell you already? You could do anything to me and I wouldn't mind?"

She looked up at him, drinking in the intensity of his sea green eyes from this close, the warmth and smell of his cologne radiating from his skin....

And then she sneezed. Right against his neck.

"Oh, I'm so sorry-" she pressed her hand against her running nose, her throat tickling and ears burning with emerassment.

Isaiah chuckled, hugging her close abrupty. He seemed to have realized that where words didn't work, touch would work just fine.

She sniffled against his arms, enjoying being balled up. He rubbed her back, face burying into her hair, still chuckling.

"It's not funny," she protested healf-heartedly, mind easing a little. She wiggled in his hold, reaching for the handkerchief, face slightly turned away as she blew her nose and cleaned her upper lip.

"Gow abway, you'll cwatch it."

He drew away just enough to have a good view at her, both hands going into her hair, pulled them aside from her face. "I'll not. If I should, I would already. And if I will, so what?"

She rolled her eyes, but relaxed in his hold. Isaiah wrapped her in his arms and she squeaked as he threw himself against the pillows on the sofa with her tucked against his chest.

Seline melted. His arms were strong and his chest was warm and clean and she snuggled her head closer against his chest, one hand bracing against it. His heartbeat was fast against her palm.

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other like pancakes, when a sharp peeping sound came from the kitchen. Seline almost dozed off, when he gently wiggled himself out, pushing her against the pillows and throwing a blanket over her.

A few minutes later, he returned with a steaming bowl of soup, beans and noodles with an excellent smell that had her shaking the last remnants of sleep as she lifted herself in a sitting position.

Isaiah placed the bowl and the spoon in her hands carefully, sitting down next to her with one of his own, smiling proudly.

"This is delicious," she said as she took the first sip. It was hot and well-flavored, immediately warming up her insides and soothing her raw throat.

"Don't sound so surprised," he said with a laugh, finally starting to eat himself instead of just watching her.

"I'm not. It's the main reason Matthew and I keep you around," she teased.

Could she really be so lucky? A handsome guy who was so caring and sweet to her, actually making an effort, was intellectually stimulating on most days and...could even cook?

Isaiah's smile only widened at that. "I would hope so." His eyebrows met in concern as he watched her. "How are you feeling? Does your head hurt?"

"I'm way better already. I really just need a bit of peace and quiet and...." Seline watched as Isaiah's smile fell, letting go of the spoon on the way to her lips. "And you, if you, ehmm..." she whispered, voice trailing away.

Isaiah's face lit up instantly, almost spilling the soup. "If you allow me, I'll spoil you rotten, my lady."

@bellysoupset

[lunarw0rks]

Both&Body works sprays i would giv to some of the COD characters w little to no explanation ✨🪻

Price: warm vanilla sugar / champagne honey apple lmao. He givs me fall vibes

Gaz: in the stars / coco paradise bc he so gorgeous 🥰

Ghost: gingham / gingham gorgeous…… to freshen him from being dead on the inside rip

Soap: strawberry pound cake / strawberry snow flakes. He so bby gurl!!! 💕😔💕

Valeria: into the night / coconut glow for the hottie

Rudy: pure wonder

Alejandro: snowflakes&cashmere…. His jacket looks comfy…. Drop the brand plsss

Konig: thousand wishes / gingham fresh to stop his snipper hood from being so musty😔

Graves: jap cherry blossom

WOOYEAH WOOYEAH WOOYEAH