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simkaswriting · 9 months

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What if…Eris had danced with y/n instead?

A/N- Hi hi! This is a one shot from a series I'm currently writing for acotar, if you're interested in reading about other beloved characters like Cas, Az, Mor, Rhys and Lucien and their own 'what if' moments, make sure to check back❤️

Dull. That was the only word coming to mind when Y/N surveyed the large, cavernous room. The inner circle was paying their supposed yearly visit to the Court of Nightmares, according to the little information Mor let slip at the dinner table last night. It was not the lack of decorations, or even the monotonous colours throughout the room, but rather it was the fae that were dull. Music echoed around them all, hundreds of males and females clad in varying shades of grey and black talking quietly amongst themselves as if unaware of the festive holiday they were gathered to celebrate, yet only a handful indulged in the compelling music. Y/N stood quietly on the far end of the unintentional line the inner circle formed around the two thrones, right next to quiet Elain, who in turn was leaning lightly against Feyre’s throne. It wasn’t like she tried to blend into the background the way the Azriel’s shadows allowed him to, or that she stood out like a sore thumb the way Elain did with her exuberant energy and bright eyes. Nor did she entice every male the way her eldest sister did with her fierce glare and head held high. No, Y/N was simply just there. Startling in beauty, ferocious in demeanour, and quite frankly a little disappointed at what the Court of Nightmares regarded as a party. Which is perhaps what piqued the red headed Autumn Court male’s attention. Y/N, just standing off to the side yet not seeming lonely, almost as if placing an invisible barrier between herself and the rest of her new family. He wondered why she stood there instead of dancing with some lowly scum like the eldest sister did, hanging off the brute’s arm, though he was almost certain nobody in this room would dare ask her for a dance. If only out of fear of aggravating the High Lord sitting a few feet away.

An hour goes by with minimal conversation between Y/N and Elain, and even then, the words dry out due to her sisters’ fear of drawing attention to themselves. Mouth dry and legs slightly stiff from her unmoving position next to her sisters, Y/N quietly walks over to the large table coated with an array of refreshments, in search of something stronger than water to help the time flow a little faster. Her eyes narrow in on a bottle of red wine, from the Summer Court if the writing is anything to go by. She reaches for the bottle, fully intending to keep it all to herself, when a cedar and cinnamon smell fills her nostrils.

“If I may, I’d suggest this wine, call it a personal favourite and a matter of good taste.” The voice is deep yet oddly soft, so very out of place in this pit of despair surrounding her. It’s as if the tone caresses her.

Stomach in knots, Y/N looks up at the male next to her, and fights back the gasp that surely would have escaped her if she didn’t know better. A tall male clad in hues of green and brown stands next to her, holding a bottle of white wine which looks comically small in his large hand. His height has her almost subconsciously take a step back, looming over her like a bad omen she’s sure he is. His face is sculpted as if by the Mother herself, though she can tell he isn’t just a pretty face to look at by the red scar barely visible under the collar of his shirt. No fae male in the Court of Nightmares on this festive day is just a pretty face. Yet it’s the male’s fiery red hair, bright as if fire itself courses through it, that has Y/N repressing the urge to marvel at it and reach out to run her hand through the fiery locks.

She schools her expression into one of calm indifference instead, perhaps a second too late, and glances at the bottle in the stranger’s hand. Autumn court wine. Her arm falls back to rest at her side, now fully facing the mysterious male, even if it drives her heartbeat crazy and floods her mind with static.

“Good taste would be finding yourself in better company on this joyous night.” She draws out the latter half of her sentence in mockery. Yes, the winter solstice is a time of mirth and expressing appreciation for your loved ones in Velaris, at least from the rare glimpses she’s managed to steal. However, the holiday loses its meaning in the Court of Nightmares. Surely the red head has better options than spending his time in this joyless pit of despondency, attempting to strike up a conversation with the forgotten Archeron sister?

A haughty chuckle comes from him as he sets the wine down on the banquet table and extends his hand, an inkling of a bow following.

“I was hoping you could be that company. May I have this dance?”

She studies his hand, eyes raking over the large surface of his palm and following the veins as they disappear below his tunic, throat growing a little dry. Unsure of why she should say no, especially since she can already feel the tediousness of the next few hours seeping in, Y/N accepts the strangers offer.

Y/N feels eyes burning holes in her, through her, a sour pit churning in her stomach. With a surprisingly gentle touch, the red head draws their bodies together, chest to chest, his hand coming to rest on her lower back, placing himself between her and the inquiring eyes of the inner circle, much to her relief.

Is it such an issue for Y/N to dance with another male? Was she expected to stand by her sisters and the Illyrian males doubling as bodyguards all night, bored to the stars, and counting down the minutes until they could winnow her back to the House of Wind? Nesta and Cassian were enjoying themselves, Feyre and Rhysand were enamoured with each other, and Azriel and Elain were engaged in quiet conversation. So, what is the problem with Y/N enjoying the harmless company of this mysterious, and not to mention breathtakingly beautiful, fae male?

Placing her hand on his shoulder and the other in his hand, large and calloused from centuries of experience she could probably never even begin to comprehend, Y/N looks up at the male.

“How do you find yourself in this cesspool of ingrates on such a beautiful holiday? Surely the Autumn Court would be more…” She pauses, weighing the words on her tongue before letting them slip on a cloud of playfulness to her surprise.

“…favourable.”

Eris guides the two of them in wide circles, knowing he needs not pay attention to the other fae around. Only fools with a death wish would so much as approach the red head and Archeron sister. As his fingers brush across the exposed skin of lower back, the low-cut fabric of her dress revealing enough to please his eyes and send sparks up his fingers at each contact with her, he wonders if her skin is flush to the touch from this nausea-inducing pit or perhaps his proximity.

He hums in approval. Of what exactly, he isn’t sure, coherent thoughts slowly slipping out of his reach.

“You are correct. Though it seems fate would have it that I come here tonight. And what a lovely stroke of luck that I find myself in your company.” He purrs, voice low enough just for her and only her to hear.

He watches heat creep up her exposed neck and settle on the tips of her newly pointed ears with the hint of a smile playing on his lips. And he can’t help but wonder if that truly is the case. If the reason he turned down the invitation to his families own festive ball had something to do with fate, destiny, perhaps the Mother. If the stars intended for the two of them to end up in each other’s paths, each other’s arms.

Voice soft, fighting to keep her eyes on the male’s face despite feeling like the floor may open up and swallow her whole, she asks “May I at least know the name of my dance partner?”

A mischievous, silently knowing smile tugs at the males’ lips as he glances over his dance partners head with ease. Y/N knows who the teasing look was meant for, her High Lord, Feyre’s mate. But as fleeting as the moment is, his bright eyes find themselves looking into hers again.

“Eris. Eris Vanserra, General of the Autumn Court forces. Future High Lord of the Autumn Court. If you’d like the specifics.” His voice flows over her, teasing tone setting in as he finishes his sentence. His eyes are playful, low, and amused, as if he was in on a joke she wasn’t, as if she was some innocent pawn in a game the male who just declared himself the future High Lord of the Autumn Court was engaged in with Rhysand.

She rakes her brain for that missing piece of information, that last piece of the puzzle to really place this male. But instead of finding it within herself, she follows his gaze, fleeting as it was, only to find a tight-lipped Morrigan with eyes set on Y/N, icy and reticent, Azriel’s hand discreetly hovering behind her. To protect or hold her back, she isn’t sure. The cloudy aura around the blonde, usually strikingly orange in its hue, borders on coal as the two of them exchange a knowing look.

And that last puzzle piece clicks. The male whose hands are sending shivers up her spine at their contact with the exposed skin of her back is the same male Morrigan was betrothed to, if Y/N can trust the little information Nesta let slip during one of her drunken tirades, shut down mercilessly by Cassian before she could reveal more. An easy feeling creeps up to (Y/N)’s chest. She didn’t need to know the full story of what occurred between the two fae to arrive at the conclusion that it wasn’t pleasant. And that accepting his invitation to dance with him, with Eris Vanserra, despite initially not being aware of who this male was, may cost her upon the inner circles return to Velaris.

But his gentle hold on her as he leads them around the room with feet skilled beyond her expectations makes her wonder if there was more to him, more to this interaction, than some ulterior motive. More than thrusting a red-hot iron poker at Morrigan’s trauma and showing Rhys and Feyre that their inner circle was not untouchable, unreachable, unbreachable.

As if sensing her growing discomfort, Eris manoeuvres the two of them across the large, cavernous room, past the dancing fae, away from the prying eyes of the inner circle and towards the music. A risky move, they both know, but despite her newfound hesitation, she can’t help but feel thankful. And not just for removing her from yet another unsettling situation she always seems to find herself in with her sisters’ new family. But for reaching out his hand, for grasping her attention, for making her feel seen and alive for the first time since she emerged from the Cauldron desperate for more.

“I don’t know if you’re brave or just plain foolish, Eris Vanserra.” Y/N quips, eyes set on the liquid-like amber ones looking down at her, unmoving, almost challenging.

He wouldn’t be the first or last to try lay claim on the fourth Archeron sister. To try find footing, a doorway into the inner circle. The elusive Night Court. Sometimes Y/N thinks her sisters got it easy. Mated practically right out of the Cauldron, to three brothers no less. They wouldn’t understand the pressure pulling her down each day, the feeling of being a bargaining chip in Rhysand’s pocket, a way to establish or strengthen alliances in the centuries to come. A precious and valued position to fill in all the High Lord’s eyes.

His eyes remain on hers, unflinching, lips slightly curving at the corner at her tone. Eris had heard the rumours. The three sisters of the High Lady of the Night Court, submerged in the elusive depths of the Cauldron, each gifted, each more beautiful than the other. Three sisters on lockdown in the Night Court, two mated. And he would be lying if he denied any ulterior motives, however his existing alliance with Rhysand was questionable but firm, his eventual succession as High Lord all but guaranteed. He had no real need to court the female in his arms. Though, being betrothed to any member of the High Lord and Lady’s family would be a good union for any male, however, betrothal to a mysteriously gifted sister of the first High Lady of Prythian would result in a more powerful union than any other in history. And despite this thought percolating every other thought in his mind, he can’t help but feel like the Mother was trying to play some cruel joke on him. Like she created this woman turned fae just for him, with the way her body feels pressed against his, each movement of her hair sending her scent directly to his nose and nearly buckling his knees. Her smaller hand in his, fingers intertwined with his like their grooves were made just for him. Her bright eyes on his, and he thinks, for the first time in his life, he wouldn’t mind looking into them until time ceased to matter.

“Why not both, dear?” His question is rhetorical in nature, and with heat creeping up her neck she wonders. Could this male truly be evil incarnate if he looked at her like he was ready to worship the ground she walked on?

Hand in his, she blindly follows his lead, never having favoured ballroom dancing the way her eldest sister did. However, she can’t help but find herself drawn to the stranger who has her on her toes. The music carries the two around the room, spinning, floating across the cold emanating from the chiselled stone of the behemoth mountain, eyes never leaving each other. His grip on her body is firm yet gentle, the fire in her very core growing, and she wonders if it has something to do with the male’s heritage or her own gift. The two glide around the large poor excuse for a ballroom with carelessness, lost in a trance, ending up near Rhysand’s and Feyre’s thrones. They can feel eyes on them, burning with questions, accusations, the latter originating from the Truth Speaker herself. But to them, time seems to be still rather than flowing. Their own little undisturbed bubble.

“I can sense it, smell it.” Rhysand whispers into the crook of Feyre’s neck, just below her ear, eyes on his mate’s sister and the heir to the Autumn Court. It was obvious to him, to his brothers and Mor, a sickening sight, one that only seemed to make sense to the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. Yet he wondered, with the cavern full of monstrous fae, how was the scent so permeating?

Feyre, chest heavy with disappointment but acceptance, nods. She can too. The tether between the two, the bond making itself known. And all she can do is watch as Eris dips her sister low, her hair grazing the ground, and places the ghost of a kiss to her throat.

A shockwave of pleasure washes over Y/N at the gentle pressure of his lips on her neck, the embers in her chest igniting and rising to a flame threatening to consume her whole. A tug in her chest, the fire she thinks, begs her to stay close, pull him back into her embrace and not let go. So, she follows her instinct and draws their bodies back together, closer this time, chests heaving against each other, her lips parted, and his eyes so focused on her he almost misses his own name spoken by Rhysand.

“Composure, Eris, please.” Rhysand purrs, examining his nails as if he hasn’t just witnessed the pairing in front of him all but seal their fate.

(Y/N)’s eyes widen. Not from fear or apprehension at the words of her sister’s mate. But rather from the crushing feeling of need weighing on her chest, need to be closer to this man she didn’t know existed before tonight, need to claw out Azriel’s eyes from the glare he’s throwing Eris, need to shield him with her own body from the threat she knows the inner circle poses.

Feeling the ripple in the air, the unmistakeable tug in his chest despite his unwavering fear of what it spells out for him, Eris gently lets go of her body, instead opting for placing a hand on her lower back, long fingers brushing out soft circles over the fabric of her black backless dress as he walks them the few steps it takes to stop at what he deems is an acceptable, safe, distance from Rhysand.

And before he can consider his words, really take in their weight and implications, they slip past his lips. “What do I need to do for her hand in marriage?”

Of course, Eris suspects the hold Rhysand possesses on all his inner circle members. But judging by the disdain in Y/N’s eyes he observed from the moment they arrived to the moment he approached her, Rhysand wasn’t too interested in this particular Archeron sister. Eris was intelligent, well versed in courtly socialite behaviours. He knew of the hoops he needed to jump through, pleasantries to exchange, even if they did not matter. He only really needed the confirmation from one fae, and it was the one his blood raced for, the fire within him craved.

“The choice is Y/N’s, of course.” Feyre chimes in, sharp eyes focused on her sister as she takes in the scene before her. Y/N’s look bordering on feral, fists clenched at her side, jaw rigid. And in her mind, Rhysand’s chuckle echoes, because she may not yet realise the obvious spark in the air.

The illusion of freedom Rhysand and Feyre paint is laughable, Y/N thinks. She always knew her sister to be cunning, and her mate turning out to be Rhysand was something nobody ever questioned, for all the right reasons. Two peas in a metaphorically corrupt pod. She swallows the hate threatening to spew through her clenched jaw, her heart threatening to break her ribcage if it beat any faster at the words of the male next to her. She knew of the courtly games, had been living their nightmare from the moment the cauldron let her take and take and still gifted her with more, knew his words were really just a necessity. And, with bone chilling horror, realized that the entirety of the Court of Nightmares was gawking at them. But the steady and reassuring hand on her back brings her to reality.

Head held high, knowing if she is to accept Eris’s proposal she will become a significant pawn in Rhysand’s game, she thinks that it would all be worth it if she gets to fall asleep in the arms of the stranger who somehow found the sliver of life left in her and pulled it to the surface. She feels, deep down, that marriage will be just a formality for whatever connection she’s feeling between the two of them. His question isn’t something she has to ponder over.

“Yes.” Her voice echoes around the cavern, loud and clear and heard by all.

She doesn’t miss the slight smirk on Rhysand’s lips, the kind look in Feyre’s eyes, the betrayal laced with defeated understanding on Mor’s face. Y/N knows the fiery haired male is on shaky terms with the inner circle at best, for reasons she hopes to understand, but some innate part of her feels whatever grievances will be aired, she will not be moved from his side.

“Congratulations, lovely Y/N. May this union be blessed by the Mother.” Rhysand hums, voice low, double-edged sword that is his tongue savouring the moment. As his eyes meet the amber of the eldest Vanserra brother, he can’t help but grin, because he knows. Eris knows that that hum in the air is, that fire in his chest. Reigning in his smirk, Rhysand sends a quick prayer to the Mother, thinking that Eris may need it if he is to survive by Y/N’s side.

Y/N lightly bows her head, an inch, just enough to show her gratitude for the sake of the onlookers. And before any other fae has the opportunity to pluck up the courage and approach the newly engaged pair, Eris is already gently leading her to the edge of the grand hall, hand still on her back.

“How would you like to sample some of that Autumn Court wine in your new home, my dear (Y/N)?” Eris purrs, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. And the scent that permeates his nose, one of want and need and anticipation, is the only answer he needs as the shadows grow around the two. As the pair winnows, she thinks that perhaps the festivities will be more joyful next year with Eris by her side.

#eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris x reader #erris vanserra x you #high lord eris #eris acotar #acotar #acotar eris #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x reader #acotar x you #autumn court

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simkaswriting · 2 years

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Fake Christmas-(Steve Rogers)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: Fluff, Christmas

Summary: What happens when Steve agrees to be (Y/N)’s fake boyfriend for her family’s Christmas dinner?

A/N: Wow, my first fanfiction in almost three years. Thank you uni for draining my creative spirit lol. But here’s a piece I’ve been writing on and off since last Christmas, hence the theme ;) As always, please reblog or leave a comment if you enjoy the fic :)

Twenty minutes. Twenty painfully long minutes is how long I’ve been toying with my phone, contemplating how to reply to my moms long anticipated text. Mind running 20 miles an hour, trying to scramble for any half-plausible excuse to relieve myself of the yearly family gathering, something which I haven’t managed to successfully do to date. It isn’t because I don’t want to see my family over the Christmas period, but rather because they expect me to bring them a boyfriend, and when I inadvertently fail every year, they never seem to back down from discussing all of my possible shortcomings. And at this point, it’s getting tiring.

Interrupting my useless thought process, Steve’s grumble echoes throughout the large living room, no doubt unhappy with one of the players in the football game he’s watching on Tony’s state of the art TV. Ever the avid fan of the Patriots, perhaps to an extent that may verge on unhealthy. But I am not one to judge, considering the countless arguments Bucky and I have gotten in over old movies. Hands behind his head and feet taking up the whole sofa, he mumbles under his breath every time something goes wrong with his team.

Ever since I joined the Avengers two years ago due to my only slightly annoying element-sensitive powers, the two of us have gotten along like a house on fire. His borderline indestructibility has made him one of my only options for sparing partners given my occasional accidental burning through hand pads, something Natasha still brings up to this day. So, Steve has become my go to sparring partner, and through the hours of intense training, the two of us have slowly grown closer over time. Before I knew it, the sparring grew to cool down sessions, to walks, to drinks, to hanging out in each other’s bedrooms until ungodly hours. And now, Steve has become someone I know I can rely on, someone who I can share my worries and nightmares with, a comfort I didn’t know I needed. A royal pain in my ass too though, but purely because his stupid face and stupid voice and stupid charm has been the only thing occupying my mind lately, to a fault.

Setting my phone down with a dejected sigh, I slowly rise from the corner armchair obscured by a comically large fake plant Pepper no doubt chose. I set my sights on the kettle and tea box, needing some calming herbs to help me think clearer. A nice steaming cup of tea has never failed me before.

“Steve, do you want tea?” I call over to the super soldier who’s somehow managed to occupy the entirety of the L-shaped couch with his enhanced frame, to absolutely nobody’s surprise.

He lazily shifts his gaze from the TV to me, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Almost apologetically, he nods. “That would be lovely (Y/N), thank you. If you wait a few minutes I can help, but we’re in the last quarter now. It’s all or nothing now.”

I grin back at him. “It’s alright, go Patriots.”

This earns me a beaming smile and a fist in the air from the Captain.

I busy myself making us tea, a chamomile blend for me and blackberry for him, and think of some more excuses while the kettle boils. Chicken pox? Too worrying. Work emergency? Not severe enough. Sudden ruptured gallbladder? They would insist on coming to see me. With a small frown, I pour the water into our mugs and place it down on the table in front of Steve just as the game draws to a close. Judging by his smile, the Patriots did indeed win. Which spells good news for the whole team, as his good mood will no doubt reflect on the training sessions, which are about to become a lot less severe. My muscles silently thank the Patriots.

“You seem to be my lucky charm.” He grins as he takes his mug and takes a small sip, the games highlights now being played. Not finding it particularly interesting, I stand by his seat with a small blush and contemplate some more half-hearted excuses to feed my family.

After a few minutes of silence, highlights seemingly forgotten, Steve frowns up at me and sits up properly, freeing up a part of the sofa which he pats for me to sit on. “Are you alright?”

Sighing, I sit down next to him, heart a little unsteady at the lack of space between us.

“Yeah, mom’s hounding me for the Christmas dinner this weekend. She won’t take no for an answer.” I huff, knowing fine well I sound like a sulking child.

At this, Steve’s gaze shifts from curious to concerned so fast it almost startles me.

“Why don’t you want to go? I thought you were on good terms with your parents.” His voice is laced with worry, as if this conversation is his biggest current worry, which is sweet in its own way.

I nod, contemplating whether or not I want to share my yearly experiences of seemingly never-ending teasing. But if anyone has understood my struggle with relationships, it’s Steve. “I am, but when the whole family gathers together for Christmas, it feels like an event designed specifically to tease me about my lack of a boyfriend. It’s just gotten old now. I was so desperate last year, that I offered to pay Thor to pretend to be my boyfriend just to get them off my back. But he unfortunately wasn’t having it.” I chuckle at the memory of a flustered God of Thunder, and how that was the first time I ever heart him struggle with his words.

Steve nods along, running his hand through his hair, something he often does when he’s thinking. It’s a habit he’s had for as long as I can remember, a cute one at that, especially when his shirt rises a little and exposes a sliver of his tones stomach. It definitely beats the nail biting both Bruce and Clint are so fond of.

“That bad?”

I look at his raised eyebrows and solemnly nod. Unfortunately, yes, that bad.

Looking at me, a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Slowly he faces me, his tea somehow already finished. “Call me crazy, but you gave me an idea, so hear me out.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Okay, go on.” Curious and mildly scared of what idea he could possibly have; I take another sip of my tea.

“I can pretend to be boyfriend to stave off your family, and you don’t even have to pay me. I’ll do it for your mom’s Christmas cookies you always talk about.”

The tea seems to go down the wrong tube, my throat not agreeing with the combination of the hot liquid and Steve’s out of pocket proposal. For a few seconds I sputter and cough, trying to wrap my head around what he said. Patriotic, Mr American Values Steve Rogers, wants to willingly lie to my entire family and pretend to be my boyfriend just to help me out and save me from embarrassment?

“Oh no, breathe. Breathe, (Y/N).” Steve takes the cup from my hands and gently places it on the table and starts rubbing soothing circles on my back.

After a few seconds, I calm down enough to look at him without going into another coughing fit.

“Are you sure about this one, Cap?” I question, obvious doubt clouding my voice, only because I know how my family can get. And how easily embarrassed Steve is sometimes. And how much I actually like the man in front of me despite nights spent convincing myself otherwise. It could be a recipe for disaster, especially since he is the one and only Captain America.

“Yes, of course. I reckon it could even be quite fun.” He shrugs and cracks one of his signature smiles that makes my heart do somersaults.

Taking a moment to really consider it, I weigh up my options. My family would definitely stop pestering me if I brought home the one and only Captain America, national hero and the original gentleman. They would no doubt love him. Plus, it could potentially be fun. However, long term it isn’t doable. But beggars can’t be choosers, so I mentally kick myself for agreeing.

“I hate how little convincing you’ve had to do. But sure, what could go wrong.”

---------

Steve pulls up outside of the lake house, parking his car in the row of Jeeps and Hummers already occupying the small car park, all dusted with tufts of snow. His American classic, that probably cost more to repair than it’s worth, sticks out like a sore thumb. “If this is what CEO’s and doctors can afford, I think it’s time I reconsider my career path.” Steve mutters under his breath, gawking at the expensive cars surrounding him. He’s shown an interest in cars and bikes since the early days, or so Bucky said. Maybe this could be some common ground for conversation once the starstruck awe subsides.

I glance at Steve whose eyes are full of child-like glee as his neck cranes to get a better look at my uncles Rolls-Royce Phantom. He really looks like a child on Christmas morning. And not just because of the hideous Christmas jumper he let me force onto him.

Just as I begin to think that I might ask him to turn the car around and leave, because dear God is this whole plan crazy, Steve pulls the keys out of the ignition and opens his door. The bastard probably knew my train of thought and wasn’t going to give me an easy out. But then again, he always seems to have an inkling of what I’m thinking. And we did drive three hours to get here

He walks around to my side of the car and opens the door for me with an encouraging smile, offering his hand to me like the gentleman he is. I take it, noticing how warm and steady it is compared to mine, almost as if he’s not worried about the next few hours ahead in the slightest. Not worried about tarnishing his God-like reputation or lying to my whole family. My stomach flips from the feel of his hand in mine as we slowly walk towards the lake house.

“You’re fine, remember to breathe. Just pretend this is one of our normal undercover missions, like the one we pulled off in Amsterdam in January.” Steve smiles at me reassuringly. Despite appreciating his reassurance, I can’t quite feel like the situation in Amsterdam was nowhere near as dangerous as this one. Amsterdam wasn’t quite the fake boyfriend and girlfriend scenario we’re going for here. It’s ironic, because it’s usually the guy that’s shitting bricks when it comes to meeting the parents, not the girl bringing him home.

Taking a few deep breaths which don’t work to calm my nerves in the slightest, my voice wavers with uncertainty. “You’re right, we went over the story like a million times. We’ll be fine, right?”

The two of us walk up the large wooden stairs towards the glass door, his hand giving mine a reassuring squeeze. The two of us spent hours coming up with a plausible backstory for our ‘relationship’ over the last few days, to Bucky’s and Nat’s immense amusement. We both know what to do, what to say, and how to act to make this the most believable fake relationship possible. It really is almost like a mission. So why does my stomach feel so light?

Steve rubs his thumb over my knuckles, as if reminding me that everything will turn out fine. The action brings my attention back to our intertwined hands and I can do absolutely nothing to stop the blush creeping up to my cheeks.

Before I have the chance to gather my nerves and knock on the door, a silhouette appears behind the stained glass door and swings it open, revealing my slightly dishevelled aunt Janice in an awful Christmas sweater rivalling the hideousness of Steve’s and my own one. Her hand clutches a half-empty glass of amber liquid which I assume is whiskey, as she takes another sip before pulling me into a bone crushing hug. The smell of cigarette smoke stings my nostrils in a nostalgic way.

Pulling away, I notice her eyes are already slightly glazed over as she looks me up and down with approval. Glass balanced on her ring and pinkie finger, she holds me at arm’s length, appearing genuinely delighted to see me. “I’m so happy you made it! Your mom persisted you were very taken with work but look at you! You’re here!” A smile of my own works its way to my lips, her drunken happiness contagious. My aunt has always been my personal favourite.

As she lets go, her attention shifts over to Steve. “And who might this be?”

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise of their own will as I follow her gaze to the tall man next to me. Does she not recognise him? Captain America himself?

Steve smiles politely and tugs me closer to his side. “This is the boyfriend, ma’am. Steve Rogers, a pleasure to meet you.” He extends his hand out for a handshake, polite as ever. But instead, to my surprise, Janice envelops him in a hug of his own with a delighted squeal. I watch to make sure the contents of her glass don’t end up on Steve’s sweater.

“Believe me, the pleasure is all mine.” She laughs as she lets go of Steve and opens the door a little wider. The smell of spices and warmth that flow out makes my stomach burn with nostalgia. “Come, let’s introduce you to the rest of the family, they don’t bite. Well, maybe Coconut. But I wouldn’t worry about her.”

As we walk through the threshold, Steve gives me a questioning look as my aunt rushes into the living room. No doubt excited to inform the cohort that the last unmarried member of the family that’s of age finally brought someone home to the family.

Hanging mu jacket up on the coathanger by the door, I just nod to the small white Dachshund curled up at the bottom of the staircase, barely registering us. “That’s Coconut. She’s known to bite a few ankles here and there.” Vicious creature.

Putting on the bravest smile I can muster, and with a reassuring smile from Steve, we head to meet the rest of the family, chickens entering the wolves den. I hold Steve’s hand tightly in mine, so tight it might cause the average man pain, But not-

“Captain America!” A chorus of excited yells surrounds us as my nieces and nephews rush at the man standing next to me. Their eyes wide in awe, and I don’t blame them. Steve is truly incredible.

Steve chuckles and bends down to high-five the army of five starstruck kids, this no doubt being better than any Christmas present they’ll receive. The youngest, Adam, asks if Steve brought his shield with wide doe eyes only children are capable of, to which Steve promises him he will bring it next time. Despite the empty promise, seeing the way he’s interacting with the kids sets my heart into overdrive, and I have to force myself to stop ogling the incredible man next to me, despite the sight being the cutest I’ve ever witnessed.

Instead, I look across the room at mom and dad, who both wear shocked expressions, their previous conversation forgotten. A quick glance around the room confirms that everyone is indeed gaping at the embodiment of patriotism I brought along.

Once Steve’s sure the kids are happy with the answers to their seemingly never ending questions, he stands back up and haphazardly wraps an arm around my waist, smiling at the people gathered in the large room with one of his signature charming and disarming smiles.

With a small breath to calm my crazy nerves, I also smile at my family. “Family, this is Steve. My boyfriend.” I gently pull his hand from my waist and intertwine my fingers with his as if it were the most natural thing to us. “Though you probably know him better as Captain America.”

My parents both eagerly shoot out of their seats and rush to Steve and I, looks of awe that could easily compete with the kids plastered across their faces. Dad immediately begins to shake Steve’s hand with a wide smile, and I swear he’s holding back from physically vibrating with excitement. “It’s an incredible honour to meet you, Captain.”

I silently thank that Steve is used to these types of reactions.

Mom gives me a quick welcoming hug but her attention is painfully clearly on the handsome man I brought along with me.

“Likewise, Sir. Please, call me Steve.”

Mom leans a little closer and whispers. “You did good.” There isn’t any doubt whether or not she approves of Steve, who most likely heard her. It isn’t every day your child brings home a legendary super soldier. This may even make up for previous years of disappointment, where she would sigh dramatically every few minutes to remind me how I’d disappointed her.

And I fully agree with her. I can’t even begin to imagine anyone else standing next to me, holding my hand, faking this relationship with me. Nobody could possibly be up for this, as Thor showcased, and I don’t believe I’d feel this comfortable around another person. I don’t even have to think about it very hard, but Steve could very well be the perfect man, and I can’t lie to myself that some deeply buried part of me isn’t sad that this is all just a charade. But I push that thought to the back of my mind and instead turn my focus to the job at hand.

The two of us make our rounds until he’s met everyone, with my grandad being the most excited to have met him. And I’m pretty sure that if I don’t bring him along with me to the next family Christmas, I’ll be getting disowned and written out of 20 different wills. Much to their disappointment, I have a feeling this is a one-off favour that he won’t want to keep up.

“Dinner is getting served, please head to the table.” My gran calls from the doorway to the kitchen, and we all simultaneously make our way into the newly renovated dining room. To my surprise, the ceiling has been replaced from brick to glass, white now thanks to the snow. The room itself has been extended to accommodate our ever-growing family.

Steve pulls out the chair for me with a small smile, and I take a seat with flushed cheeks, which to my horror burn brighter when he places a gentle kiss on one of them as he sits down.

He turns to face me with the softest smile, amusement dancing in his blue eyes. “You okay darling?”

I blink once, twice, three times before I can muster a simple ‘yes honey’ in return. Despite the attention on us, nobody seems to pick up on the strangeness of my behaviour. And I internally curse at myself for letting him catch me off guard like this.

The next few minutes are full of everyone getting settled in and food being distributed around. I have to hide my smile when I hear a few of my relatives quietly bicker over who gets to sit on Steve’s other side while he innocently discusses classic cards with my dad and uncles.

Once everyone’s settled down and eating away, I bite my lip nervously as the questions start pouring in from all sides, like an interrogation.

“How did you two meet? And when?” Comes from my cousin, her eyes devouring every inch of Steve as if her were a gazelle and she was on the hunt. And I really can’t blame her, Steve is insanely attractive by any standard, and even those without any taste couldn’t disagree. Instinctively, I take a hold of his hand and smile sweetly at him, a foul acid burning deep in my stomach at the thought of her hands on him. My heart continues hammering against my chest as if trying to escape, but this time it’s not because this charade is making me nervous. It’s because of him.

Steve takes a small drink from his glass of what I assume is whiskey and launches into our well-practiced story.

“It was around nine months ago. I was out for my morning run and we happened to bump into each other. She didn’t recognise me at first, which I was thankful for, at least I knew her initial interest came from an honest place, and not just because I’m Captain America. Now though, I’m not so sure.” His soft smiles slowly turns teasing, and I nudge his shoulder playfully, hoping my blush isn’t too noticeable. Even though we practiced out story, nothing could have prepared me for the physical touch that came along with it.

“Wow Steve, and here I was thinking I’ve been sly about it all this time.”

Laughter echoes around the dining room, and my nephews launch into 101 questions, mainly focusing on how fast he can run, and if he can beat the Flash. And having had the pleasure to watch Steve train, and once stupidly challenging him, I’m beyond aware of his full capabilities. He lightly squeezes my hand before letting go and tucking into the plate of food before him like a man possessed. I have to bite into some potatoes to keep my laughter contained.

“Nine months? And why am I only hearing about this now?” Mom’s eyes wide like saucers burn holes through me, voice shrill, as I fight the urge to avert my gaze.

“I’m sorry! We just wanted to make sure what we have is solid and that our schedules wouldn’t clash too much. You do know his whole gig is sort of saving the world? And God, let’s not even mention the publicity that’s heading our way once we go public.” I rush out, throwing my hands up and gesturing wildly, hoping that will somehow help communicate my point across.

Steve chuckles next to me, eyes warm and comforting on me, those angelic blue eyes that hold the power to render me speechless and burn scorching holes through me. The familiar flutter of butterflies in my stomach disrupts my trance.

“That’s true, just imagine the headlines. ’97 year old Captain America catches himself a girl born seven decades after him’, or maybe ‘Captain America can’t find anyone his own age to date’. Better yet, ‘award for oldest cougar in the world goes to Steve Rogers’. It’ll be rather amusing that’s for sure, but far from easy.” I smile at Steve as he speaks and roll my eyes at his creativity. The family seems amused, while some of the younger kids ask to their parents horror what a cougar is. Perhaps working for the New York Times was his true calling, with his expert avoidance of the word paedophile. Though some part of me worries that a few months from now when my relatives begin asking where such headlines are, I’ll be forced to come clean.

I take a sip from my glass and continue gently smiling at Steve, though this time it isn’t forced for our performance’s sake. No, this time it’s a real smile. Because the man next to me truly is incredible. He’s seen me at my lowest when Pietro died, or when my dog went missing only to resurface with his head missing as a threat from one of our many enemies. And in turn I was there when he so desperately tried proving Bucky’s innocence against the wishes of the mighty Tony Stark himself. But he was also the one to hug me first when I got my PhD, and I was the first person he lent his infamous shield to for a long mission. And through the turmoil and good times, we’ve come out stronger than ever, with newfound strength and closeness. And a different kind of love on my behalf. I would walk through Hell and back for him, and I have no doubts he would do the same.

Grandma smiles from behind her glass of white wine, and I swear I can see the shadows of devil horns take form. “So Steve, what are your intentions with my little (Y/N)?”

My breath catches in my throat. We didn’t rehearse this question, stupidely. Why didn’t we think to cover this base? I force myself to swallow the delicious food and begin to shake my head. “Okay Gran, that’s not-“

Before I have the chance to try and stop the train collision about to happen, Steve interrupts me, perhaps for the first time since I met him.

“I’m glad you asked. It has only been nine months. However we have discussed what the future holds for us, and as long as (Y/N) still wants me around, then ring shopping definitely isn’t out of the question.” Steve sends me a cheeky wink, softly brushing his thumb over my knee to ease some of my tension, not knowing that the touch of his skin on mine is throwing me into a frenzy.

“In my decades-spanning life, I have never met a woman so passionate and determined, not only in her personal life but in her career too. She knows what she wants and goes for it without asking permission of anyone. Waking up next to her every morning really makes the 66 years I spent under the ice worth it, almost like fate. Every day I look at her and fall deeper in love, and who could really blame me. She makes me feel like the luckiest man alive, which I no doubt am. Not every woman would sit through a Patriots game just to make their partner happy.”

It takes all of my goddamn self-control, of which there isn’t a lot, to keep my jaw firmly attached and away from hitting the table. Self-control that multiple people at the table don’t see to quite possess. The sudden dryness in my throat forces a cough out of me, and I desperately hope my attempt and playing it off as a laugh at his Patriots joke is believable. But the cruel reality is that my heart is hammering against my chest faster than Steve can run, and my palms are as wet as my throat wishes it was. How did he come up with this on the spot and deliver it so effortlessly? Almost too smoothly. We didn’t rehearse this. What am I going to do next year when he doesn’t show up to the Christmas dinner with me? Keep the lie going and tell them he’s on some top-secret mission, or be forced to come clean when he finds a woman for himself? Despite it feeling like he was speaking from the heart, I have to convince myself it isn’t true. Because there sure isn’t an ounce of truth to what he said.

Steve smiles at my gran, sweet as honey, before pulling me closer and placing a soft kiss on my forehead. My heart, not heading for a cardiac arrest, skips a beat at his sudden burst of affection. But I can’t deny I love the contact, and I don’t try to stop the smile fighting its way onto my face.

There’s a brief moment of silence, before the sound of cooing attacks us from every direction. My mother actually has tears in her eyes, and I have to bite my lip to keep my own at bay, if only after seeing hers. But if anything, his lovely speech and the reactions of my loved ones reminds me of our actual relationship; two close friends, nothing less, nothing more. And it leaves an unpleasant pit in my stomach.

The poor guy barely has time to swallow, and the others to recover, before Aunt Janice takes another drink of the auburn liquid in her glass and waves her hand frantically for attention. Now that I think about it, an online ad for a fake boyfriend probably would have been less stressful.

A playful look on her face, Janice winks at him. “Your alcohol tolerance, soldier? What do ya say to an old-fashioned drinking game?”

My eyes widen instantly at her proposition. Does she realise that Steve is a superhuman? An enhanced soldier? Scientifically altered to be the perfect man. A man who could drink Asgards alcohol of the gods with no effect?

“You might not want to do that, ma’am.” Steve looks at her with amused eyes and smiles shyly, obviously not wanting to offend her, but also trying to put her off one of the bigger mistakes of her life.

I nod furiously in agreement. “Please don’t, that’s not a good idea. A really bad one actually.”

“I’m just saying, I don’t believe everything the media say. Your tolerance is surely not that high?” She presses, and I recognise that she’s one step away from pulling out a bottle of Jack for each of them. But thankfully, my grandmother chimes in, chastising her daughter.

“Janice leave the poor man alone, alcohol only lowers potency and I want to spoil my grandchildren next Christmas.”

I just about choke on my own saliva, as does my dad.

“Mom please, they need to get married first and move in together before trying for a family.” My mom shakes her head at grandma in disproval, to which grandma rolls her eyes and swats my moms hand off her shoulder, before once again setting her sights on me and Steve.

“When I was your age, Janice and Clyde were already crawling around and I was expecting with your aunt Angie. You two have a lot of catching up to do.”

I look at Steve, for reassurance or some solace, I’m not sure, but he looks more amused than worried.

“I understand ma’am. I was born during an era where you were expected to marry, settle, and have children within months of knowing one another, and at a very young age. Today’s culture did come as a shock to me.”

Before Steve has a chance to promise great grandchildren and a wedding, I slide out of my seat and take Steve’s hand in mine.

“Actually, Steve honey come help me get the presents from the car? Sorry, I only just remembered we forgot to bring them in with us.” I shoot an apologetic smile to mom and discreetly nudge him, which he thankfully takes as a hint and also stands up. I can see Mom gearing up to protest, but I just smile and pull him out of the room, right out of the front door, not bothering to take our jackets. I feel like another layer on my already flushed skin would only worsen my state.

The fresh air hits me like a beautiful slap in the face that I whole-heartedly welcome. I bask in the cold breeze for a few seconds. It does wonders calming my rampant thoughts. And the slow snowfall around me only helps more.

“See now I agree with your mom, I was also thinking marriage, house, children is a good order to do things in. I’m glad some old ideals still live in todays society.” Steve quips, his tone oozing mirth. My steely glare does nothing to stop his infections smile.

“Don’t you dare encourage them or so God help me I’ll have Stark confiscate your shield from you. This, we, aren’t real and I don’t need them getting attached to you when they’ll only ever see you on TV again.” My hands take on a life of their own as I throw them around wildly to try emphasise what I’m saying, and just how serious of a conversation this is gearing up to be. As soon as the words leave my mouth though, they feel too harsh. Wrong, even. This is a fake relationship, but it feels wrong. The lake to our left unsettles, waves on an otherwise motionless pool of water rising higher and higher, my emotions clearly affecting my powers.

His hand wraps around my clenched fist and softly begins to rub soothing circles on my knuckles, calming me down, lowering the unnatural wall of water. Looking into his eyes I don’t see the amusement I heard in his tone though, and it throws me.

“(Y/N)....” Steve glances at our intertwined hands for a few seconds. My name hangs in the air as his other hand combs through his hair. The nervous habit. We stand in silence for a few seconds as the pit in my stomach grows darker and deeper. For a reason unbeknown to me, I feel unease. Foreboding.

“(Y/N) you make me want things I can’t have.” Steve’s smile is a sad one, and it hurts me to see. But what does he mean? Is it my family since he doesn’t have his own one?

“Steve I... What?”

My mind runs rampant and wild with no signs of stopping. Where is this coming from? What brought this on?

Looking at our hands something clicks. Could he possibly be talking about us? It’s an absurd thought that I already know is wrong, yet the tingle in my stomach is persistent. Could it be? I look up at him, his soft blue eyes, and dare to hope. ”Who says you can’t?”

His eyes shoot up to mine. They search my own ones for something, anything, that might give him the idea I’m joking. I fight the urge to look away, not because I’m uncomfortable though. Purely because the intensity he’s looking at me with flares up my cheeks. His eyes flicker with defeat.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, (Y/N). Training, missions, falling asleep... Normal daily activities and I can’t commit to them. I can’t do it. I just can’t, you’re always on my mind.” His voice is low with a tinge of defeat as his thumb continues to draw circles on my knuckles.

“Buck told me to either snap out of it or grow a pair. But how could I do this to you? Bind you in a relationship when I will outlive you? Outlive even our children? I can’t do that to someone I care for. Someone I... I refuse.” His brows furrow more and more until there’s a deep shadow over his eyes. His beautiful, troubled eyes.

The words hang between us, heavy, yet relieving, almost freeing. Hopeful despite the content of them. The heat drains from my face as his words really register in my mind. Does he love me? Is he consumed by love the way I am? Has he felt this way since the first time we met, or only more recently? Does anyone else know? Does he seriously think that this decision is only up to him? Questions fly around my head, dizzying me, ones I desperately want answers to, but that can wait. His eyes haven’t budged from our hands. I can’t read him. But I have to say something. I have to for the sake of my sanity, and our relationship, whatever that may be after his declaration.

“Steve this isn’t just your choice anymore. I understand what you mean but dear God, with this logic you’re destined to live a lonely life. A long, lonely life, when you could be happy. We could be happy.” I take a step closer to him, our faces inches apart. My desperate eyes search his face for any sign of agreement, any sign that his selfless act is dissipating. He sighs and begins to shake his head no, but the cracks are there, just beneath the surface. I just need to press harder.

“Do it, take a chance. I’m begging you, Steve. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been. I want this, you, us. I want the things you fed my family in there. With you.” The crack in my voice betrays my confident bravado as I begin to feel the desperation. He has to say yes. He has to. There is no way we could go back to the way we were before, not with these revelations now out in the open.

Steve gently smiles down at me, meeting my eyes with a soft look that melts my heart. I hold his unwavering stare, but the corners of my vision begin to slightly blur from the tears of desperation.

His free hand reaches up to caress my cheek and jaw. I lean into his touch like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Our breaths come out in short puffs of white clouds as the silence stretches out. I have to do it. Now or never.

I stretch up and before I can back out or my heart palpitations succeed in giving me a heart attack, I press my lips against his.

The exact moment our lips touch, two things happen simultaneously. First, Steve wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me closer to him with a soft groan, which threatens to stop my heart beating right on the spot. Second, the snow around us intensifies from a mere dusting to a ferocious fall that has us both grinning into the kiss like two lovesick idiots.

I don’t care for his stubble as his lips feel so soft moving against mine, tasting vaguely of alcohol and mints and that odd combination of things I can’t put my finger on that scream Steve. My fingers weave themselves into the hair at the nape of his neck. I can tell he’s being a gentleman and holding back, and I don’t push him. There’s plenty of time for that.

He breaks away from the kiss, gently resting his forehead against mine as our breaths almost drown out the sudden storm my excitement caused. His voice is soft, and I have to strain to hear him.

“I love you (Y/N).”

I don’t even try to stop the smile spreading across my lips at those words. I’ve been wanting, no yearning, to hear those words from him for years. Hoping that amidst the heat of battle he’d shout them to me in fear that we won’t live to see each other again. That perhaps at one of Tony’s extravagant parties, he would find his way to me and whisper the words only for me to hear. But this somehow feels right. The two of us at my family’s lake house, acting as fake boyfriend and girlfriend in a desperate bid to save my sanity and reputation. Waiting this long has been worth it.

“I love you too, Steve.”

We’re both stand in the snowfall for a few minutes, grinning at each other like idiots. Relishing in the words we've both been silently begging to hear.

“Let’s head back before you grandmother starts picking out baby names.”

Hand in hand, the two of us head back inside to face my family once again, however this time it’s different. This time we don’t have to pretend.

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