#BUT NO THE LINE IS STRAIGHT UP ‘smell of coffee’

[voidcat]

Also to end the night on some genshin notes. I did the canopy tribe quests and I like kinich now. Lowkey wishing I pulled for him too lol personality pulls also he has a nice design when u ignore the lack of melanin

But on another note of genshin giving racist vibes (at least to me) during the spring tribe quests when mualani makes us think about what a journey is essentially and at the end traveler thinks about a poetic thing that stands out in each nation that also describes their state and our experiences there it’s all wonderful then-

He gets to sumeru and just says “smell of coffee” like. Are you kidding me. Is this a joke. The biggest nation we have thus far w a very rich history that ties to several other nations- different biomes and so many gods and important figures. So many lore drops- Not to mention being one of the key nations/patches where we got good lore drops for both tevyat (fake sky) and main progress (kuni and irminsul)

Even the petrichor island in Fontaine and remuria is tied to mfing king desheret and all the game over line has to say about sumeru is. SMELL OF COFFEE IS THIS ANJOKE

[dollyichi]

BETTER THAN A BLANKET!

katsuki bakugou x f ! reader ᯓ★ 1.04k words. fluff / established relationship / not proofread / maybe ooc but you know… it’s a sleepy bakugou

katsuki has this habit of moving you on top of him. it’s a very pure, almost natural, but mindless action that just happens when you’re together.

it happens more frequently on a lazy, late afternoon during his off days. when the sun’s about to set and the both of you are enjoying each other’s company. laying down side by side, comfortable in each other’s silence.

the errands for the day were done and instead of going on a date outside, you opted to just get back home quickly—he definitely had no complaints at all, in fact, he was happy to stay at home with you, especially since he was barely even at home because of the several missions and emergencies he was dispatched to. to him, a big flaw of being a hero is being away from their lover for long periods of time—but it’s always more important that the world you helped widen for him is safer for you.

when you got home, you watched a few movies with him. laughing about the cheesy romcoms that’s number one on the streaming site. throwing popcorn when he mocks a cringy line. “well shit, he was really fucking stupid for that. can’t be me.” was your favorite comment from him, making a mental note in your head that he really hates slow-burn romance. definitely hates cheating routes too, thinking the whole film is a waste of time.

sooner or later, the two of you end up getting a little drowsy, wanting to take that power nap that the two of you deserved after the hell you guys went through this week. both of you are just waiting for sleep to hit and drift off in each other’s arms.

this moment you have with him is always special, never failing to tug on your heartstrings, especially since the golden shine of the sun passes through the thin curtains of your lovely home, landing perfectly on his pretty face that’s trying to blink and stay awake all because he always preferred you falling asleep first. half lidded eyes that still shined prettily accompanied by the warm rays.

when katsuki gets extra groggy and sluggish, he pulls you over on top him all too suddenly. tugging at your arm, looking at you like a puppy wanting treats. his mouth’s in a straight line yet his eyes already is saying a lot, it is one of the most expressive parts of him if he chooses not to speak.

and you let him, moving on top of him while he maneuvered you to however he liked, landing on him with a soft thud. you scoot a little bit to be more comfortable. nuzzling your face against his neck when you’re already put in place, “he smells so nice,” you think. he wraps his arms around you in such a tender embrace—you couldn’t move even if you wanted to. also spreading his legs apart so yours could stay on the mattress in case your legs get numb later on, he’s so considerate.

your arms under his while you softly cling to the sleeves of his shirt. you’re both chest to chest, almost feeling each other’s heartbeats. he loved doing this so much because you being his very own personal blanket would always bring him comfort. you’re always just so full of warmth and he always wants to feel it from head to toe—this is just the best position to have it possible.

you’ll talk for a bit, saying how you missed him all week and he grins at you. “yeah? your boyfriend left you all alone huh? what a dumbass.” and then you’ll tell him some stories about what you did at work, chatting about how the coffee machine keeps breaking cause an intern hasn’t learned to use it properly. he’d give you replies in small phrases, happily listening to your voice while fighting the drowsiness that’s kicking in. chuckles whenever your pitch gets higher from your rants. then you’d go back to telling him how you saw him at the news the other day, how you always worried a lot, which always made him a little sad but it couldn’t be helped.

but you’re pouting at him so cutely he ends up smiling. “i’m here now aren’t i?” he asks in a way that reassures you. “mhm, safe and sound.” you say, nudging your cheek against his.

you really wished time could slow down, even for just a bit, just to have katsuki all to yourself for a little while longer.

eventually your chat with him turns to a slower pace, your voice gradually getting softer and softer, and words more disconnected as your mind gets hazy with sleep.

he mumbles a small, “sleepy?” and you snuggle deeper onto him, which immediately translates to his head as a ‘yes.’ he doesn’t ‘bother’ you anymore with any other words or further conversation. instead, he kisses the top of your head while he waits for you to drift off before him. and he repeatedly tells you how much he loved you, at least in his head he did.

you’re closing your eyes while he rubs your back, soothing you into that dreamscape while you hope to see him right there next to you just like you are now.

when you wake up you’re in the same place you were in, except the extra warmth on your back with your puffy comforter that katsuki somehow placed on without waking you.

you figured it’s time to start preparing dinner from how dark the room is. yet, with the way he looked so cute sleeping so soundly under the cool hue of the moonlight you think it’s probably fine to sleep for a few more minutes.

and you kiss him just for a little while before you lay back down. not knowing he was awake a few minutes after you did and hoped you wouldn’t notice the blush that’s creeping up his cheeks. “that was dangerous,” he thought to himself. maybe it was cause he was still high off from his dream but whenever you make his heart skip a beat this much it makes him want to ask you to be his girlfriend again (i think this definitely calls for a ring katsuki!)

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

[mountainsandmayhem]

Merry Christmas, Little Dove

18+. Minors, Do Not Interact

Summary: You and Joel celebrate your Christmas tradition. OR Joel fucks you in front of the Christmas tree.

WC: 3.7k of straight filth

AN: this is not proofread or beta read, so just take it like the good girl you are 😉 Headers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

TW: multiple orgasms, dirty talk, pet names, unprotected P-in-V (relax they’re both in their 40’s and in a long term relationship), one single slap, two drops of spit, oral (both ways), mentions of alcohol consumption

Main Masterlist || More of Joel & Little Dove

You watch the way his soft, dark green t-shirt stretches against his muscle-lined back as he places the gifts under the tree. The house is quiet, and both your daughters are asleep in their childhood bedrooms. The living room is basked in the warm glow of only the tree and electric fireplace. Joel is meticulously putting presents out, completely focused on his role as Santa Claus. This is one of the things you love most about your partner. He might have this tough, grumpy exterior, but he’s never been afraid to exude the Christmas spirit. When Ellie and Sarah were young, he would spend hours driving from store to store to find exactly what they wanted. He’d stayed up all night once building Sarah’s Barbie dream house and Ellie’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pizza parlour so they’d be surprised in the morning.

You smile to yourself over the years and years of memories in this room, and the smile is bigger knowing your college-aged daughters still want to come home for Christmas with mom and dad. You tiptoe over to the record player, putting on Joel’s favourite Frank Sinatra Christmas vinyl. As the soft tones of ‘I’ll Be Home For Christmas’ filter from the speakers Joel stands and turns to face you.

“Hi, baby. Where’s the girls?”

“I think someone got a little heavy-handed with the whiskey in the hot toddies,” you say with a raise of an eyebrow. He smirks, closing the distance between the two of you as he pulls you in to slow dance with him. “You might have two hungover daughters tomorrow morning.”

Your body meets his and need floods your system almost immediately. He smells like cedar and whiskey, his large palm rests on your lower back and you sway along with him.

“I’ll make them an Irish coffee tomorrow and they’ll be good as new. Besides, you and I wouldn’t be able to do our Christmas tradition if they were awake.”

“Joel Miller,” you say with a shocked laugh. “Did you do this on purpose?”

“Perhaps,” he smirks down at you, his dimple on full display as his eyes darken with arousal.

“Devious,” you whisper before his lips sponge against yours. Truthfully, it’s been years since the two of you did your actual Christmas tradition. When the girls were younger, after all the gifts were under the tree and the cookies were eaten, Joel would turn out all the lights and then strip you bare in front of the tree and fuck you softly. But when the girls became teens it was too risky to just fuck out in the open like that.

Joel’s hands come to your waist pulling at the black shirt you have tucked into your high-waisted jeans. You squeak as he pulls. “What kind of witchcraft is this?” He jokes between kisses when the shirt doesn’t come out.

You giggle against his mouth, “It’s a bodysuit.”

“Mmm, with the little snaps where my Christmas present is?” His voice is lower and more seductive now.

“Yes, sir.” You say, the shift in the air between you two makes it hard to breathe.

Joel makes slow work of the button and the zipper on your jeans before lowering you to the ground. The slow sounds of Frank Sinatra are somewhere in the background, but at this moment all you can see, hear and feel is your beautiful partner above you, kissing anywhere he can reach.

He raises on his knees and tugs your jeans off, guiding your feet to fall on each side of him, then pulls his shirt over his head. The glow of the tree turns his body into a work of art. The dips of his muscles along his chest and shoulders are darker, making him look bigger than he is. Your hands reach towards the button of his jeans but he grabs your wrists to stop you.

“Not yet, little dove,” Joel’s voice is a scratchy whisper as he leans forward, pinning your hands above your head. “Stay like this for me, ok?”

You nod and hum out an agreeable sound before he sits back up, his warm, rough fingers trailing along your covered arms, breasts, and stomach as he comes to rest on his heels. Your breaths quicken at the sight of him and then stop altogether as he runs a finger along the gusset of your body suit.

“Gods you’re so beautiful, baby.” He whispers it like a hymn like you’re the deity he prays to, and you know you’re about to be worshipped.

“I need you,” you moan, clenching your fists to stay in his desired position.

“Do ya now?” Joel smiles softly, his finger grazing at your clit through your clothing. “Tell me what you want.”

“Take the rest of my clothes off and fuck me all slow and gentle until I come and then fill me up.” It’s a whispered request.

His finger hooks through the bodysuit and you gasp, then grind your hips to try to get him to touch you where you need it most. His eyes widen and the feel of your soaked pussy along the back of his knuckle. “Did you attend our wholesome Christmas Eve family dinner without any panties on, little dove?”

You bite down on your bottom lip as your cheeks flush pink. “Yes.”

With the flick of his finger the snaps on your bodysuit open. “Naughty girl.”

You lift your hips so he can slide the body suit up, which he does until your lacy red bra is exposed, but he’s much too preoccupied looking at your completely bare pussy. “Something looks different here,” he says with an eyebrow raised.

You feel shy all of a sudden, butterflies bursting in your stomach. When the two of you were in your twenties this was standard, but as you both got older you started leaving more hair. Joel never complained, now you’re worried he doesn’t like it.

“I got it waxed for you.”

He licks his lips before looking up at you. “Little dove, you know you don’t have to do that, right? I love your pussy just as much when it isn’t shaved.”

“I know,” you say, bringing your knees together nervously.

“Whoa, not so fast,” his hands come to your knees, pressing them apart. “I just want you to know that before I go down and don’t come up. Because this was my plan either way. I’m going to lick your perfect pussy until you pry me off. And then I’m going to fuck you so slowly, and only when you’re begging for it am I going slam into you until you come.”

The silence between you is thick with arousal before you croak, “Colour system?”

Joel lowers his body to the ground. His warm breath hits your soaked cunt as he speaks. “Yes, little dove. What do you say if you want to stop?”

“Red,” your hips lift closer to his mouth, and he presses down against your hips with one of his forearms and tuts at you.

“And if you need a break or for me to slow down?”

“Yellow,” you whine.

He slides his forearm to the side, placing his warm hand on your mount and pulls back slightly to expose your clit. “Look at you, little dove. So wet and perfect. Give me a colour.”

Goosebumps break out across your skin and you sink into the floor, wholly submitting to Joel as you whisper, “Green.”

Joel’s lips come to your center kissing your clit lightly before he dives in. Licking long hot lines from the bottom of your pussy to the top. Your hands fly to hair, carding through the girls and he groans at the slight pain in his scalp as you tug.

“Oh god, fuckfuck,” you chant out along with his name as he pulls a quick orgasm out of you almost immediately.

“Already, little dove?” He asks, smirking between licks.

“You feel so good. Joel.”

He continues to taste you, now focusing just on your clit with the flat of his tongue. He applies just the right amount of pressure and circles your sensitive bud slowly. You arch your back off the floor as a tingling pleasure starts to build.

“I’m gonna come again, baby.” You gasp, keeping your voice low even though you want to scream.

He keeps doing exactly as he has been, knowing you’re loving it and soon you fall apart for him again. The waves of this orgasm are stronger and you try to squirm out of his grasp as you come down from high.

“Too much. S’too much,” it’s almost a cry.

Joel pins your hips down again, and with his broad shoulders between your legs you can’t close them. “One more, little dove. You can give me one more.”

“No, please. Fuck me now. I can’t.” You’re practically panting and the mixture of the pleasure and the hot totty from earlier has your skin on fire.

His free hand comes between your legs. He gathers your arousal with his ring and middle fingers, effectively turning you into a writhing, moaning mess before slipping his fingers deep inside you and sucking your puffy clit between his lips.

You slide your feet closer to your body and try to squeeze your thigh shut. It’s no use, you could clamp Joel’s head between them like an MMA fighter but that wouldn’t stop him and you know it.

“Relax,” he murmurs before suckling on your clit again.

“Fuck me, god. So good.” You’re sure that’s what you say but at this point, you can barely form a thought.

He taps his finger along the front wall a few times before hooking them forward. Pleasure overwhelms you and you go boneless. Your knees fall open, your hands all from his hair and your eyes shut. This is how Joel likes you. Pliable. Agreeable. Completely his.

“There’s my pretty little dove,” he admires and flicks his wrist up and down to taunt your g spot while sucking harder on your clit.

Pressure builds at the base of your spine and you mumble how good it feels. It takes all the strength you can muster but you get yourself up on your elbows to push Joel’s finger in deeper and within seconds the pressure snaps and every fiber of your being is lit ablaze as you come for a third.

“Joel, fuuuuuck. Yes, mmmmm, oh god.”

He lets out a quiet, devious laugh and it vibrates against your pussy, causing another strong wave of your orgasm to flood your system. You need him to stop but never want him to stop at the same time. Your hips grind on their own as you come down. Joel knows your body better than anyone so he stops moving; just keeps his finger crooked forward and his tongue pressed to your clit and lets you take what you need.

The whimper that leaves your lips as you slow your hips is his cue to stop teasing your clit. He pulls back and whispers up at you.

“You’re so beautiful when you fall apart like that. My naughty little dove. Right in front of Santa Claus and everything, hmm?”

“Fuck me, Joel. Please. I need to feel you inside me.”

He slips his fingers out slowly as he crawls up your body. His wet fingers come to your lips.

“Suck,” he commands, “But don’t swallow.”

Eagerly you suck his fingers into your mouth, lapping up your heady sweetness and letting it rest on your tongue. Joel slips his fingers from your lips and kisses you, ducking your tongue into his mouth and swallowing your arousal. You both moan in tandem, and as if his kiss has put you under some sort of spell you’re on the verge of coming again at just the feel of his strong body on top of yours. He breaks the kiss and then winces.

You stifle a laugh, “I guess we aren’t in our twenties anymore, are we?”

“No,” he huffs. “But that’s not going to stop me from fucking you on the floor tonight.”

You scratch your fingers through his soft, short beard. Admiring the way it’s more grey than just a few months ago.

“Why don’t you let me get on top, sir.” You soften your expression and bat your eyelashes, knowing he’s usually powerless under your puppy dog eyes.

He shifts his weight above you to his other knee; the left one, and you know that because it’s the one that bothers him less.

“You gonna listen when you’re up there?” His eyes darken as he says it. You aren’t sure what kind of punishment he could come up with the girls being home for the next two weeks, but you aren’t about to find out.

“Yes, sir,” you say with your voice full of sweetness. He rolls the two of you and you land on top of him with a quiet squeak. His legs part to make room for you between them. You already know what’s coming next.

“Take my cock out, little dove.” His voice a husky growl.

You sit up between his thighs, resting on your heels. Before following his demands, you reach for your bodysuit and slowly peel it off your body and over your head. He presses his lips together to stop the smile.

“No panties and that see-through red bra I love so much? Was someone planning to get fucked tonight?”

You trail your fingers along the cups of your bra, your nipples hardening at attention through the fabric. “Maybe,” you wink.

Joel sits up so quickly that it startles you, the strong muscles behind his soft tummy rippling as he does it. His hands wrap around your wrists and through gritted teeth he commands, “Then take out my fucking cock, little dove. Get it nice and wet. Then, when I tell you to, sit on it and stay still like a good little girl until I tell you what to do.”

You go to kiss him but he lays back down with his hands behind his head and a cock smile on his face. You’re panting, you’re not sure when that happened. You lick your lips and your hands fly to the button of his jeans. Undoing it with shaky hands and then pull at the zipper. He’s rock-hard behind his black boxers. He shifts his hips so you can tug the jeans and his underwear down to sit just below his ass. His cock springs free and you don’t waste a single second, grabbing it by the base and lowering your face towards him. He watches you intensely.

“That’s it. Get it nice and wet, baby. Gotta make sure he can slide into that tight, little pussy of yours.”

You stop your lips mere inches from the tip of his leaking cock and look up at him. Without breaking eye contact you let saliva fall from your mouth and land on his cock. You clock the way his breathing halts as he watches it fall from your velvety lips to his aching cock, and the way he shudders an exhale as it runs down his shaft to your hand. You do it again, this time smiling up at him and then biting your bottom lip and the spit makes its sensual trail from his tip to your hand.

“Suck my cock, little dove. Now.”

Your lips are around his cock in an instant, sliding down as deep as you can go and holding it there. You breathe through your nose and let saliva pool in your cheeks before sliding up to the tip, coating his shaft with your spit. When you reach the top, you flick your tongue along the bottom ridge.

Joel groans, “Such a good listener.”

The praise washes over you, encouraging you to repeat your previous motion. You press him deeper this time, stopping when you feel him at the back of your throat.

“Fuck, little dove.” Joel’s voice is rough but full of admiration.

As your saliva starts to leak from your lips you pull back slowly, swirling your tongue along every ridge and vein that line the bottom of his cock. Your eyes meet his again as your tongue rounds the tip of his dick, the salty tang of his pre cum floods your system like a drug.

“Sit,” he accentuates the T and you scramble to straddle him.

You put your right knee on the floor, bending your left leg up so you can put your foot on the floor. This position saves one of your knees and you can usually get better leverage in a half squat versus a straddle. One of his hands comes to your right hip, the other wraps around his cock, holding it steady as you line yourself up.

The thick head prods at your entrance and you moan as you slide down the first few inches. “So good, Joel.”

“Mm-hmm, you have been good. Keep going, baby.” He releases his grip from his cock so you can take more of him. “That’s my girl. Taking it so well.”

You breathe through the stretch as your hips settle against his, then lean back to rest your hands on his muscle-packed thighs.

“Little dove, tell me how it feels.”

“Mmmm, so full,” you half whine, half pant.

He flexes his hips forward slightly at the neediness in your tone. “Gotta relax for me before you can move.”

His thumb comes to brush your clit. A small sob escapes your throat, “M’trying to.”

“I know, baby,” he coos, his thumb barely touching you as he circles it along your swollen clit. “You’re doin’ so good. Just breathe, little dove. Make room for my cock in that pretty little pussy of yours.”

You make a conscious effort to relax; unclenching your jaw and then letting your shoulders fall. Your head lulls back, the star on top of the tree and the smell of pine needles surrounds you. A fresh wave of arousal floods between your thighs and the pinch of him turns to pleasure.

“Good job, little dove. Are you ready to move?”

“Please. Oh gods. Please!”

“Sshhh, you’re ok. Nice and slow, honey.” His hand on your hip guides you back and forth. The motion is almost infinitesimal, but the forward rocking puts pressure on your g-spot and the thumb that still hovers about your clit. “Eyes on me now, baby.”

You tilt your chin down until your sparkling eyes meet his dark ones. He continues, “Can you do as you're told?”

You nod as a breathy plea leaves your lips, “Yes, sir. I will. Please, it feels so good.”

“I want you to ride me until you’re right on the edge of coming and then stop. Can you do that?”

“No,” you whine. “Why? I wanna come. Please.”

“You will. If you listen like the good little girl I know you can be, I’ll let you come. But first, you have to earn it.” He squeezes at your hip, his short nails digging into the skin.

You stick out your bottom lip and say a sad, “Okay.”

“Give me your hand.” You move one of his hands from his thighs. He guides your hand to your clit and then wraps his hand around your left ankle. “Show me, little dove.”

You take the reins, rubbing tight circles along your clit as you grind back and forth. Your orgasm builds in an instant.

“Shit can feel how close you are already,” Joel grits out.

“Please let me come. I’ll do anything.” You change to a circular motion, shifting your weight to the left, using the squat position for more friction.

“Don’t you dare! You said you can do as you're told,” he reminds you roughly, then uses the hand that was clamped on your right hip to slap your inner left thigh. “Don’t make me punish you.”

The pain from his strike sends warmth right to your core and you stop before you come. You let out a sad whine and fall forward, hands landing on either side of your head as you catch your breath.

“Please!” You murmur.

“God, little dove. You have no idea what it does to me when you listen like that. Such a good little submissive, aren’t you?” His hand runs from your right hip up your back, finger flicking the clasp of your bra open. “Sit back up. You earned it, little dove. Use my cock. Make us come.”

The lacy red bra slides down your arms as you sit up and you toss it towards the tree before riding him like it’s the last time. Your hands fly to your breast, rolling your nipples between your fingers in time with your hips. Nothing compares to the feeling of Joel's thick cock filling you. It’s indescribable and so fucking addicting even after almost fifteen years together.

The rough pad of his thumb loves back to your clit and you gasp. “Please don’t make me stop again, Joel. I’m so close.”

“I know, baby. I won’t. Fucking Christ, squeezin me so tight. I’m not gonna last.” The last part is a whimper.

“I’m gonna come,” you moan.

“Me too, little dove. Let go, fuuuck, let go for me.”

The sparks behind your clit turn into a fire, scalding every nerve ending as it spreads throughout your body. You bite down on your hand to stop from screaming as you twitch on his cock. Your pussy clenches tightly around him a few times before you feel him burst inside of you. His grip on your hip tightens again as he whines softly. Your eyes lock on his, the veins in his neck popping as he whispers your name and praises how good you feel wrapped around him.

Your highs seem to last forever before he reaches up to pull you down on top of him. Helping you shift your weight so you straddle him fully. He plasters you to his chest, the thin layer of both of your sweat mixing. Your heart races behind your ribs as you catch your breath, an occasional after-shock causing your pussy to flutter gently on his slowly softening cock.

“Oh my god,” you say, relaxing into his warmth.

“You ok, baby?” He sponges a kiss to your hairline.

“Mm-hmm. So good. Sleepy, but amazing.” Your mumble, kissing his chest.

His hands run along the lines of your back. “Good. Merry Christmas, little dove.”

[slutforfinnickodair]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐨, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞..

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐩! (𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝟐𝟒, 𝐡𝐚𝐲𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝟒𝟑), 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐧𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐩 𝐢𝐭!)

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐅!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐇𝐚𝐲𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧

𝐀/𝐍: 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐋𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐒 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋! 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐇𝐄𝐑 @angelst4re <𝟑𝟑𝟑

-------

“So? How was your ‘date’?” One of your colleagues called Ashley asked as you kept pouring yourself the poor coffee that was made in the office.

“Horrible.” You muttered while leaning against one of those desks. “I mean, we talked, argued, screamed at the other and then I left.” You took off your glasses and stared at her lazily.

“Well, he was a dick anyways.” She stated while you widened your eyes, giggling as one of the kids from the lower classes ran by the door, straight to the next class that was next room.

“Quiet, I don’t want them to hear such things.” You said while smiling slightly.

“How about Belle? Is she okay?”

“Don’t even get me started.”

“Come on. Tell me. I don’t have any classes left.”

“But I do.” You said while Ashley took you by the arms and pulled you back into the office.

“You have language. Fourth period. It’s only the second yet.”

“Fine.” You muttered while sitting down with her by her own table.

“She’s doing fine right now, though I called some of those girls' parents in to make sure that they knew what their children were doing.”

“Do you know why they did that? I mean she is the sweetest kid in that class. There’s only one girl who likes her.”

“I think the source is her parents.” You sighed while stirring your coffee, even the smell making you flinch.

“I never saw any of them picking her up yet. Who are they?”

“Oh my god your husband is obsessed with Star Wars and you don’t know who Belle’s father is?” You asked while realization settled down on her face.

“You are not for real right now.”

“And her mother?”

“Well she lives in Los Angeles so..” You swallowed. “She spends most of her time with her dad.”

“He has a chokehold on me. Don’t tell this to Jeremy.”

“I won’t.” You laughed softly. 

Ashley eyed you for a second before she started talking.

“He’s still single isn’t he?”

“Ashley!” You exclaimed while trying to keep in your giggles.

“What? I’m just trying to point out the best things.”

“He’s forty three.”

“Hmm how well educated you are.” She smirked while you rolled your eyes, smiling to yourself as you kept stirring the black liquid.

“You are keeping something away from me aren’t you?” She asked while you tilted your head, licking your lips.

Oh how you still wished it were his lips laying on yours, lapping for a taste.

“Nothing.” 

Maybe you kissed once, but it meant nothing. He probably had many different hookups and you were only one of the girls who had a chance to accidentally be stuck in an elevator with him.

—

“Mr Christensen?” Your voice dripped with seriousness as you placed the phone between your shoulder and head, scribbling over some papers as you waited for his response.

“Yes?” The deep voice rang through your nerves as the pen between your fingers started to become more productive over the piece of paper.

“I would like to settle down for a talk with you. Hopefully on Friday. Anytime it’s good for you.”

“What would it be about?”

“Your daughter. What else?”

“I thought you wanted to talk about last week.”

“What exactly happened last week Mr Christensen?” 

You heard a deep chuckle come from the other side of the line.

“See you later.”

—

You sat in your office on a Friday afternoon while the screen of your laptop in front of your eyes made you tired. 

But the screen or the light wasn’t what made you feel anxious.

Ever since your call with Hayden, you’ve been playing with your fingers, readjusting your clothes or even brushing your fingers through your hair. Though you didn’t invite him into your office to talk about yourselves, it felt like you did.

You missed the way his lips felt on yours. Soft, plump and irresistible. The way his hands slid down from your waist to grasp into the soft skin of your thighs, to pick you up and push you against the wall of the screwed up elevator.

If maybe it didn’t start working again all of the sudden, maybe you would have let him to even fuck you in that little space. 

Of course it wasn’t like the whole set of female teachers in the school you were teaching weren't turning their heads when he stopped to pick up Belle. Or didn’t talk about him between breaks.

You could hear everything. Not that you felt jealous, because you had no reason to. You never were the type to feel jealous about a person.

And he didn’t even know anything about you.

You sighed while taking off your glasses and rubbing your eyes slightly not to mess up your mascara. 

You should never feel like this about one of your student’s caregivers, but the feeling again of having him all to yourself was making you feral.

Your feet shifted uncomfortably in your heels, making you sit up from the chair and walk towards the cabinet that you had in your office.

Just then a knock was heard.

You widen your eyes before rushing back to your desk and placing your glasses back on your nose before answering.

“Come on in!” Your voice was stable as you shifted in your seat, waiting for the door to open.

As it did, you saw Hayden enter. He was dressed up casually, nothing extreme. He was wearing jeans with a white top and a leather jacket hanging on his shoulders. His hair was tousled, the soft blonde locks being enlightened by the soft light coming through the windows.

“Miss Y/N/L.” He greeted you while you smiled at him the best you could and stood up to shake hands with him.

Even his hands felt so warm and soft that the feeling sent a wave of nervousness down to your stomach.

“Sit down please.” You said while sitting back into your chair.

He sat down across from you, waiting for you to start speaking. He slightly stirred in his seat as he looked into your eyes directly. 

You cleared your throat before beginning to speak.

“First of all I’m really sorry for what happened with Belle. I don’t even know how to express how deeply I feel for her. I called you in because I needed to know if she talked with you about anything that happened, because since the incident happened I haven’t really seen her.” The calm look on his face made you feel easier to speak, because let’s be honest it’s always easier to speak with someone who can be understanding and not screaming off your head after every sentence you make.

“No.” He shook his head. “Not really. She mentioned that they were playing hide and seek and then suddenly someone cut her hair off. She didn’t see who it was because apparently that someone ran off and she didn’t feel the cut.” Hayden said while you bit the inside of your cheek.

“I would totally understand if you’d like to change schools after what happened. But I can assure you that one of the apparent groups of girls that planned to do this was expelled. I sent a letter to the ministry. So due to her earlier behavior and to this they decided that it would be the best if she got kicked out. There were still some girls there but they didn’t want to speak up.” Your lips pressed into a tight line as you watched him react to your words.

He was still calm. But you could sense the tension in the air still.

“Thank you.” He said. 

You maybe expected something better as a response, but you already got used to short replies from many parents.

“Okay well..” You stood up again. “It was nice to talk with you then.” You flashed him a smile before he stood up too.

He smirked before turning away from you.

You knitted your brows together before shaking your head and leading him to the door. 

“You don’t want to talk about it, I feel like.” He started while you looked up at his tall frame.

“Talk about what exactly?” Your eyes shined with curiosity.

“I think you know exactly what I mean, Y/N.” 

It was weird that he used your first name, no one ever did that. But from him it sounded like an angel was calling your name. Your mind wandered to thousands of different places while you felt yourself getting aroused.

You had enough for a month of acting like this towards someone you wanted to be with. You didn’t know if he felt the same, but you wanted him either way.

So with that you stepped forward and got on your tiptoes before pressing a soft kiss down on his lips.

The feeling was surreal. Like you got a taste straight out of heaven. You pulled away slightly as you saw confusion set on his face turning into need. He pressed his lips against yours now, shrugging his jacket down from his arms while picking you up with the slightest force.

You gasped a little as he grabbed into your thighs, your hands on his shoulders as you licked along his lower lip. His hands softly kneaded the skin of your inner thighs while you moaned at the feeling, making him enter his tongue into your mouth. 

You felt the edge of your desk press into your back while you reached behind yourself, knocking off a jar of pens and pencils with hundreds of paper sheets. You tried grinding your hips against him, moaning again once he squeezed your skin and laid you down on the table. 

Your hands went to his back, grasping at the fabric. His lips traced a line down from your lips to your jawline and then down to your neck.

You tilted your head backwards a little for him to have easier access. It didn’t take him long to find your sweet spot. He started licking and biting along the skin as filthy sounds left your lips.

Your office wasn’t soundproof, but you couldn’t care less when he was on top of you. You felt like exploding while his hands ran down to undo the buttons of your blouse, revealing your white lacy bra.

“Arch your back Sweetheart.” He murmured and you did so, slipping his hand up the fabric on your back while undoing your bra clip with ease.

Hm, experienced. You thought to yourself.

He pressed down hot, wet kisses down on your breasts as he tossed your bra somewhere in your office.

One of your already hardened nipples got caught by his warm mouth as he sucked on the little bud making you moan again and tilt your head back into the table.

He was playing with your other breast while you reached for his belt, brushing your hand once against his crotch before sliding the zipper down on his pants.

He let out a groan which caused a vibration to go down your spine. He pulled away from your right breasts to attack the other one, making you arch your back slightly. You could easily feel how hard he was getting with your hand in his pants already.

He then pulled away from your chest and slid your skirt off easily, showing off your panties that were barely covering anything.

“Do you wear something like this to school?” He chuckled while you rolled your eyes. 

“I don’t think there’s anyone who would look under my skirt.” You said while looking up at the ceiling.

“Surely..” He whispered before undoing his belt and getting his dick out of his underwear. You didn’t even look at him, not wanting to be freaked out or anything.

Of course you had many nights with guys other than your ex boyfriend, but since you didn’t have a good fuck for at least two years now you were aching for him to be inside of you finally.

He softly pressed two fingers against the fabric, rubbing them from your slit up to your sweet little clit. You gasped softly while closing your eyes and getting lost in the feeling. 

You then felt his head rubbing along your panties while you secure your legs along his waist.

“You sure you want this?” He asked while you leant up on your elbows, watching him. Your eyes widened at his size, gulping and looking up at him with a nod.

“Take off those panties.” He said while you smirked.

“Why don’t you take them off?” You teased.

“If I take them off I will rip them off. If you don’t want to walk around without any underwear I suggest you take them off.” His voice was dripping with desire and you rather stayed in place watching him.

He arched a brow.

“Okay Sweetheart you choose it this way.” He whispered before completely tearing the fabric away.

You gasped as the sudden wind hit your pussy, wanting to press your thighs together.

“Young thing.” He tilted his head, but before you could make a comment he pressed his pointer down where your wetness was collecting, bringing it up to your clit.

“Fuck.” You said while watching him working his finger on your sensitive bud.

He rubbed his finger along, slightly, teasing. Then he simply spat on it, smearing the drool all over while you let out a loud moan. 

“Hayden.” You reached for his hand while he pushed you down on the table, hand sneaking up to press on your chest. 

You mewled while he worked his fingers on your clit, sucking his fingers once he was done.  

“You ready?” He asked while you nodded your head frequently, squirming as you felt his warm pre-cum leaking onto your pussy.

His head slipped down to your heat, then up again, teasing your slit while smirking.

Then he pushed his tip in.

You swore you could see stars.

“Fuck Darling this pussy of yours is really tight.” He chuckled. “If I didn't know better I would think you are a virgin.” His hand went down to play with your pussy while he pushed himself entirely into you.

“Fuck.” You said in unison, your head lifted up to see where the two of you were connected.

He started rocking his hips into your slightly as you trailed your hands up to his biceps, squeezing at his flesh while he leant on top of you, holding himself up by your sides. 

You leant yourself up to kiss him, arms wrapping around his neck. 

It was a shame that you already felt your stomach tightening with that little bubble of pleasure building in your tummy.

“Fuck me.” You whispered while he kissed you, increasing his pace.

“Yeah you want me like this?” He grinned while you nodded your head, arching your back.

“Answer me Doll.” He said while wrapping one of his hands around your throat.

Your eyes were rolling back into your head as he fucked you hard against the table, making you loose all of your self confidence.

“Yes, Hayden please!” You cried while he sighed, going even faster.

“Oh my god.” He said while he looked down at you, the signs of real pleasure were all over your face.

He didn’t even need you to announce that you were already coming down on his dick because he could feel your velvety falls squeezing his hard cock.

“You want to come?” He asked while you nodded your head, moaning as he started rubbing your pussy again.

“Oh I’m coming.” You said while grabbing into his back, your finely manicured nails pressing into his skin.

“Fuck Sweetheart.” He groaned while you screamed as he fucked you through your orgasm.  

“Come inside of me.” You said suddenly breathless.

“Yes? You want to feel me?” He asked while pressing into you softly.

You squirmed. 

“Yes!” You gasped as he picked up his pace again, the overstimulation giving in again.

“I’m close.” He murmured while you looked up at his gorgeous face. His lips were parted, sounds that made you clench around his member left his mouth.

“Y/N” He sighed while you moaned at him hitting all the right spots again. 

“Oh, I’m coming.” He said one last time before you felt him coming deep inside you, hot spurts of white semen filling your insides.

He pulled out gently and pushed himself back to his briefs while you lay on your desk, catching your breath.

“Don’t worry, doll.” He chuckled. “There will be plenty time for you to do that after I’m done with you.”

[theonottsbxtch]

PRIVATE | LN4

an: requested by @bhuijnbhuijn-blog this was so fun to make! it feels to good to make a smau after a few days of straight writing

fc: random girls on pintrest and isabel larosa

yourusername

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thank you london and thank you to my beloved

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userone: seeing her live changed my brain chemistry

usertwo: oop- the flowers?

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yourbestfreind: mi amorrrrrr

yourusername: chiquita 😽

userfour: beloved??? has our man hater girl got herself a boyfriend

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yourusername: ethan, basta.

userfive: is her beloved carl gallagher?????!??!?!?!?

appartment in monaco

You were perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, barefoot, legs dangling as you watched Lando move around the open kitchen. The soft click of cabinet doors and the muted thud of a cereal box landing on the counter are the only sounds, apart from the faint music playing from your speaker. It was your calm playlist, just background noise, a playlist you curated 100% but one Lando pretended he created to wind you up. He didn’t mind—he hummed along sometimes, absentmindedly, just like now. The late afternoon light filtered through the windows, casting a warm, golden hue over everything, making the moment feel even more private, more intimate.

Lando was shirtless wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. It was a version of him few people ever get to see. No fireproof suit, no helmet. No world watching his every move. Here, in this quiet corner of your shared world, he was just... him. And you loved him like this, more than anything.

As he fumbled with the coffee machine, you leant back on your hands, your fingers curling against the cool granite of the counter. The smell of coffee mingled with the lazy warmth of the afternoon. You were both settled into this comfortable rhythm of being together, the kind of domesticity that felt almost foreign when you thought of your lives outside these walls—your career, his racing, the flashing lights and the fans.

But here, it was different.

You’d been thinking about it for a while now. The thought had been on the tip of your tongue for weeks, and today felt like the right time to broach it. Or maybe it was just that the stillness of this moment made you feel brave. You took a breath, voice soft as you broke the quiet.

“I’ve been thinking…” Your words drift into the space between you, casual but with a certain weight that you know will catch his attention. Lando looked over at you, coffee cup in hand, waiting for you to continue. You smiled, trying to keep it light. “Maybe it’s time we go public… on Instagram.”

He froze for a beat, his eyes locking on yours as if he was trying to read your face, gauge how serious you were. Slowly, he set the cup down on the counter, his brow furrowing in that familiar way that meant he was already thinking too much.

“Public?” he repeated, like he was testing the word, feeling it out. His voice was calm, but you could sense the undertone of concern, the hesitation that came with anything that involves exposing more of your lives to the world outside. “You sure about that?”

You nodded, even though you knew he was not just asking for the sake of it. There was more behind his question than the words. It was not just a simple post to him—it was a line you were crossing, a step into a world he was all too familiar with, and not in a good way.

“I am,” you said softly. “We’ve been so careful, keeping things private, but… I don’t want to hide us anymore. I don’t want to pretend we’re not a part of each other’s lives.” You watched him as you spoke, searching his face for any sign of agreement, but he was still quiet, arms folded across his chest, his gaze drifting somewhere just past you.

Lando shifted his weight, leaning against the counter, his fingers drumming lightly against the granite, a telltale sign that his mind was working through what you’d just said. After a moment, he sighed, running a hand through his curls, the kind of movement that let you know he was trying to choose his words carefully.

“I get it,” he said finally, his voice softer now, but there was still a trace of reluctance. “But… it’s different for you. Your fans, they’re supportive. You’re already used to the attention. My world… it’s not like that. It can get ugly fast. And once we put it out there, it’s out there. We can’t take it back.”

You slid off the counter and moved toward him, your bare feet silent on the floor. Standing in front of him, you reached for his hands, threading your fingers through his. “I know, love. I know how hard it can be for you. But I’m not asking for some big, dramatic reveal. Just something simple. A photo. Something that feels like us, something quiet.”

He looked down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. You could see the conflict in his eyes—the protective instinct he’d always had when it came to the life you’d built together versus the part of him that wanted to trust in your strength, in the fact that you could handle it.

“I don’t want them coming after you,” he said quietly, almost more to himself than to you. “I don’t want you to deal with the kind of hate I get.”

Lifting one hand to his face, cupping his cheek gently, your thumb grazed over his skin. “I’ve been in the public eye for years now. I’ve had my share of negativity, too. But we’ve got each other, right? We can handle it. I can handle it.” You paused, letting your words sink in. “And I’m tired of hiding something that makes me so happy.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment, as if he was trying to imagine what it would be like—the backlash, the media storm. But when he opened them again, there was something softer there, a quiet surrender. He still looked hesitant, but there was an acceptance in his expression now, like maybe, just maybe, he was willing to trust you on this.

“A photo,” he repeated, his voice almost resigned but not unkind. “Something simple.”

You nodded, your smile growing. “Just one.”

He chuckled softly, pulling you into his arms, his chin resting on the top of your head. “You really want this, huh?” His voice was a little lighter now, though you could still feel the weight of the decision lingering between you.

“I do,” you murmured into his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him—clean and warm, like home. “We don’t have to make a big deal out of it. Just something that feels like us. Something honest.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands resting on your waist. “Alright,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “But if it all blows up in our faces, you’re the one dealing with the PR disaster.”

You laughed, the sound soft and full of relief. “Deal. I’ll take full responsibility.” You leant up and kissed him, your lips brushing his with a gentleness that said more than words ever could. “Promise.”

landonorris

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enjoyed the final show of the break, time for austin

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maxfewtrell: sick hoodie where's it from

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userone: he is so HOT

usertwo: my man my man my man

quadrant: that helmet 👌

userthree: why is this man at so many concerts gah damn

userfour: i don't want to sound crazy but...

userfive: LET'S GO LANDO

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yeah, my boyfriend's pretty cool but he's not as cool as me

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userone: NO WAY

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userfour: HER BOYFRIEND IS LANDO NORRIS

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userseven: defo cooler than lando

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appartment in monaco

It had been a few weeks since you had gone public, and the house felt the same. The kitchen still smelt like coffee in the afternoons, and Lando’s laughter still echoed through the rooms. But outside, in the world that wasn’t contained by these walls, things had shifted.

The first few days after you had posted that picture—a simple, candid shot of you two tangled on the couch, laughing at something neither of you can remember now—felt like a blur. Your Instagram blew up instantly, flooded with comments, some gushing, some not so kind. The had media picked it up, headlines spun their usual stories, and of course, his world—Formula 1, with its intense, relentless scrutiny—had its own opinions. Most of it was harmless, but some of it... wasn’t.

Lando was standing in front of the window, staring out at nothing in particular. You could tell from the way his shoulders were tense, from the way his hand kept moving to rub the back of his neck, that something had been weighing on him. He’d been quieter these last few days, not in the way that shut you out, but in the way that let you know he was overthinking, worrying about things he didn’t need to.

You were sprawled on the couch, phone in hand, pretending to scroll through Instagram, but your attention was on him. You watched as he checked his phone again, probably seeing another headline or some new wave of comments. His jaw tightened, and that was when you knew it’s time to say something.

“Lan,” you called out softly, trying to break the tension in the room. “Come over here.”

He hesitated for a second, like he was debating whether to pull you into his worry or let it be, but then he walked over, his feet dragging slightly on the wooden floor. He sank down beside you on the couch, letting out a long, tired breath. His arm came around your shoulders instinctively, pulling you closer, but his mind was clearly somewhere else.

“Talk to me,” you said gently, tilting your head to look up at him.

He didn’t meet your eyes at first, he just stared at the floor. “I’ve been seeing some of the comments,” Lando admitted, his voice low, as if he was trying to keep it casual but couldn’t quite manage it. “There’s a lot of hate. A lot of people saying… awful things. About you, about us.” He paused, running his hand through his hair. “I didn’t want this for you.”

You felt his arm tighten around you, like he was trying to protect you from something that was already out there, something he couldn’t control. It broke your heart a little, the way he carried that weight, like he was responsible for every cruel word thrown your way.

You shifted in his arms, turning to face him, one hand reaching up to touch his cheek. “I know,” you said softly. “But, darling, it’s not getting to me. Not even a little.” You smiled, trying to get him to see the truth in your eyes. “I’ve been in this business long enough to know that people are going to say whatever they want. But they don’t matter. You do.”

He finally looked up at you, his brow furrowed, still sceptical. “But some of it’s brutal,” he insisted, his voice tight. “They’re dragging you through the mud just because we went public. I didn’t want you to deal with this part of my life, the ugly part.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head, and the sound seemed to catch him off guard. “Honestly? I’ve dealt with worse. You should’ve seen the comments I got after that one music video,” you teased lightly, hoping to ease his worry. “But this? This is nothing.”

He didn’t look convinced, but you could see him trying to process what you were saying, like he wanted to believe you but couldn’t quite let go of his own guilt. So, you decided to prove it to him in a way you knew would get through that thick head of his.

With a sly smile, you grabbed your phone and opened Twitter, your fingers moved quickly over the screen as you pulled up your account. He watched you, confused, until you glanced up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked, suspicion lacing his tone.

You bit your lip, pretending to think about it, then you tilted the phone toward him so he could see the tweet you’d just typed out. In bold letters, it read:

"how i sleep knowing i get to sleep with this hunk of a man at night and you don’t "

Below the text was the picture you’d been sitting on for a while—one of him sleeping in the paddock last season.

His eyes widened as he read it, then flicked to the photo. “You’re not serious,” he said, though there’s a laugh hidden in his voice now.

“Oh, I am very serious,” you said, grinning at him as you hovered over the “Tweet” button. “If people want to hate, let them. But I’m going to remind them who I get to come home to every night.”

He stared at you for a second, then shook his head, a small, incredulous smile finally tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

You shrugged, your finger tapping the button before he could say another word. “It’s out there now,” you said, holding up the phone in triumph. “Let them come for me.”

He leant back against the couch, running his hands over his face, but you could see the way his shoulders had finally relaxed, the tension ebbing away. He laughed, a real, genuine laugh, and it warmed you from the inside out. “You’re actually insane,” he said, pulling you into his chest, kissing the top of your head. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

You looked up at him, beaming. “Sweetheart, they can say whatever they want. It doesn’t change anything. I’ve got you, and that’s all that matters.”

For the first time in days, the worry in his eyes faded completely. He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly, his breath warm against your hair. “I love you,” he murmured, the words soft but full of meaning.

“I love you more.”

twitter

yourusername

liked by landonorris, yourbestfriend, oscarpiastri and 984,942

haters gunna hate, anyway check out my new song x

*limited comments*

landonorris: te amo x

yourusername: amore

ekat19: i remember when we used to have matching shirts...

yourusername: ETHAN. BASTA.

yourbestfriend: cuties

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername, mclaren and 984,248 others

i have the coolest girlfriend ever 🤭

*limited comments*

yourusername: simp

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comment if you want to be tagged in future works x

[hoshifighting]

i love your college fling writings sm aaaa (*≧∀≦*)!! begging on hands and knees for college fling jun 🙏 esp if he’s a bit more on the dom side

college fling!jun

WARNINGS: smut, bio!genius jun, clit stimulation, oral (f. receiving), cock riding, a little dom!jun, non-established relationship.

it’s a thursday afternoon, the sort of day where the mood smells like cheap cafeteria food and half-assed desperation, ‘cause exams are coming and no one knows shit. you’re slouched over your bio notes in the library, chewing the end of your pen like it owes you some kind of lamp genie, and then boom—in struts college fling!jun.

college fling!jun, who hates the college lockers so much he straight-up just carries all his books around like some kind of over-prepared, slightly chaotic mule. deadass, his backpack looks ready to burst, and you’re already side-eyeing it, wondering how many goddamn textbooks one man could possibly need.

“you okay there?” he plops down across from you, hair slightly messy, and there’s this little grin playing at his lips. why’s he gotta look so cute when you’re on the brink of a mental breakdown?

“nah, i’m actually about to file for emotional bankruptcy,” you mutter, flipping through your notes like the answers are gonna manifest themselves through sheer panic. “you done with the bio assignment?”

college fling!jun, shy-but-funny, lowkey-genius college fling!jun, tilts his head and smirks. “you need help?”

you blink. “you know bio?”

“do i know bio?” he scoffs, dragging your notebook closer like you personally insulted him. “sit back, y/n.”

next thing you know, he’s rattling off answers about cell division and DNA replication like he’s reading straight outta the textbook, except better, ‘cause he’s throwing in jokes about mitochondria being the “bad bitch” of the cell world. who even is this man?

college fling!jun, who spent half the semester cracking dumb jokes about your prof’s comb-over, suddenly explaining concepts better than the professor himself? unreal.

“wait, wait,” you interrupt, pointing at a diagram. “so, like, the nucleus is just… chilling in the middle, bossing everyone around?”

he grins, leaning in closer, and damn, his perfume smells too good for a guy who looks like he only owns three hoodies. “exactly. it’s like me at a group project—doesn’t do much, but still gets credit.”

“i hate you,” you snort, but you’re laughing anyway, and somehow your brain is actually clicking with the material.

college fling!jun, who makes studying feel like less of a slow, painful death.

later, as you’re packing up, he scratches the back of his neck, looking all shy again, and it’s such a whiplash from confident bio-genius jun that you almost laugh. “uh, so… you wanna grab coffee or something? you know, as a reward for surviving bio?”

you raise an eyebrow. “this isn’t you trying to weasel into my project group again, is it?”

“what? no,” he says, but he’s grinning, and you already know he’s lying.

college fling!jun, who probably would try to scam his way into your group, but makes it so damn endearing you’d let him anyway.

it’s late—like, stupid late. the kinda late where your brain feels like it’s melting into a puddle of useless mush. you and jun are on the floor of your dorm, the carpet rough under your knees, surrounded by markers, cut-out letters, and one very sad excuse for a poster board. everyone else dipped like two hours ago, muttering something about “early classes” and “not wanting to lose brain cells”—like, rude much? but jun stayed.

college fling!jun, who’s now sitting cross-legged with his sleeves pushed up, forearms all veiny as he’s meticulously lining up the title letters.

“you’re actually kinda good at this,” you say, crawling closer on your knees, one hand pushing your hair back as it flops into your face. you’re half-joking, but also… not? like, his focus is insane.

he glances up, smirking. “you doubted me?”

“uh, yeah?” you deadpan, sitting back on your heels. “you’re the guy who brought a backpack full of biology books to a history lecture. forgive me for not immediately trusting your poster skills.”

he snorts, shaking his head as he smooths down a corner of the title. “at least I came prepared.”

“prepared for what? a different class?”

“y/n,” he says, tone mock-serious as he leans back on his hands, “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

that shuts you up for a second. the compliment—casual, like he didn’t just drop it in the middle of a roast session—has you blinking. you recover quick, though, because if college fling!jun is good at anything, it’s teasing, and you’re not about to let him have the upper hand.

“yeah, yeah,” you say, waving him off as you grab a marker and doodle a little star in the corner of the poster. “you keep saying that, but I haven’t seen you make a move yet. scared?”

his eyes flick to yours, and there’s this little glint in them that makes your stomach flip. “scared? of you?”

“yes, actually.”

he laughs, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you now—like he’s considering something, weighing it. you’re close—closer than you realized, kneeling in front of him while he’s still sitting, one hand resting casually on his thigh.

“come here,” he says.

you tilt your head. “why?”

he leans forward, just a little, until you’re close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him. “because I said so.”

there’s a challenge in his tone, and you’re not one to back down. so, you shuffle closer, knees brushing against his as you sit back on your heels again. “happy now?”

he hums, eyes flicking over your face like he’s trying to memorize every detail. “getting there.”

“jun,” you start joking, half-something-else-entirely, but before you can finish, his hand slides up to cup your jaw, fingers warm against your skin as he leans in and kisses you.

he’s waiting for you to push him away. but you don’t. instead, you kiss him back, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you.

and then… well, the guy’s got skills. his lips move against yours with this easy credit, and when his tongue flicks out to trace the seam of your mouth, you can’t help the little noise that escapes you. he takes that as encouragement, deepening the kiss until you’re dizzy, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you try to keep up.

college fling!jun, who’s apparently really, really good with his mouth.

you pull back just enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against his as you both try to steady yourselves. “okay,” you say, voice a little breathless, “so you’re not scared.”

he laughs, low and soft, his hand still cradling your jaw. “nope. but you might be.”

before you can ask what he means, he’s kissing you again, harder this time, and then his hands are on your hips, pulling you into his lap like it’s nothing easier than that. you go willingly, settling against him as your hands find their way into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your mouth.

you’re both a little frantic now, hands wandering as the kiss turns messy, desperate. his fingers slide under the hem of your shirt, skimming over your skin and leaving a trail of heat in their wake. you shiver, pressing closer, and he takes the opportunity to mouth at your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.

“jun,” you moan, and it’s enough to make him pause, pulling back just enough to look at you.

“umm... so do you…”

you nod before he can even finish the question, your hands tugging at his shirt in answer. he grins, and then he’s helping you pull it off, tossing it somewhere behind him without a second thought.

college fling!jun, who’s skinny but stupidly cut, all lean muscle and sharp lines that you can’t help but trace with your fingers as he kisses you again.

“your turn,” he murmurs against your mouth, his hands already tugging at the hem of your shirt. you lift your arms, letting him pull it off.

“you’re so…” he starts, but then he shakes his head, like words aren’t enough. instead, he leans in, kissing you again as his hands explore, mapping out your chest, by pinching your nipples

things blur after that—when he finally settles between your thighs, his lips trailing kisses down your stomach, you think you might actually lose your marbles.

college fling!jun, who’s apparently a goddamn expert when it comes to going down on you. his tongue swinging your clit to the sides just to suck it all right after. your fingers are tangled in his hair, and you even feel pity about his scalp. he doesn’t stop until you’re cumming inside his mouth—you last minutes by the way—, your back arching off the floor as you cry out, your other hand holding a highlighter that you've found on the floor and decided that would be your stress ball.

and then he’s kissing his way back up your body, touching your hand to release the poor highlighter before it explodes in your hand. as he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “still think I’m scared?” he teases and you don’t even have the energy to come up with a clever reply.

college fling!jun, who’s cocky as hell but more than backs it up.

you pull him down for another kiss, your hands fumbling with the waistband of his sweatpants as you shift your hips, sinking down onto his lap. the stretch is dizzying. u hear your blood flow through your ears with the immediate sink, making your head spin as he grips your hips,.

college fling!jun who twitches every time you circle your clit as you ride him. the little gasps he lets out are addictive, this stuttered rhythm of groans and whines that have you clenching around him just to see how he’ll react.

“uhm—hands to yourself.” he chokes out, his head tilting back, exposing the long line of his neck, his adam apple bobbing up and down. you take advantage, leaning forward to press kisses there, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat against your lips. his hands tighten on your waist, his thighs flexing under you as he buck his hips up into you as a warning.

“j-jun,” you stammer, breath hitching as you shift, grinding down, making wet shots reach his ears, his head snaps up, eyes dark and glassy as they lock onto yours.

“you like that?” he rasps, his chest heaving as he fights to keep himself together. “‘cause i… i love watching you like this, pretty.”

college fling!jun, who moans loud enough to embarrass himself but is too lost in the feeling of you to care. his grip on you tightens as you find a rhythm. his noises grow louder, needier, every time you roll your hips, and you can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tighten as he gets closer, he always punishing you a little for teasing him, a pinch on your clit, a bite on your neck, a slap on your ass.

“y/n,” he groans, his voice shaking, and you’re right there with him, your own climax building as you reach down between your bodies, your fingers brushing against your clit again. the added sensation has you gasping, and he twitches inside you, his hands pulling you down hard against him as he lets out a broken moan.

“you’re so… gorgeous, fuck!” he mutters, his words slurred, and that’s all it takes for you to cum, your body fluttering as you cry out his name. the sound of it seems to tip him over the edge, his grip on you tightening as he follows, his body shaking beneath you as he spills inside you.

college fling!jun who collapses back onto the carpet, dragging you down with him, his arms wrapping around your ass, letting his hands lazily squeeze the meat there.

it’s like nothing happened when you two go to the college hallways to finish the project. when actually, everything happened all at once. jun’s sitting at the edge of your desk, eating one of your granola bars like he didn’t have you trembling in his lap just hours ago. you’re pretending to focus on your laptop, but your mind’s stuck on how his hair’s still a little messy and his shirt’s on inside out—your fault, obviously.

“what’s with the face?” he asks, mouth half-full, grinning like he knows exactly what’s with the face.

“you didn’t even ask before raiding my snacks,” you say, aiming for annoyed but landing somewhere near flustered.

“c’mon, you owe me,” he teases, leaning closer. “all that… effort? you’re lucky i’m still standing.”

you glare at him, but your face burns. “junhui, shut up.”

college fling!jun, who bites his lip to stop himself from laughing but ends up chuckling anyway, stupidly cute as he swings his legs. you’re about to throw a pen at him when he leans over and kisses your temple.

and that’s how it is now. he’s still jun—still the guy who hoards biology notes and carries all his books like the lockers are his mortal enemy—but there’s this… nerves now, this implicit thing hanging between you. like, when he’s explaining something in class, leaning over your desk, his voice low in your ear, and you’re trying not to think about how those same lips were on your pussy just a few nights ago. or when he slides into the seat next to you during study group, his knee brushing yours, and you glance at him, only to catch him already looking at you with that knowing smirk.

college fling!jun, who’s casual as hell in public but pulls you into empty classrooms when no one’s around, his hands already under your shirt as he kisses you like he’s been dying to all day.

it’s worse at night, though. he texts you at random hours, shit like, “you awake?” and “missed you today” with a dick pic coming right after, hard and dripping for you—like always. like he’s not gonna be in your bed an hour later, his hands sliding over your skin as he whispers your name.

“we’re so bad at this,” you tell him one night, lying tangled in his sheets, his arm thrown over your waist as he presses lazy kisses to your shoulder.

“bad at what?” he murmurs sleepy.

“keeping it casual,” you say, glancing back at him. “you’re always here, jun.”

he shrugs, pulling you closer. “maybe i like being here.”

college fling!jun, who’s starting to feel like more than a fling, but neither of you’s ready to say it out loud just yet. instead, you let it keep happening—the late-night visits, the stolen kisses between classes, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

and maybe you’re not ready to say it, but you’re definitely feeling it. especially when he shows up at your door with takeout and that stupid grin, saying, “figured you’d be hungry,” like he hasn’t already fed you twice today.

college fling!jun, who’s not so casual after all.

[rootedinrevisions]

Enough for You: Part 2

SUMMARY: After deciding you need time away, you ask Tyler for some space to process everything. During your absence, Tyler finds himself constantly thinking about you, realizing how much he misses your presence and what you mean to him. Struggling with how to approach the situation, Tyler begins sending you small, thoughtful gifts, hoping to keep some connection alive while respecting your need for time. Each gift carries a subtle message, his way of reminding you of his feelings without overstepping. Finally, unable to stay away any longer, Tyler shows up at your door, ready to talk and confront the growing emotions between you both.

WARNINGS: More Angst. (with a little fluff)

WORD COUNT: 5.2k

OTHER PARTS: PART 1

NOTE: There will be a PART 3! I have it mostly written and just need to finish editing it. Part 2 got away from me so I decided to break it up as to not have one crazy long fic.

TAG LIST: @omgbrianab I @shanimallina87 I @callsign-diva I @starshinegrl I @willowpains I @beltzboys2015-blog

The team gathered around the RV, tension simmering beneath the surface. Things hadn't been the same since Kate joined, and you could feel the shift in every quiet conversation, every glance that Tyler cast in her direction. After the last storm chase, when Tyler sat next to you and apologized for breaking your heart, you knew it was time to make a decision. You couldn’t stay—not with the constant reminders of everything you wished for but couldn’t have.

After a sleepless night, you made your decision. You requested a leave of absence from the team—just two weeks to get your mind straight, to figure out if you could stay and watch Tyler build a life with someone else. When you approached Tyler, he looked at you with a mix of regret and reluctance, clearly not wanting you to go but knowing he had no right to stop you.

“I need time,” you said softly, your voice steady but your heart anything but. “I just…I need to clear my head, and figure out what’s next for me.”

Tyler's eyes searched yours, his jaw tightening as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. “If that’s what you need,” he said quietly, “I won’t stop you. But…I’m gonna miss you around here.”

You nodded, knowing he meant it, but it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough, not when he had already chosen someone else. “I’ll be back in two weeks,” you told him, and without waiting for a response, you turned and walked away, feeling the weight of his gaze on your back.

Tyler stepped into the familiar café, the warm smell of espresso and freshly baked pastries hitting him as he waited in line. He pulled out his phone, scrolling absently through messages and notifications, his mind elsewhere. You’d been gone for three days now—three long, silent days. The truck was quieter without your voice, without your little side comments or the music you always played to keep everyone’s spirits up during long chases.

Dexter had grabbed his coffee the first morning you were gone. He hadn’t even noticed at first—it wasn’t quite right, but he’d brushed it off. Just a small thing, nothing major. Today, though, as he stood in line, he realized he didn’t even know what he wanted. You always got his order just right without him even having to ask.

The barista behind the counter smiled at him, her pen poised over the notepad. “What can I get for you?”

Tyler opened his mouth, then paused. Was it a double shot of espresso or a single? Did he like anything else added to it? God, how had he never paid attention to this before?

“Uh…” he hesitated, trying to piece it together. “Just a regular coffee, I guess. With…sugar?”

The barista gave him a polite nod, but he could tell she was already moving on, another nameless face in the line of customers. He sighed as he handed her his card, feeling oddly unsettled by the whole interaction. Black coffee wasn’t right—he knew that much. He’d drink it, but it wouldn’t be what he actually wanted. Just another thing that wasn’t right anymore.

As he took the cup and left the café, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling. It wasn’t the coffee that was bothering him. It was the fact that you weren’t there to get it right for him, to know the little things he hadn’t even realized mattered. It hit him, harder than he expected. He’d taken you for granted—your presence, your attention to detail, the way you just knew him in ways no one else ever did. And now, with you gone, he felt the emptiness in every small part of his day.

Tyler climbed back into his truck, setting the coffee in the cup holder without touching it. He sat there for a moment, staring at it, the silence around him feeling heavier than it ever had before. You weren’t there, and for the first time, he was starting to realize how much it bothered him.

The truck rumbled down the highway, the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. Boone was riding shotgun, his hand casually scrolling through his phone as he played DJ for the drive. Tyler had barely noticed at first, too focused on the darkening sky ahead, but as the third song in a row played, something nagged at him.

It wasn’t that Boone had bad taste in music—he didn’t. It was just that none of these songs hit quite right. The rhythm was off, the mood wasn’t there, and Tyler felt an uncomfortable itch in the back of his mind, like something was missing.

The music was background noise, sure, but when you were the one picking the playlist, it had never felt like just noise. Somehow, you always knew exactly what to play. Whether it was an old classic rock song he loved or something new that perfectly matched the mood, every song you chose seemed to be one of his favorites. It was uncanny, really, how well you knew him.

Boone scrolled through another song, switching it halfway through. Tyler’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel, the silence between songs suddenly feeling heavier.

“Everything good, man?” Boone asked, glancing over at him.

“Yeah,” Tyler muttered, though he wasn’t sure he believed it himself. He didn’t say anything, but inside, his thoughts were racing. How had he never noticed before? All those times you were riding beside him, picking the perfect song, knowing his favorite tracks better than anyone else… It was like you could read his mind. Or maybe it was something else—something deeper.

Boone finally settled on another song, some alt-rock tune Tyler didn’t recognize, and the sound filled the cab again. But it didn’t feel right. None of it did. The whole drive felt off without you there beside him, smiling softly as you hummed along to the music, your eyes flicking over to him when a particularly good song came on.

Tyler’s chest tightened. You’d always been there, quietly in tune with him, noticing things no one else did. It was in the way you picked the songs, the way you knew when he needed silence, or when to play something loud to get his energy up before a storm. It was in the little things, all the details he hadn’t appreciated before.

How had he been so blind?

He thought about you now, at home, away from the team, from him. He thought about all those moments—so many little things that added up to something big, something he hadn’t let himself see. The music was just one piece of it, but now that he was noticing, he couldn’t stop. The playlist had always been yours, just like so many other parts of his life.

Boone’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “You good with this song?”

Tyler blinked, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah,” he said, though the truth was, no, he wasn’t. Not at all.

He missed you. And for the first time in a while, he wasn’t sure what to do.

Tyler's hand hovered over his phone, thumb tracing the edge of the screen as the truck rumbled beneath him. They were pulling off to the side of the road, another quick pit stop before the storm hit. The others were already filing out of the truck, stretching and talking about what was ahead as they made their way into the gas station for drinks and snacks. But Tyler’s mind wasn’t on the storm, or the chase, or even the team. It was on you.

He should call. He needed to call. He could feel the weight of your absence settling deeper with every passing mile, every quiet moment that used to be filled by your voice or your laugh. The last few days had been hell without you. Coffee tasted wrong, the music sounded off, and for the life of him, he couldn’t shake the hollow feeling in his chest.

His finger hovered over your name in his contacts, but then it hit him, hard, like a punch straight to the gut: those words you said to him before you left. “I just want to go back to before. Before I met you. Before I let myself believe that there was a chance.”

He closed his eyes, the memory slamming into him with full force. The look on your face, the tremble in your voice—God, how had he let it get to that point? How had he been so blind, so caught up in everything else that he never noticed the way you felt, the way you saw him? All those moments, all those signs, and he missed every single one of them.

The phone slipped from his hand and landed on the seat beside him with a dull thud. His chest tightened, shame twisting deep in his gut. You’d believed there was a chance. And he’d taken that hope and crushed it. He’d hurt you, someone who’d always been there for him, always knew what he needed before he even asked. You’d been everything.And all he did was break you. And he hadn’t been able to see it until now.

Tyler’s jaw clenched as he stared down at his phone. He could call you, tell you he missed you. He could apologize, say all the things he should have said before. But would it even matter? You were done with him. He could still hear it in your voice when you walked away—how tired you sounded. How heartbroken. He’d made you feel like you weren’t enough, and the truth was, you were more than enough. You’d always been more than enough.

He was the one who didn’t deserve you. He was the one who wasn’t enough for you.

His hand curled into a fist, the phone still lying untouched beside him. He’d been blind, selfish, wrapped up in his own world while you quietly slipped through his fingers. The thought of you never answering his call, of you moving on without him, stung like hell. But why would you answer? After everything he’d done—or failed to do—why would you want anything to do with him?

He let out a breath, heavy and shaky, feeling the full weight of his regret pressing down on him. He didn’t deserve you. Not after what he’d done. Not after how blind he’d been to how much you’d cared.

Later that night, Tyler sat on the edge of his bed, the quiet of his room pressing in on him. The team had settled in at the small motel, the storm still hours away from reaching them. Normally, nights like these were his favorite—calm before the chaos, time to relax before the adrenaline kicked in. But tonight, there was no calm. Just the heavy weight of everything he’d been trying to ignore since you left.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, tugging open his duffel bag to pull out a pair of sweatpants. But as he reached for them, his hand brushed against something solid at the bottom of the bag. Frowning, he pushed aside his clothes until his fingers closed around a book—a book he hadn’t touched in weeks.

He stared down at the cover, his heart giving a sharp twist. The Self-Help Guide to Letting Go of the Past. He had forgotten all about it, shoved in the bottom of his bag after he’d lent it to you. You’d asked for it just last week, something about being curious, but at the time, it hadn’t made much sense to him. You’d never been into these kinds of books before.

Tyler’s thumb traced the worn edges of the cover as the memory of that conversation came rushing back. You’d caught him in the middle of a busy day, the two of you sitting in the RV while the rest of the team was setting up for the next chase. You’d looked almost nervous when you asked if you could borrow it, your voice light, like you were trying to keep things casual. He hadn’t thought much of it then, just handed it over without a second thought, teasing you a little about branching out into self-help.

But now, it hit him all at once. You hadn’t wanted the book. You hadn’t been interested in the advice it had to offer. You’d been looking for something—anything—to connect with him, to spark a conversation, to get his attention. It was just another one of those small things you did that he never took the time to understand.

His chest tightened painfully as he stared at the book, the realization settling over him like a weight he couldn’t shake. You’d been trying to reach out, to bridge the gap between you two, even when he was too blind to notice. And now you were gone. You’d given up, walked away, and he couldn’t blame you. How could he, when he’d been so clueless?

His breath came out in a heavy exhale as he tossed the book onto the bed, running a hand down his face. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have missed all these little moments that showed just how much you cared? The music, the coffee, the book—none of it had seemed like much at the time. But now, with you gone, they all felt like pieces of a puzzle that he hadn’t bothered to put together until it was too late.

He leaned back against the headboard, his gaze fixed on the book lying open beside him. He thought about calling you again, his phone sitting within reach on the nightstand, but the same thoughts stopped him cold. You wouldn’t answer. Why would you? You were done trying to make things work with him. And after everything, he couldn’t blame you for that either.

Tyler’s hand curled into a fist, his frustration building. He wanted to fix this, wanted to make things right, but how could he, when he’d already let you down so badly? He’d missed his chance, and the thought of that—of losing you for good—made his chest ache in a way he hadn’t felt before.

The next morning, Tyler sat on the tailgate of his truck, absently sipping his coffee as the team went about their business. They were prepping for the day’s chase, double-checking equipment and reviewing the radar. Normally, he’d be in the thick of it, but his mind kept drifting, pulled in a direction he wasn’t ready to face.

Lily wandered over, her brow furrowed slightly as she eyed him. "You okay, Ty? You seem…distracted."

He shrugged, taking another sip of his coffee—too sweet, as usual. "Just got a lot on my mind."

Lily gave him a look that said she wasn’t buying it. She leaned against the truck beside him, crossing her arms. "You know, it’s kind of weird. Things have been off since she left. I mean, I knew she did a lot for the team, but…it’s more than that."

Tyler’s grip tightened around the cup, his jaw clenching. He didn’t need the reminder. Every day since you’d been gone, things felt off. The coffee wasn’t right, the music wasn’t right, hell, he wasn’t right. But he couldn’t put it into words—not without admitting what he’d been too stubborn to face.

Lily didn’t stop there. "She always knew what you liked, what you needed—even when you didn’t say it. You might not have noticed, but the rest of us did." She paused, giving him a sidelong glance. "It’s kind of strange not having her around. Things just don’t…flow like they used to."

Tyler said nothing, his mind racing as he took in her words. He hadn’t noticed how much you’d paid attention to him, all the little details you got right. But now that you were gone, it was painfully obvious. The realization gnawed at him, twisting the knot in his stomach even tighter.

Before he could respond, Boone approached, his usual easygoing smile replaced with a more serious expression. "Tyler, can I ask you something?"

Tyler nodded, relieved for the distraction—until Boone’s next words hit him like a punch.

"What’s the deal with you and Kate?"

Tyler blinked, caught off guard. "What do you mean?"

Boone raised an eyebrow. "Come on, man. It’s obvious something’s up. The way she’s been hanging around you, and now that…" He trailed off, his gaze flicking to the side. "Look, everyone’s been wondering."

Tyler let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t owe anyone an explanation—but the question hung in the air like an anchor, forcing him to confront what he’d been avoiding. "Kate and I… it’s just business. We work well together, but that’s it. She’s brilliant and could really be changing the game with this theory. I care about her, sure, but she’s not…"

He stopped, his words catching in his throat. But what? He didn’t know how to finish that sentence because the truth was sitting right there in front of him, and it was something he hadn’t wanted to face.

Boone’s gaze softened. "She’s not what, Ty? What’s going on?"

Tyler swallowed hard, the words heavy in his chest. "Kate’s not her," he finally admitted, his voice low, almost as if he didn’t want to say it out loud. "The one I pushed away."

Boone nodded, his expression knowing. "You mean… her."

Tyler didn’t need to say your name. It was clear who they were talking about. He nodded, his jaw tightening as he tried to hold back the flood of emotions. "I messed up, Boone. She was always there, always…paying attention to everything, and I was too blind to see it. Now she’s gone, and I don’t think she wants anything to do with me."

Boone sighed, leaning back against the truck. "You know, Ty, you’re not the first guy to mess up. But you don’t have to be the guy who keeps messing up. If you care about her, you need to talk to her. And not through some half-assed text message or phone call."

Tyler glanced up, confused. "Then what do I do?"

Boone smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "You have to show her. Show her that she means something to you. It has to come from the heart. Do something that proves you see her, that you care, and that you’re willing to make it right."

Tyler let Boone’s words sink in, the weight of it settling over him. He knew he’d messed up—badly—and now he wasn’t sure how to fix it. But the idea of showing you how much he cared, of putting action behind the words he’d never said… it was the first thing that made sense in days.

But could he do it? Could he find the courage to face you after everything, after knowing that he was the one who made you feel like you were nothing more than an afterthought?

Tyler stared down at his cup, the taste bitter on his tongue. He had to try. He had to show you that you weren’t just another person in his life. You were the one person he couldn’t stop thinking about, the one he never should’ve let go.

Tyler stood in the parking lot of a gas station, his phone in hand as he stared at the DoorDash app. He’d scrolled through countless options, debating whether to go with something safe like pizza or take a risk. In the end, he decided on the riskier of the two options

He remembered how often you talked about that Chinese takeout place near your apartment, the one you always craved after long days. You’d even convinced him to try it once, and he’d never forgotten the way your eyes lit up when the food arrived. The memory was clearer than he expected, and now, standing alone in a parking lot, he wondered how he’d managed to let someone who knew him so well slip through his fingers.

He couldn’t remember your order. But he remembered that it was something with chicken. He used the pictures on the app and his memory to narrow it down to the dish he thought it was that you liked. With a deep breath, Tyler hit 'order' and added a note for the driver to leave the takeout at your door with a message: "For the long days. I know you love this place. —Tyler."

He hesitated before sending it, wondering if you’d even accept the delivery. Maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe you’d throw the food out without a second thought. But a part of him hoped that you’d understand what he was trying to say—that this was his first step toward making things right.

You sat on the couch, the remnants of the Chinese takeout scattered across the coffee table in front of you. The familiar flavors had been a comfort, even if you were reluctant to admit it. When you first saw the delivery bag at your door, your heart had skipped a beat, reading the note that was attached.

For a moment, you’d considered ignoring it—pushing it away like you’d been trying to push away the thoughts of him. But after a long day, it felt easier to accept the gesture, at least for what it was: food. Nothing more.

Now, sitting here with your phone in your hand, you debated whether or not to send a message. It wasn’t like you owed him anything, but the gesture had been thoughtful in its simplicity. And a small part of you knew he wasn’t doing it to get something in return—at least, you hoped that wasn’t the case.

Finally, you typed out a quick message: "Thanks for the food. It was good."

You stared at the screen for a moment, your finger hovering over the send button. It wasn’t deep. It wasn’t emotional. It was just an acknowledgment. Before you could overthink it, you hit send.

A few seconds passed, and you saw the notification that the message had been delivered. No reply came immediately, and you didn’t expect one. After all, it wasn’t like this was going to fix things between the two of you. But somehow, sending that simple thank you felt like a tiny weight off your chest, even if it barely scratched the surface of the bigger mess you were still sorting through.

The next morning, Tyler paced around his room, racking his brain for the next move. The takeout had been a start, but he needed to do more. He needed to show you that he hadn’t forgotten the details, even if he’d been too blind to see them before. 

His eyes landed on his phone again, this time opening a florist app. He wasn’t going to send roses. You hated roses. You’d said they were too cliché, something people picked when they didn’t really know the person. He wanted to send something that mattered.

Blue. Your favorite color. You’d mentioned it a few times, and while he didn’t know which flower you loved most, he figured blue would be a safe bet.

He scrolled through the bouquets until he found one that seemed perfect—a mix of blue hydrangeas, forget-me-nots, and white lilies. Simple, beautiful, and meaningful.

When he hit send, his heart pounded. It felt like such a small thing, but at the same time, it felt monumental. He was trying to show you that he was paying attention, that he knew you better than he’d let on.

The knock on the door was unexpected, especially after the Chinese takeout from yesterday. You weren’t sure what to expect this time, but as you opened the door and saw the delivery man holding a bouquet of blue flowers, your heart stuttered.

You took the bouquet, your eyes scanning the shades of blue nestled together in the arrangement. There were no roses—just as you’d once mentioned in passing. Instead, there were lilies, hydrangeas, and forget-me-nots. It was simple but thoughtful. He remembered.

As you set the bouquet on the kitchen counter, you caught sight of a small card tucked between the flowers.

“Not roses, just like you said. I hope you like these instead. –Tyler”

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you traced your fingers over the petals. For the first time since leaving the team, something stirred inside you—a mix of gratitude and maybe even the smallest bit of fondness. The forget-me-nots, in particular, caught your attention. They’d always been your favorite, and though you weren’t sure if he knew that or if it was just a lucky coincidence, it felt... special.

You sat down, flowers still in view, and grabbed your phone. Again, you hesitated, unsure of how to respond. But the flowers were different. They meant something more. He’d thought about this.

After a moment, you started typing: “The forget-me-nots are my favorite, by the way. For future reference…”

You hit send, and for a moment, you almost regretted it. Was that too much? But then you shook your head. No, it was just a small hint. A little crack in the wall you’d built. You weren’t letting him back in, but... you weren’t completely pushing him away either.

When your phone buzzed a few seconds later with a reply, you almost didn’t want to look. But curiosity got the best of you.

“Noted.”

It was simple, just like your message had been. But there was something in that word—Noted—that made you think maybe, just maybe, Tyler was trying to show that he wasn’t giving up. At least, not yet.

The sound of the doorbell jolted you from your thoughts. Another delivery? You stood up, your heart sinking slightly, bracing yourself for yet another gesture you weren’t sure how to interpret. When you opened the door, though, it wasn’t another delivery person—it was Tyler.

For a moment, you just stood there, frozen. Tyler was at your doorstep, looking both determined and vulnerable. He glanced at you, his eyes searching for something, maybe a hint of how you were feeling.

“Hi,” he said softly, as if unsure of how to begin.

“Hi,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took a deep breath, his gaze shifting from the floor to your eyes. “I know this is probably the last thing you expected, and I know I don’t really have the right to be here. But I needed to see you.”

You stepped aside to let him in, your heart pounding. Tyler walked into the room, glancing around as if trying to take it all in.

“I want to start by saying that I’m truly sorry,” he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “Not just for leaving like I did, but for not seeing how much I hurt you. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and it’s clear that I messed up.”

You watched him, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. Tyler ran a hand through his hair, looking both pained and determined. “You know, I’ve been trying to adjust to how things are now, and I’ve realized just how much I miss you. Like, seriously. Boone’s music choices have been driving me nuts. It’s not even that he’s got bad taste, but I keep thinking about how you always knew exactly what songs I liked. And then there was the coffee—Dexter tried to get it for me, and it was all wrong. You always knew how I liked it. It’s the little things that I miss the most.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.

Tyler noticed and seemed to take a breath of relief. “And Kate… she’s a great person, but she’s just a professional colleague. I got caught up in this idea we were working on, and I was so intrigued that I didn’t see how it was affecting you. I should have never left the team like that. I’m sorry for that, too.”

He took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of hope and desperation. “But the real reason I’m here is because I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve had time to think about what I want, and it’s you. I love you. I love how you’re always there for me, how you know my favorite songs, how you care about the little things. I love your smile, your laugh, and even how you get annoyed with me sometimes. I’ve realized all the ways you’ve shown me that you care, and I’ve been blind to it.”

A heavy silence fell between you. Tyler’s eyes were pleading as he awaited your response. When one didn’t come after several moments he sighed. His shoulders tensed, and he began to fidget, anxiety evident in his movements. “Maybe I’ve messed this up. I didn’t mean to make things worse. I should probably just—”

Before he could finish, you stepped closer, reaching out to gently touch his arm. “Don’t,” you said softly. “I’ve waited a long time for you to say something like this. Don’t make me wait any longer.”

A smile of pure relief and happiness spread across Tyler’s face. He pulled you into a tender embrace, his lips finding yours in a kiss that spoke of all the words unspoken, all the emotions unexpressed. It was a kiss full of apologies, regrets, and hope for the future.

When you finally pulled back, you looked up at him, a sense of calm settling over you. “I love you,” you whispered.

Tyler’s eyes softened as he nodded, holding you close. “I love you,” he said, his voice barely more than a breath. He then leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in another kiss.

As your lips finally part, the soft hum of shared breath fills the space between you. Tyler’s forehead rests gently against yours, both of you lingering in that quiet, electric moment. You’re still standing close to the door, the rush of the kiss slowly giving way to a deeper warmth—something steady and grounding. His thumb brushes along your cheek, his gaze locked on yours as though he’s memorizing every detail of this moment.

You both stand there for a beat longer, neither in a hurry to move or speak. But then, Tyler’s eyes drift past you, landing on the bouquet of blue flowers in the vase on the kitchen counter. His lips curl into a smile, a playful glint flickering in his eyes.

“I see the flowers made the cut,” he teases, his voice soft but with that familiar hint of humor. He steps back just enough to point toward them. “Did I do okay?”

You glance over your shoulder at the flowers and then back at him with a smile. “You did more than okay,” you say warmly. “But I think I still owe you a proper thank you.”

His brows arch in interest. “A proper thank you, huh?”

Before he can respond, you reach up, pulling him back down into another kiss, this one slower, more certain, like you’re sealing the promise of something new between you.

[zevrra]

JJK—

synopsis: just some random hc’s i have for the men of jjk!

tags: fluff only, the men of jjk, nanami kento, choso kamo, geto suguru, gojo satoru, toji fushiguro, hc’s, short & sweet

creator notes: part 2

nanami !!

— is totally that “i will take care of you in every aspect” guy but i secretly think he’s pretty possessive too

— doesn’t get jealous easily

— flip flops between being a total morning person (on his days off) but the days he has to “work” he’s the opposite

— love/hate relationship with coffee bc he def drinks 8 cups of it every morning and feels gross after he does it

— the epitome of cleanliness and perfect hygiene

— like 100% he uses top of the line shampoo and body washes and after shaves and cologne!!

— ALWAYS smells good and it’s a mix of amber, some kinda wood, and probably something soft like vanilla

— feel like he’s cheap when it comes to stuff for himself but anytime it involves you, he’s buying you the best of the best

— leaves you notes all over the place whether it’s on the fridge, next to your side of the bed, sending flowers to your work space with a note attached, all just to tell you how much he cares and loves you

— willingly works overtime for you :3

choso !!

— sleeps until 4 pm every day

— a true night owl, mans HATES the sun

— feel like he’s super photogenic but hates taking photos unless you’re taking them

— would work any electronic like an elderly man

— “i can’t find the settings on this thing. where is it i’ve been looking for it for 15 minutes!” “it’s right here” “oh. how did you do that?”

— either has no scent at all or smells like iron/cinnamon/or straight up blood im so sorry skshskhkdhsk

— you both match everything from jewelry, especially rings, to outfits

— sleepy eye bags 24/7!!!

— takes a 5 minute shower but sits in the bathroom on his phone watching the loudest videos he can for 45 mins before he gets in

— loves spicy food!!

geto !!

— leaves gifts in your rooms without a word

— is the type to “i saw it and it reminded me of you so i got it”

— loves wholeheartedly. full chest, heart, mind, body, and soul

— willingly hands you his hoodie after he’s done wearing it

— quality time & gift giving is his love language!!

— heavy on quality time, he wants to sit or stand beside you and just coexist 24/7

— matching tattoos and piercings

— scary guard dog bf!!!!

— actually doesn’t mean to be but he kind of loves it a lot when other guys run away from you(him)

— his pet names for you range from “babe” to “stinky” and everything in between

— probably smells like sage & citrus

— he takes the longesssst showers ever and always invites you to them

— let’s you braid his hair, falls asleep every time you do it

gojo !!

— wants to touch you constantly!

— you’re either holding his hand or sitting in his lap anytime you two are together

— loves loves loves hugs

— gossip QUEEN! omg he’s so nosy

— “did you HEAR about this????” and it’s either the most basic information or straight up gossip gold

— always emphasizes the MY in his pet names for you

— “oh my love!” “my darling.” “hmm my princess?”

— a jealous, jealous man >:3

— loves to show you off until someone other than himself looks at you jshsjshk

— is the type of dude who acts all funny and tough in public but the second it’s just the two of you, at home, he wants to be babied and have his back scratched 24/7

— doesn’t tell you when it’s going to be chilly out so he gets to tease you as he hands you his warm jacket

— plans surprise dates all the time

toji !!

— is never caught wearing anything other than sweat pants

— wore a suit once for your first date and then never put it back on

— his love language is probably a mix between physical touch and gift giving

— has a hand always placed on your thigh!!

— his favorite season is winter and when you ask him why he just says he likes the cold

— it probably also has to do with wanting to keep you warm too

— is the type to: “i hate wearing bracelets” “ok ill just take it back” “no fuck you i’m gonna wear it and never take it off”

— literally keeps everything you give him in a box so he doesn’t lose them

— uses 13 and 1 shampoo

— calls you his old lady(affectionate) unironically

— smells like cigarettes and cheap ass beer KSHSKHS

— when he’s actually clean and sober he probably smells more like heavy wood and fire/smoke

— is a massive HEATER when he sleeps and he always sleeps on his back

— sleeps in the nude

[nlvrr]

ALL FOR HER | jude bellingham

summary: jude surprises his girlfriend with flowers, gifts, and a getaway to show his love and appreciation for her.

warnings: none

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader

the gentle morning sun cast its golden rays through the cracks in the curtains, bathing the room in a soft glow. jude’s alarm buzzed faintly on his phone, but he was already awake. for once, it wasn’t his intense training schedule or match preparations occupying his mind—it was her. the love of his life. today wasn’t an anniversary or a holiday. it was a regular saturday, but jude had decided that sometimes, love deserved to be celebrated just because.

he carefully slipped out of bed, his gaze lingering on her for a moment. she was bundled under the blankets, her face partially hidden but unmistakably serene. her soft, even breaths tugged at his heart. a sleepy strand of hair fell across her cheek, and he gently brushed it aside before quietly pulling the door closed behind him.

downstairs, jude began his preparations with meticulous care. the florist in town, one he frequented to surprise her now and then, had put together the most beautiful bouquet—a mix of her favorite flowers: blush roses, soft white lilies, pink peonies, and delicate sprigs of baby’s breath. he’d remembered her saying how lilies reminded her of calm summer days, and peonies always made her smile. today, they stood proudly on their dining table in a tall, crystal vase.

next came the gifts. jude carefully unwrapped each item he’d selected: a dainty gold bracelet engraved with the date they first met, a book she’d once casually mentioned in passing, and two tickets to a luxury beachside villa he’d booked as a surprise getaway. each was nestled into its own box, wrapped in soft pastel paper with silky ribbons tied into perfect bows.

but that wasn’t enough. he wanted her to feel cherished in every way. with the help of her favorite playlist humming through the speakers, he set the mood—flickering candles lining the room, scattering soft rose petals across the table, and placing a handwritten note just beside the flowers. his handwriting was a little crooked, but the words came straight from his heart:

“to the woman who makes every day better just by being in it. this is for all the love you give me—today and always, i want to show you how deeply i treasure you.”

satisfied with the atmosphere, jude moved to the kitchen. the smell of buttery pastries wafted through the air as the croissants warmed in the oven. he arranged fresh fruit—berries, kiwi, and ripe mango—onto a small plate, added her favorite granola-topped yogurt to a dainty glass, and brewed her favorite coffee to perfection. when everything was set, he balanced the breakfast tray carefully and made his way back to the bedroom.

she stirred just as he walked in, her eyes fluttering open to the sight of jude standing by the bedside, holding a tray and grinning like he’d won a lottery. “good morning, beautiful,” he greeted, his voice warm and teasing.

her lips curved into a sleepy smile. “what’s all this?” she murmured, sitting up as he placed the tray on her lap.

“breakfast for my queen,” he replied, dropping a kiss to her forehead. “but… this is only the beginning.”

she raised an eyebrow in sleepy confusion, but jude had already stepped out of the room, beckoning her to follow when she was ready. she emerged minutes later, her hair tied up messily, still wearing his oversized hoodie. what she walked into, though, left her speechless.

the living room glowed in the soft light of candles. the table was adorned with the breathtaking bouquet of flowers, the note tucked neatly beside it. she noticed the gifts sitting atop a bed of rose petals, the playlist humming softly in the background. her hand flew to her mouth, her chest rising and falling as emotion threatened to overwhelm her.

“jude…” her voice cracked. “what… why?”

he stepped toward her, taking her trembling hands into his. “because,” he began softly, his dark eyes locking onto hers, “you’ve given me everything—your love, your patience, your support. you’ve made every single day better just by being you. i don’t tell you often enough how much that means to me. so, today, i wanted to make sure you feel how much i love and appreciate you.” his voice was gentle yet resolute, filled with unfiltered emotion.

tears shimmered in her eyes, threatening to spill as she gazed up at him. “jude, this… this is too much,” she whispered, shaking her head slightly, her voice trembling.

“it’s never too much when it comes to you,” jude said, his hands cradling her face now, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears that began to fall. “you deserve every bit of it and more.”

she stood there for a moment, absorbing his words, letting them wash over her. then, without a word, she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, burying her face against his chest. jude chuckled softly, resting his chin on the top of her head, letting her cling to him.

“i don’t even know what to say,” she mumbled into his shirt.

“don’t say anything,” he murmured, tilting her chin up to press a soft kiss to her lips. “just let me spoil you today.”

he led her to the table, pulling out her chair like a true gentleman. as she sat, she couldn’t stop glancing between the beautiful flowers, the perfectly chosen gifts, and the heartfelt note that still had her heart fluttering.

“open them,” jude encouraged with a playful grin, watching her every reaction.

she reached for the first box and carefully untied the ribbon. inside was the gold bracelet, its delicate engraving catching the soft glow of the candles. her fingers traced over the date as tears welled in her eyes again. “our first meeting…” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“it changed everything for me,” jude said simply, taking the bracelet and clasping it gently around her wrist. he pressed a lingering kiss to her hand afterward, his eyes filled with nothing but love.

next, she unwrapped the book, a small gasp escaping her lips. “how did you even remember this?” she asked, turning the hardcover over in her hands.

“you said you wanted it months ago,” jude shrugged casually. “i’ve had it in mind ever since.”

her heart swelled, and she shook her head in disbelief. “you don’t miss a thing, do you?”

“not when it comes to you,” he replied with a grin.

finally, her hands hovered over the last box, almost trembling as she untied the ribbon and opened the lid. inside were the plane tickets, neatly tucked into a small envelope. her eyes widened in shock as she pulled them out, reading over the details.

“jude… are these real?”

he laughed softly, taking her hands as her excitement bubbled over. “as real as us,” he teased. “i thought we could use a getaway—just the two of us. some sun, some sand, and nothing to distract us from each other.”

without hesitation, she threw her arms around him again, holding him so tightly that he stumbled slightly. her laughter was full of joy, her tears returning but now spilling for all the right reasons. “you’re too good to me,” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw.

“you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispered back, his voice firm yet tender. “i’m just trying to keep up.”

the rest of the day was spent wrapped in a haze of love and happiness. they ate breakfast together slowly, savoring not just the food but the quiet intimacy. they talked, reminisced, and shared soft kisses that seemed to stretch time itself.

later, they danced in the living room to the soft music still playing from the speakers. she laughed as jude spun her around, pulling her close at just the right moment to steal another kiss.

as the evening wore on, they curled up on the couch together, her head resting against his chest as his fingers absentmindedly played with her hair. “i don’t know what i did to deserve you,” she murmured, her voice full of emotion. “but i love you more than i can ever put into words.”

jude tilted her chin up gently, his dark eyes meeting hers. “you don’t have to put it into words,” he said softly. “i feel it in everything you do.”

he leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that spoke of all the love and devotion he couldn’t express in words.

and that night, as they lay in bed with her nestled in his arms, jude held her close, listening to the soft rhythm of her breathing, a steady melody that lulled his own heartbeat into perfect sync with hers. the room was quiet now, the candles burnt low, their soft glow dancing across the walls like whispers of all the moments they had shared that day.

as she shifted slightly in her sleep, her hand naturally found its way to rest over his chest, right where his heart beat for her. jude smiled to himself, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

he thought about the journey they had taken together—their first meeting, the little milestones, the quiet nights, and the grand gestures like today. each memory was a thread woven into the tapestry of their love, vibrant and unbreakable.

in the stillness of the night, he made another silent promise to himself: no matter how far his career might take him, no matter how demanding life could become, he would always make time for moments like this.

because she was his constant. the steady presence in the whirlwind of his world.

as the night deepened and sleep began to claim him, he held her just a little tighter, whispering softly, “i love you.”

and though she was fast asleep, her lips curled into a tiny, peaceful smile, as if she knew, even in her dreams, that her heart was safe with him.

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Hear me out.....pretty...pretty Please, some general fluff headcannons for 141 and Konig?! I'm desperate for some fluff. Stuff like how soft they r how they r at home, kisses that sort of thing? Id die of happiness if u did!!!!!?????

141 + König General Fluff Headcannons

Warnings: fluff🩷, mild NSFW references

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Simon Ghost Riley-

It takes him a while to open up to you, but once he does? He's yours forever.

He is more of a listener than a talker, and he is damn good at listening

You always have to be within his line of sight. He always wants to make sure you're safe.

Definitely gets up before you in the mornings and loves to wake you up with coffee

Not big on PDA, but he doesn't mind holding your hand out in public.

Doesn't say I love you often, but when he does, it turns your whole world on an axis

Says no to a getting a dog at first, but when you finally get him to say yes? The dog is that man's best friend.

He's not a very good cook when you first get together, but he teaches himself in secret one year to surprise you on your birthday by making you your favorite meal. (Your heart nearly melted at the proud smile on his face when he told you he made it)

This man is loyal as hell. You will NEVER catch him looking anyway at anyone the way he looks at you. No person's beauty in his mind will ever compare to yours

Loves going for long car rides with you. Weekend trips, day trips, whatever works for him. Will ALWAYS have his hand resting on your thigh

He developed a ritual with you, where he will wear one of his hoodies for a few days straight so it smells like him when he goes on deployments

Secretly loves when you wear his dog tags. It's a kink of his he won't voice out loud

Loves to spoon you in bed. Very rarely will he not be holding you, or touching you in some way when he sleeps

Takes him a while, but he'll start to look forward to holidays with your family. They welcome him with open arms, and for the first time in a long time, Simon feels like he has a true family who loves him

John Price-

Loves to hear about your day. First thing he asks you when you come home after work is how was your day? And this man GENUINELY listens

Loves to spoil you. Man gives inadvertent sugar daddy vibes. You even hint at something you like or want? He will get it for you

Huge on spontaneous dinner dates. Loves to come home randomly and tell you he's taking you for a night out

Literally has the hardest time saying no to you. For ANYTHING.

He tries to act all tough, but this man is so whipped for you

Loves when you rest your feet in his lap on the couch, as he loves to massage them for you after a long day

Fight me, but this man loves to take baths with you. He loves to relax in the hot water, with you against his chest. He can literally fall asleep like this

Always insists on paying when you go out to eat. Never, ever let's you foot the bill (if you pout enough, he may let you, but will feel bad about it afterward)

Will watch any TV show you want. He says he hates romantic dramas, but he's just as invested as you are

Kisses with him are always longing, and always want you leaving more

Man is a Valentines Day legend. Flowers, chocolates, jewelry, fancy dinners THE WORKS

Johnny Soap MacTavish-

An amazingly fun boyfriend to have.

Johnny always wants to do something fun, go somewhere fun

He's surprisingly amazing at giving massages

Doesn't mind PDA, he'll randomly kiss you in public, hug you, and hold you close. He doesn't care who sees.

Loves to try new things. Whether it's food, movies, or something to spice up the bedroom, the man will never say no to trying something at least once

Not a morning person, and he will have an iron tight grip on you in an attempt to force you to stay in bed longer with him every morning (he always ends up succeeding)

His ideal date with you is a pub. Something with good food, good beer, and even better company.

Loves to "mislead" you about when he's coming home from a mission, because he absolutely adores the look on your face when he surprises you earlier than expected

Adores double dates. Loves to hang out with couple friends.

When you're walking on a sidewalk, he'll always push you on the inside so you're away from the cars

Definitely is that boyfriend that will send you a dozen tik tok reels a day

Please go to an amusement park with him. He'd be so happy winning the various carnival games for you, getting you any stuffed animal of your choosing

You two cannot do surprises for one another. You get too excited and end up telling each other gifts or surprises the minute you plan them

Kyle Gaz Garrick-

This man loves to surprise you with flowers. Had a bad day? Flowers. Wants you to feel a little extra loved? Flowers. Thought you looked cute one day? Flowers.

Loves to go to furniture stores with you. Even if you don't actually need it, the two of you can spend hours looking around at various stores

Enjoys cooking for you. He's one to try new recipes, and loves seeing your reactions to them.

Firmly believe this man loves to dress up as a couple and that Halloween is his absolute favorite holiday.

Adorably loves to have a "chore" day once a week with you, where you both do house chores together for a few hours, while each of you gets to pick what song plays in the background

So supportive of any hobby you might have. Like to paint? He'll continuously buy you paint brushes. Love video games? He'll buy you any new one that comes out he'd think you'd enjoy.

Whenever you guys go out, he always orders something you like for his meal, in case you don't like yours

If you have longer hair, he loves to play with it and help you style it

Best movie buddy ever. He LOVES going to the movies with you, and will get you all the popcorn and snacks you desire

Will hold your bags for you while you shop, and will fight you if you try to carry your own

König-

Possibly the sweetest boyfriend out of all of them

You will catch him staring at you ALL the time. Any second he gets, he will be looking at you

Loves date night ins. Cooking together or getting takeout and cuddling on the couch together while watching a movie? This man'll be in heaven

Loves to offer you his arm in public. Plays into his size kink when your small hand wraps around his bicep whenever you walk anywhere.

Man will WORSHIP you in bed. Wants nothing more than to make you happy in every aspect of your life.

Is more of a cat person than a dog person, so you two end up getting quite a few kitties around the house

Always kisses you like you're delicate. Loves to place gentle, loving kisses to your lips when you least except it, and his cheeks always flush a deep pink when he does

Will always shower with you. When he's home from missions you very, very rarely shower alone. Loves to help you shampoo your hair

Adores ADORRESSS when you wear his clothes. Triggers the man's size kink like no other when his shirts are like dresses on you

Amazing at aftercare. Always wants to make sure you're satisfied. Will warm a towel for you, get your water-whatever you need.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Squeaky Clean 6

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You start work as a maid but you’re not prepared for the mess your client brings with him. (maid AU – plus!reader)

Note: we in for it now.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

A shell of numbness encases you. Your heart continues to flutter but the rest of you is dull. You close yourself in the bathroom with the cup of coffee. It’s strange how he sees that small gesture as a such a grand act of kindness when he can tell you to your face what he intends to do. 

You drink it. You don’t feel the warmth; you barely even taste it. The simple act merely helps you focus, to steady your hands enough to function. 

You crank the shower on. The thrum of the pipes rattles through you. You undress and step under the scour of water. It pours over you like the swell of tears you won’t let fall. You wash mechanically, no real perception of what you’re doing. It’s all just habit. 

You peek down at your body. There’s still a chance. He could be like that blind date you went on. The one who said he didn’t expect you to look the way you do. That coded statement. You never did that again. That guy along with Steve only prove the same point; men aren’t worth it. 

You turn the water off. You falter before you can get out. He hears that too. He hears how the time ticks by and inevitability creeps closer and closer. You step out and dry yourself. There is no urgency in you. It’s a fight just to keep going. 

You can hear him too. He's pacing around. The coffee is acid in your stomach. You take the mug and stand in front of the door. That’s it then. The last seconds of freedom, or whatever you want to call it. 

You step out as the apartment hazes in your vision. You refuse to look at him and turn away. You put your cup in the kitchen sink, you hand clutching the top of the towel. He clears his throat and his footfalls stop. 

You rinse out the porcelain and leave it in there. You take a step back. You can’t do this. Well, you don’t get to decide that, do you? 

His hands on your shoulders startle you. You wince and sway between him and the counter as he brushes along your skin. His touch goosebumps down your arms and back up. You shiver and grip the edge of the counter. 

“You smell nice,” he purrs as he traces a straight line down your neck and hooks two fingers under the towel. It takes a single tug to dislodged it. 

The cotton falls to your feet and you shudder. You close your eyes. Waiting. Please. Please. Your hopes splinter in the breathy silence as his gaze scours you. He gets even closer, arms hooking under yours, as he brings himself flush to your back. 

His naked skin blazes against you. He curls his arms around to cup your chest and you whimper. Instinctively, you try to bat him away, to cover up. He gropes you and growls into your hair, inhaling you like an animal. 

He hums as he wiggles against you, his rigid length bobbing against your back. You keep your eyes sealed as you hide in the darkness. Let him do what he wants, you don’t need to do a thing. 

He groans as his nose brushes along your hair and he bends to nuzzle into your neck. It sends a chill through you. Your fingers stay locked on the edge of the linoleum counter. His lips press down and the graze of his teeth pinch your skin. 

“You feel so good against me,” he rasps. “Your heart’s going so fast...” his hand crawls up to your throat and his thumb finds your carotid, feeling it pulse beneath. “Mine too.” 

Your blood flows cold, even as he cocoons you in his heat. He blazes hotly against you as his other hand drifts down your stomach, kneading and pushing into your soft flesh. Greedily, he grabs and gropes you; squeezing your love handles, splaying his fingers over your stomach, before caressing again. As he feels you up, his hips rock subtly with his need. 

He draws you away from the counter, step by step. Your hands cling for just a moment then unlatch. Your arms hang at your side as you surrender to his control. Don’t open your eyes. He moves you with him, staying entwined with you, tangled around you like a leash. 

Your soles pad over the scuffed wooden floor, your legs trembling as you rely on his strength to keep you upright. He stops you again and drags his hands back to your shoulders. He urges you forward until your knees meet the low metal bed frame. 

You bend as he guides you. You bend your arms against the mattress as your head lolls from your neck. The cool air tingles over the back of your thighs as he drapes you over the edge of the bed. He flutters his fingertips along your legs and the curve of your ass. You twitch as you feel how exposed you are. 

He purrs again. His nails jab into your flesh and he fondles your ass. He massages it as he pushes the excess together, lifts it, jiggles it. He toys with you as the floorboards shift with his weight. 

He groans and something else prods along your ass. His nose trails alongside the crease between your cheeks and his hot breath smatters across your cunt. He drones hungrily and tilts his head against you, poking his tongue out to delve between your lips. You squeak as his mouth sends a thrill up your spine. 

You push your toes into the floor as you lay prone over the foot of the bed. His large hands continue to knead your ass as he laps at you. The noise that rise from him sicken you. Like a glutton at feast, he devours you sloppily. 

You quiver as his tongue stretches to find your clit and frames your hips, lifting your ass higher as he angles your hips. He smothers his face in your as he drinks you in. He gulps as if he is starving, as if he has been wandering a dessert for years.  

You put your forehead to the mattress and quake. His desperation is frightening. You can feel it in his touch, in his grip. He isn’t going to stop. 

[jscrawls]

Widows rest

My take on a Black widow! Reader x Batman and Batfam but with a slight twist, reader doesn't know the Bats but they seem to know them...

Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, mentions of death, hospitals, poor writing, possible ooc,

Pt 1: New year new me, wait what?

Waking up wasn't in your cards, staring at the ceiling of a hospital room with nothing but the rhythmic beeping of machinery to welcome you to the realm of the living wasn't what you expected at all. Did you fail your mission? Did Barton and Natalia bring you back and somehow save you? Your joints ache badly, but it's nothing like what it should be, even your advanced healing can't fix a shattered skeleton.

You push yourself upright, it's surprisingly difficult and you have to take a break before pulling yourself up all the way, nausea hits you like a train and you have to take slow deep breaths so you don't puke. What meds did they have you on? Looking over yourself you take stock of everything, you're pallid and skinny, like you've been here a while. medical coma possibly?

Your head feels like it's stuffed with cotton and helium, There's multiple machines attached to you in some way, Just how bad was it if you felt yourself literally die. The room is clean, smells clean too. It's just full of medical equipment, no other beds in the room so…not the med bay? There's no windows either so you can't see what time of day it is, where did they put you? Possibly in doctor cho’s care? You see English writing on the heart rate monitor beside you so maybe not in her Korean facility…before you can start ripping tubes out of yourself the door opens, a young woman walking in with a cart behind her and her focus entirely on her phone. She shoves it in her scrubs pocket and idly glances towards you while reaching towards some cloths on the cart, she freezes like a deer staring down a semi. you try to speak but she suddenly darts out of the room while yelling for a doctor.

“stay here mx Wayne! Doctor! I need a doctor in here!” her sneakers squeak loudly on the linoleum as she leaves.

Who the hell was Wayne?

🔹🔹🔹

‘*this entire board meeting is complete and utter horseshit.’* Bruce thinks to himself as he smiles tightly at his chairmen, several investors are sitting around and complaining about their lives even though the meeting isn't even over yet, and there's still policies to discuss, yet they're acting like just because they're invited guests they run the show.

It's been chaos ever since the incident, his stocks have gone up somehow, the public's reaction to this whole mess. his shareholders love it, they're like greedy sharks smelling blood, thinking he's too frazzled to know when they're trying to make moves behind his back to line their pockets. They're even throwing dates at him, as if his spouse isn't still alive. He'd nearly broken his code when Mr Smith told him to ‘line one up for when he has needs’ like he's a goddamn animal. As it stands he's been avoiding as many in person meetings as possible so he can avoid murder and jail time,

Tim keeps giving him looks for the last twenty minutes, subtly signaling to relax, smile, play dumb. He must be losing his edge if he can't even keep his poker face straight. His temple throbs as Mr Johnson opens his mouth again, If he has to hear *one* more complaint about their healthcare policies costing the company too much he's gonna -

His phone buzzes in his pocket, this time of day it's probably work related so he ignores it and starts aggressively drinking his iced coffee, he's half tempted to ‘accidentally’ spill it on Mr Smith beside him and ruin his beige suit mid speech about what is and isn't necessary to provide your employees, he's about to ignore Tim's warning look when his phone buzzes again, this time it's Alfred's notification pattern. Tim subtly shifts so he knows he got one too, Bruce fishes his phone out under the table and briefly glances at the notification tab, reads it twice, before promptly standing up and walking out without saying a word to anyone, Tim scrambling to cut the meeting short and follow him.

🔹🔹🔹

A/n: has anyone wandered how much work Bruce does at Wayne enterprises? What does he actually do there?? 😅

Taglist: @cxcilla

[quarterlifekitty]

a little continuation of SerialKiller!Ghost and Psychic!Reader

cw: obsessive behavior, kidnapping

You hear the splash of cooled black coffee against linoleum after the lights go out. It had been sitting on the corner of the table moments ago, just asking for mishap, while you faced borderline threats from the head investigator on the ghost case.

The gift had rarely ever been that. Scant were the times you could remember it having solved more problems than it created.

“Just stay here. Fucking breaker.” Shoes scuff against the tile. There’s a very faint beam of light from the reinforced window in the door— must be coming from the exit sign outside.

A gloved hand that smells like ash slides over your mouth, only for a moment, to suppress your instinctual urge to cry out. You’re just surprised, aren’t you? Didn’t expect prince charming to come save you so soon, yeah?

“Y’got no idea how difficult it was to keep from guttin’ ‘im like a fish, sweet’art. The way he spoke to you. But I ain’t ‘ere for that fuckworm. I’m ‘ere for my girl.” You feel his chuckle from the chest pressed to your back.

“Lotta trouble to get the princess away from ‘er royal guard. But I ain’t mad. Nothin’ that’s worth doin’ is ever easy.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Simon can tell from that line alone that you’re cooked. That your special little mind has gotten soft boiled from all the filth and love he’s been shoving into it. You’re more scared for him than scared of him, even if you don’t know it.

“Can’t stand to see you get used anymore, birdie. I know first ‘and what happens to used toys.”

“They’re not using me— it’s not like I’m doing this all for charity, they pay me—“

“That may be. But d’you really have a choice but to cooperate? Worked like a dog. Leashed like one. Punished like one.”

“And I’m supposed to think that the murderer who jacks off onto pictures of me would be better?” You ask, incredulous at the assertion. It takes you a moment to realize and regret the tone you’ve taken with a man who sees human life as something that can be chewed up and spit out for the momentary amusement of feeling it slide wetly against his gums.

“Darlin’— I’d let y’hold the knife to my throat. Let y’kill me, if that’s what you thought was best for us. But you’re like me. Deep down, y’got this big, selfish pit— and y’know I’m the only one who can fill it f’you. I’ve seen inside that pretty head.” And you’ve seen inside the rotting sickpit that’s his head. You’re caught in a bruising grip as he pulls you by the wrist through the darkened hall of the station, straight for the exit stairwell, but not before he knocks the phone from your hand and crushes it beneath his heel.

“I can’t– where are you taking me?! They’ll find me,” you say in an unsteady, pathetic facsimile of a threat.

“Don’t tell me they’ve got y’chipped, birdie. Jus’ gives me an excuse to go diggin’ through your skin with m’teeth,” he supplies, a perverse anticipation veiled thinly in his tone.

“I’ll scream–”

“If y’really meant that, you’d’ve done it soon as I took my hand away from that pretty, fuckable mouth.” A crack of setting, amber sunlight filters under the door just down another flight of stairs.

“When you’re back at mine, split and cryin’ on my cock, when you love me, you’ll see why I had to do this.”

[bimrwolf]

The Christmas Arrangement

steve harrington x fem!reader words: 12,672 warnings: eventual smut!!! 18+ (minors dni) steve's emotions are supressed in this one.... his dad died summary: Steve Harrington thought asking his stubborn intern to play his girlfriend for the holidays would be simple. But "pretend" starts to get a little complicated when moments feel a little too real. a/n: everyone writes for summer steve... but i need more christmas steve sigh Part 1 / Part 2

The office was quiet except for the low hum of the heater kicking in and the occasional rustle of cardboard boxes. You stood in the middle of the sleek, open-plan space, hands on your hips, surveying the mess of holiday decorations strewn around you. Red-and-gold garlands coiled like lazy snakes, tangled string lights blinked in erratic patterns, and a stuffed Santa Claus stared at you from his perch on the countertop, looking unimpressed.

The office smelled like old coffee and artificial pine as you adjusted the garland on the filing cabinets for the third time that morning. The decorations were your idea—an attempt to liven up the drab Harrington & Co. Advertising office. 

"Corporate holiday spirit, my ass," you muttered, yanking a plastic wreath out of the chaos. The smell of fake pine hit you in the face as you tried to fluff it up, but it only ended up looking sadder.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoing down the hall made you freeze mid-fluff. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. “Fantastic,” you grumbled. You purposely turned up the radio to blast Santa Baby. You were the first person in the office and you knew your boss, Steve Harrington, would make a comment about you being early for once. 

Your boss was, how you say, an asshole. It took you selling your soul for him to agree to use the company credit card for these cheesy decorations. 

Steve Harrington stalked past you toward his glass-walled office, shedding his coat and scarf like they were physically offending him. His dark hair was windswept in that annoyingly perfect way, and he looked like he had stepped straight out of a GQ spread, down to the polished leather shoes and a slight pout that made you want to smack him or… well, something else you weren’t going to admit.

You turned to watch him cross the room, his broad shoulders stiff under his tailored navy suit. He dumped his briefcase unceremoniously onto his desk and flopped into his chair, dragging a hand through his hair. He looked tired. More tired than usual, which was saying something. For someone who seemed to have it all—wealth, looks, charm—Steve Harrington carried a cloud of stormy energy around him that seemed to zap the joy out of every room he entered lately. 

You couldn’t help it. You strolled into his office, smirking when it was clear your presence was unwanted. 

“Good morning, Mr. Harrington.” You knew he hated when you called him that. 

He winced, rolling his eyes. “Morning,” he muttered. 

You waltzed closer to his desk, holding an animatronic snowman, hopping on the desk, crossing your ankles. You placed the snowman in front of him, pressing the button that made it wiggle back and forth as it blared a jazz version of Frosty the Snowman. Steve gave you an unimpressed brow. 

You hesitated, humming to the tune. "Bad morning or bad life?"

Steve's hazel eyes flicked up at you, narrowing. "You always this…perky, or is it just when I haven’t had coffee yet?" He pressed the button on the snowman to make it stop.

"Wow, Grinch vibes already. It’s not even eight," you said, shaking your head in mock disappointment. "Don’t tell me you hate Christmas, Mr. Harrington. That might actually make me quit."

“That would be a Christmas miracle!” He snorted, though it was more a tired exhale. "I don’t hate Christmas. I hate…" He gestured vaguely, his mouth flattening into a grim line. "Stuff."

"Stuff," you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Very descriptive. I’ll be sure to add that to my notes: ‘Boss hates stuff.’”

Steve didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, eyes briefly flicking to the decorations scattered behind you. His gaze landed on the garlands outside, and his jaw tensed.

"Remind me why I agreed to all of this?” 

You didn’t answer right away, busy adjusting the stuffed snowman that now sat precariously on the corner of his desk. It was probably a bad idea to push him this early in the morning, but it was hard to resist. Something about Steve Harrington’s thinly veiled irritation was endlessly entertaining.

“Because I wore you down,” you said finally, sitting back on his desk with a self-satisfied smile. “Persistence is a key marketing strategy. Consider yourself sold.”

"No," he replied, dragging a hand through his hair and leveling you with an exasperated look. "I agreed because it was faster than arguing with you."

This was how most of your interactions with Steve went: a series of minor battles where you, armed with stubborn optimism and just enough sarcasm to keep things interesting, chipped away at the polished, vaguely disheveled wall he called a personality. Most days, he didn’t give you much to work with—just clipped answers, unimpressed glances, and the occasional reluctant smirk when you pushed the right buttons.

Today, though, something was different. The faint crease between his eyebrows had deepened. His tie was slightly askew, like he’d thrown it on without bothering to check the mirror. He looked... off. The usual self-assured edge was dulled, replaced by a quiet tension that made you hesitate, just for a moment.

You reached over, straightening his tie and he quickly swatted your hand away. “You’re in a mood,” you huffed. 

He looked at himself in the reflection of his computer, fixing the tie himself. He raised a brow. “And you’re not?”

“Mine’s the fun kind. Yours is… whatever this is. Like someone pissed in your cheerios.” 

“I don’t eat cheerios.” You rolled your eyes, messing with some papers on his desk. It was obvious he didn’t want you to touch them because he snatched them from your hands. 

“It’s a figure of speech, Mr. Harrington.” You paused, examining him. “What’s going on?” 

"Nothing," he said too quickly, picking up a pen and tapping it against the desk. "Just tired."

It was a bad lie, and you both knew it. But if he wasn’t going to elaborate, you weren’t going to push. You learned early on that prying too much only made him retreat further into himself.

Instead, you tilted your head and let a teasing smile creep back onto your face. "You sure? Because you’ve been walking around like someone canceled your favorite TV show."

“I don’t watch TV.” 

"Of course you don’t," you said, sighing.  "Too busy glaring at people and sighing dramatically."

The sudden buzz of his desk phone broke the tension. Steve reached for it, but you were faster, snatching the receiver off the hook before he could stop you.

"Harrington & Co.,," you answered, saying your name brightly, giving him a look that dared him to stop you.

He didn’t care, leaning back in his seat, probably thinking, one less person I have to talk to. 

"Hello, dear!" a warm, feminine voice said on the other end. "I wasn’t expecting such a cheerful voice. Who is this?"

You froze, your bravado faltering for the first time. Steve noticed your demeanor change. “Uh…” You scrambled for a response, ignoring Steve trying to reach for the receiver. 

The woman answered, “This is Steve’s office? He gets on me for always calling his personal telephone. So I thought today, I would call the office. How rude of me, this is his mom. Who am I speaking to?” 

“Steve’s mother?” You asked absentmindedly. You grinned cheekily when Steve’s eyes went wide. 

He took a sharp intake of breath, reached out to take the receiver away, and hissed, “Don’t–” 

“Mrs. Harrington!” You greeted her, pulling away from Steve. “I’ve heard so much about you from your son.” 

Steve quickly stood up, standing in front of you when he saw you were going to try and jump down from the desk. You held out your hand to stop him from coming any closer. Steve’s jaw tightened, and he mouthed, Hang up.

"Oh! Are you the girlfriend he’s been hiding from me?" she asked, her voice bright with excitement. 

Your stomach dropped. Girlfriend? You glanced at Steve, who looked like he was actively regretting every life choice that had led to this moment. 

"I..." You hesitated, torn between correcting her and seeing where this was going. "Well—" 

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond. You shrugged at Steve. You would be smarter to say no and just give him the phone, but also watching him react the way he did made you buzz. 

"It’s all so new," you said vaguely, tilting your head to shoot Steve an innocent smile. You twirled the phone cord around your finger, taking far too much delight in the way he was practically vibrating with barely contained frustration. "We haven’t really put a label on things yet."

Steve’s jaw dropped, and he ran a hand down his face like he was trying to physically wipe away the situation. He mouthed again, Hang up! but you ignored him, your smirk widening.

"Oh, that makes sense," Mrs. Harrington said brightly. "Steve has always been so private. But I knew something was up! A mother knows these things."

"Of course," you said, your voice light and agreeable. "He’s such a delight to be around. I can see why you’re so proud of him."

Steve made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, pointing at the phone like it was going to combust in your hand.

"And you sound so lovely!" Mrs. Harrington continued. "You must come to Christmas. We’d love to meet you properly."

Your grip on the phone tightened. "Oh, um..." You hesitated, glancing at Steve, whose expression had shifted from exasperation to outright panic.

"It’s just a small family gathering," Mrs. Harrington added, as if sensing your hesitation. "Nothing too formal, in fact, it’s mostly his friends. Steve hasn’t brought anyone home in ages, so this will be such a treat!"

You opened your mouth, half-ready to backtrack, but Steve grabbed the phone from your hand before you could say another word.

"Mom," he said sharply, his tone strained. "Hi. Yeah. No, she’s not—"

He paused, his free hand rubbing at his temple as he listened to whatever his mom was saying on the other end. His shoulders slumped slightly, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like the weight of the world had just landed squarely on him.

"Okay," he said finally, his voice quieter now. "Fine. Yeah. I’ll talk to you about it later. See you then. Bye."

He hung up with a sharp click and turned to you, his expression a mix of disbelief, annoyance, and something you couldn’t quite place.

"You’re unbelievable," he said flatly.

"You’re welcome," you replied, hopping off the desk and dusting your hands like you’d just finished a job well done.

Steve just stared at you for a long moment, as if trying to will himself into a different dimension where this conversation had never happened. Finally, he sighed, dragging a hand through his already-messy hair. “Will you just go finish polluting the office with more cheap plastic while I try to write your termination letter.” 

You knew he was fibbing, but you still frowned. “What? It’s not like I told her your deepest darkest secrets.” You just made his mom believe he was in a relationship. 

He laughed incredulously. “You know exactly what you did. You made her believe we…” he motioned between you two. “As if.” 

You crossed your arms, scowling. “Excuse me? As if? Mr. Harrington, you would be lucky to even dream about dating me.” 

He held his hand up. “This is your fault,” he said, his tone sharp, “If you hadn’t answered my phone–”

“You’re seriously blaming me?” you interrupted, your voice rising. “You’re the one who didn’t tell her the truth.” 

“And say what? Say, ‘No mom, that’s only my annoying pain in the ass intern who can’t stay out of my business. Not my girlfriend.’” He readjusted the items on his desk from the spot you had sat on. 

“Yes, although I would leave out all the filler words, that’s not really important.” You regretted your comment immediately. 

Steve’s nose flared. You looked at the clock. Wow, new record of making Steve Harrington angry enough to kick you out of his office. He shut the door in your face, the lock clicked on the other side. You tried to peer inside, but he closed his curtains so no one could look into the office. 

The next morning, the office was humming with quiet activity. A few coworkers had come in early, and the sound of keyboards clacking mixed with the faint murmur of a distant phone ringing. You were nursing a cup of coffee at your desk, trying to forget about yesterday’s debacle. Steve hadn’t spoken to you since slamming his office door, and frankly, you were hoping to ride that silence out for the rest of your internship.

But peace wasn’t in the cards.

Your name was called out. Steve’s voice cut through the office like a blade. You glanced up to see him standing in his doorway, his tie slightly loosened and his jaw tight. He looked like he hadn’t slept. “In my office. Now.”

A few heads turned toward you, and you resisted the urge to groan. With a quick glance at your coffee as if it could save you, you stood and made your way to his door.

When you stepped inside, Steve closed the door firmly behind you, leaning against it for a moment like he needed to gather himself. His office smelled faintly of coffee and cologne, and the tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

“You okay there, Mr. Harrington?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light.

His jaw tightened when you called him that. But he didn’t say anything about it. There seemed to be more pressing matters on his mind. “No,” he said bluntly, crossing his arms. “We need to talk about yesterday.” He walked past you, leaning against his desk. 

“Oh, come on,” you said, throwing up your hands. “It wasn’t that bad. Your mom seemed thrilled. I bet she even slept better knowing her darling son isn’t as emotionally unavailable as he looks.”

“This isn’t funny.”

You frowned, suddenly aware of how serious he looked. “I didn’t mean—”

“You’re coming to Christmas,” he interrupted, cutting you off.

Your mouth fell open. “I’m sorry. What?”

“You’re coming to Christmas,” he repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “My mom is expecting you. She’s already told everyone that I’m bringing someone.” He walked behind his desk, looking out at the busy Chicago streets. You thought he was being melodramatic.

“That’s not my problem,” you said, crossing your arms. “You could’ve told her the truth, but instead, you—”

“You’re the one who answered the phone,” Steve said, his voice rising. “You’re the one who decided to play along and make it worse.”

“Worse?” you scoffed. “I saved you from having to explain why you’re still single and miserable. You should be thanking me.”

Steve’s face fell. “You think I’m miserable?” He turned away, and you thought he looked almost sad. 

“Don’t dodge the point,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re the one dragging me into your family drama.”

“I’m not dragging you into anything,” he said, leaning forward and planting his hands on his desk. “I’m offering you a deal.”

“A deal?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Steve nodded, his jaw tightening. “I’ll pay you. Whatever you want. Double your hourly rate for every day you’re there. All you have to do is show up, pretend to like me, and keep my mom happy.”

You stared at him, your brain working overtime to process what he’d just said. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

“You want to pay me to pretend to be your girlfriend for Christmas?” you asked. “That’s… that’s insane.”

“No, what’s insane,” Steve shot back, “is the fact that my mom is already planning to introduce you to half of Hawkins like we’re engaged. So unless you want to explain to her why you suddenly bailed, this is happening.”

You stared at him, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to think of a response. Part of you wanted to storm out and let him deal with the fallout on his own. But another part of you—the part that had seen the vulnerability in his eyes—hesitated.

This wasn’t just about avoiding an awkward conversation with his mom. Steve was clearly under a lot of pressure, and as much as you hated to admit it, you’d helped create this mess. Walking away now would feel… wrong.

“Fine,” you said finally, crossing your arms. “But I have conditions.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “What kind of conditions?”

“For starters,” you said, holding up a finger, “I’m not answering any weird questions about how we ‘met.’ That’s on you.”

“Fair,” Steve said, nodding.

“And I get final veto power over all cringe-worthy PDA. In fact, minimal to no PDA unless absolutely necessary,” you added. “I’m not about to get handsy with my boss.”

Steve grimaced. “Trust me, that’s not on my list of priorities.”

“Good,” you said, ignoring the small flicker of irritation at how quickly he’d agreed. “And finally, you’re driving.”

Steve rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Deal.”

You studied him for a moment, still trying to wrap your head around what you’d just agreed to. “This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Steve said, sitting down and leaning back in his chair. 

You shook your head, already regretting this. What a Merry fricking Christmas to you. 

***

The road stretched out ahead, flanked by frost-tipped trees and the occasional weathered fence. The closer you got to Hawkins, the quieter it became, as if the small Indiana town had been forgotten by time. Even the car seemed to absorb the silence, its heater humming softly against the chill that seeped through the windows.

You glanced at Steve, who was gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly, his knuckles pale against the leather. He hadn’t said much since you left Chicago, aside from the occasional grunt in response to your attempts at conversation. It wasn’t unusual for Steve to be closed off, but there was a weight to his silence now, something that settled in the car like a third passenger.

For the past few hours, you’d filled the space with music and idle chatter, throwing out observations about roadside diners and Christmas light displays in an effort to keep things light. But as the miles ticked by, your energy waned, leaving only the sound of a muted playlist in the background.

When Steve finally turned onto a narrow residential street, the tension in your chest grew. You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting—some sprawling estate with a wrought-iron gate, maybe—but the house that came into view was surprisingly… ordinary.

The two-story home had a certain charm, with its neatly trimmed hedges and a string of multicolored Christmas lights hanging from the roofline. A dusting of snow covered the front yard, softening the edges of the picket fence and the stone path that led to the front door. A wreath hung crookedly from the door, its red bow slightly frayed, as if someone had pulled it out of storage at the last minute.

Steve pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, leaning back against his seat with a deep exhale. For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the house like it was something he’d rather avoid. You resisted the urge to ask what was on his mind, instead focusing on the knot in your stomach that had been tightening since the trip began.

This was it. You were about to step into Steve Harrington’s world—the one he avoided talking about, even when you pried. The weight of that realization made your throat tighten.

"Home sweet home," Steve said finally, his voice flat as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

You followed suit, stepping out into the cold. The air was sharper here, biting at your cheeks and turning your breath into soft clouds. As you stood by the car, taking in the house, you couldn’t help but notice how still everything was. Hawkins felt like a far cry from the bustling chaos of Chicago, a place where time moved slower and the world seemed quieter.

Steve grabbed your bag from the trunk without a word, slinging it over his shoulder before nodding toward the house. You trailed after him, your boots crunching against the snow-dusted path.

The door opened before you reached it, revealing a petite woman with short, dark hair and a radiant smile. She stepped out onto the porch, clapping her hands together against the cold.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, her voice warm and bright. "I was starting to think you got lost."

Steve’s mom, you realized. Diane Harrington was every bit as charming as her voice had suggested on the phone. She descended the steps quickly, wrapping Steve in a tight hug before pulling back to examine him.

"You look tired," she said, brushing a stray piece of lint off his coat. "Have you been eating? You look thinner."

Steve sighed. "Hi, Mom."

Her eyes shifted to you, her expression lighting up as she stepped closer. "And you must be the girlfriend," she said, taking your hands in hers before you could react. "I’m so happy to meet you. Steve said you were pretty but I wasn’t expecting you to be this gorgeous."

Pretty? Heat crept up your neck, and you shot Steve a quick glare. He looked away, suddenly very interested in the snow beneath his boots.

"Thank you, Mrs. Harrington," you said, mustering your most polite tone. "It’s, uh, really nice to meet you too."

"Diane," she corrected with a smile. "Come inside, both of you! It’s freezing out here."

Steve brushed past her into the house, leaving you to follow. The moment you stepped inside, warmth enveloped you, carrying the faint scent of cinnamon and pine. The interior was cozy, with polished hardwood floors, soft lighting, and a large Christmas tree dominating the living room. Ornaments dangled from its branches, reflecting the twinkling lights, while neatly wrapped presents were piled underneath.

"This is... cute," you said, glancing around. It was homier than you’d expected, filled with little touches that spoke of a family that cared about the details—a bowl of candy canes on the coffee table, stockings hanging from the mantel, and framed photos lining the walls.

"You make it sound like a dollhouse," Steve muttered, dropping your bag by the couch.

Diane bustled in behind you, already pulling off her scarf. "I hope you’re hungry. I’ve got cookies in the oven and plenty of hot cocoa if you want some."

"That sounds amazing," you said, offering her a genuine smile.

"Good! I’ll grab you both a cup," she said, disappearing into the kitchen.

The moment she was out of sight, you turned to Steve, your voice low. "You could’ve warned me your mom was this... friendly."

Steve let out a short laugh, leaning against the arm of the couch. "What, did you expect her to interrogate you at the door?"

"Honestly? A little," you admitted, glancing toward the kitchen.

Steve smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something guarded about him now, a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t eased since you arrived.

"You good?" you asked quietly, crossing your arms.

"Fine," he said, brushing off the question. "Just... try not to make this worse than it already is."

You frowned, about to respond, but Diane returned, balancing a tray of steaming mugs and a plate of cookies.

"Here we go!" she said cheerfully, setting them down on the coffee table. "Now, sit, both of you. I want to hear everything."

You exchanged a quick glance with Steve, the unspoken weight of the situation settling between you.

This was going to be a long few days.

You weren’t sure what you had expected from Steve’s mom, but “relentless enthusiasm” wasn’t at the top of the list. Diane seemed to have a bottomless well of energy, firing off questions between sips of cocoa as you and Steve sat side by side on the couch. The way her eyes sparkled with every word made it clear she was thrilled you were here—and just as clear that Steve hadn’t prepared her for your arrival.

It was a stark contrast from her annoyingly moody son. 

"So," Diane began, leaning forward with a curious tilt of her head. "How long have you two been seeing each other?"

You hesitated, sneaking a glance at Steve. He was staring straight ahead, jaw tight, doing his best impression of someone who wasn’t deeply regretting every life choice that had led to this moment.

"A little while," you said finally, keeping it vague.

Steve let out a small, sharp breath—relief, maybe—but you weren’t about to let him off the hook completely. "Steve didn’t tell you?" you added, shooting him a pointed look.

Diane’s brow furrowed slightly as she turned to Steve. "No, he didn’t."

"Must’ve slipped my mind," Steve muttered, his tone flat. He grabbed his cocoa and took a long sip, clearly hoping to disappear into the mug.

"Slipped your mind?" you repeated, incredulous. "Wow. That’s not the kind of thing you forget, Mr. Harrington."

Steve turned his head just enough to glare at you, his hazel eyes narrowing. "I’ve been busy."

"Too busy to mention your girlfriend to your mom?" you shot back, the word "girlfriend" sticking to your tongue like peanut butter.

He returned a sarcastic smile. “Seems I get a bit distracted when I’m worried about my employees coming in late to work and messing with things that’s none of their business.” 

Ouch, that was definitely targeted at you. 

Diane’s eyes darted between the two of you, her smile turning a little more amused. "You two bicker like an old married couple," she said with a laugh.

Steve groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "We’re not—"

"That’s just how he is," you interrupted, cutting him off. "Always so cheerful and charming. It’s why we get along so well." You grabbed his hand. You suddenly became aware that you had never touched him before. It felt strange. His hands were softer than you had imagined. Not that you had imagined what they felt like… but you just assumed they were callused just like his personality. 

His glare deepened, but he couldn’t exactly contradict you without blowing the whole thing wide open. Watching him squirm was deeply satisfying. He gave you an awkward smile, laying his other hand on top of yours. 

"Well, it’s nice to see him with someone who keeps him on his toes," Diane said, clearly delighted.

"Trust me," you replied, leaning back against the couch with a smirk. "It’s a full-time job."

Steve didn’t respond, instead finishing off his cocoa with a pointed slam of the mug onto the table. You could feel the frustration radiating off him, but he kept his cool, probably for Diane’s sake.

"Speaking of full-time," Diane said, seamlessly steering the conversation back to you. "What do you do? Steve said you work together."

"That’s right," you said, nodding. "I’m a marketing intern at Harrington & Co."

"Oh!" Diane’s smile widened. "So you work for Steve?"

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. "Technically, yes."

"Technically," Steve repeated, his voice dry.

You shot him a look. "Yes. Technically."

"Interesting," Diane said, her tone growing more curious. "That must make things... complicated."

"It’s not so bad," you said quickly, plastering on a smile. "We’ve got a great dynamic."

Steve snorted, earning a sharp nudge from your elbow. "Right, dear?"

"Sure," he said, rubbing his side where you’d jabbed him. "Great dynamic."

Before Diane could ask anything else, the sound of the oven timer chimed from the kitchen. She clapped her hands together, her excitement bubbling over. "The gingerbread cookies are ready! Stay right here—I’ll bring some out."

The second she was out of earshot, Steve turned to you, his voice low and tense. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Me?" you said, feigning innocence. "I’m just being the charming, delightful girlfriend your mom thinks I am."

"Charming?" Steve repeated, his brows lifting. “Have you ever been in a relationship before?”  

You ducked your chin into your chest, taking away your hand from his because there was no point since his mother wasn’t in the room. 

You hoped he was too self-absorbed to notice the shift. But you were never that lucky. “Wait, don’t tell me…”

“Just, shut up.” You snapped. 

Steve shook his head, muttering something under his breath as Diane reappeared, balancing a tray of perfectly iced gingerbread men. You quickly fell back into the good girlfriend role you were hired to play. 

"Here we are," she said, setting the tray down with a flourish. "Steve, be a dear and get her a blanket from the closet. I don’t want her catching a chill."

You smiled sweetly as Steve stood, his frustration barely hidden. He stalked toward the hallway, mumbling something about how "this was all a mistake."

When he was gone, Diane leaned in slightly, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "He really likes you, you know."

You blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"My Steve," she said, her smile softening. "He doesn’t bring just anyone home. At least not since his father…” she sniffled. She gave you a hopeful smile. “You must mean a lot to him."

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Steve reappeared before you could process what she’d said, tossing a folded blanket into your lap without a word.

"Thanks," you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Don’t mention it," he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The tension between you lingered as Diane handed you both cookies, her voice filling the space with cheerful chatter. You focused on nibbling the edges of your gingerbread man, trying not to think too hard about her earlier comment—and why it made your stomach flip.

“Uh… sorry. Is there a restroom I could use?” You asked shyly, biting your lip. 

Diane put her hand on her cheek. “Oh dear! I got so excited I forgot to show you around. Steve, can you meet us upstairs in your room with the bags?” 

Diane led you up the staircase, her steps light and quick despite her small frame. You followed behind her, gripping the railing as you took in the house. It was cozy in the way older homes often were, with creaky wood floors and framed photos lining the walls. One caught your eye—a younger Steve in a basketball uniform, his face frozen in a proud, gap-toothed grin. Another showed him with his arm slung around a shaggy-haired boy, both of them laughing mid-moment.

“This way, dear,” Diane called, pulling your attention back to the present.

She stopped at the end of the hallway and pushed open a door, gesturing for you to step inside.

“Here we are!” she said brightly. “Steve’s room.”

You hesitated at the threshold, peering inside. The room was surprisingly neat, with a made bed covered in a navy comforter, a single wooden desk tucked into the corner, and a few sparse decorations on the walls—mostly framed posters and a few shelves of books. It was plain, a little impersonal, like the room of someone who’d stopped living here a long time ago.

"Uh, nice," you said, stepping inside awkwardly. "Where, um… where am I staying?"

Diane blinked, her expression shifting from cheerful to confused. “Here, of course.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh. Uh… here?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “There’s plenty of space, and the bed is big enough for the both of you.”

You froze, unsure how to respond. “Oh, that’s, um… generous of you, but—”

“Mom,” Steve’s voice interrupted from behind you. You turned to see him standing in the doorway, bags in hand, his expression a mixture of irritation and disbelief. “You didn’t say we’d be sharing a room.”

Diane’s brows knit together in a faint frown. “Well, where else would she sleep? The guest room hasn’t been used in years—it’s full of boxes. And the couch is far too small.” She smiled at you. “I’m sure you two don’t mind. You are a couple, after all. I’m not a naive mother, I know you had girls over back in your high school days.”

Steve coughed, “Mom!” 

You glanced at Steve, your heart pounding. His jaw tightened, and he looked away, clearly trying to keep his frustration in check. His cheeks were red. 

“Right,” you said weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Of course. No problem.”

“See?” Diane said, beaming. “I knew you’d be fine with it.” She reached out and patted Steve’s arm. “Be a gentleman and help her settle in. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

With that, she swept out of the room, leaving the two of you standing in thick, suffocating silence.

Diane’s footsteps creaked softly down the stairs, leaving behind a silence so thick you could feel it pressing against your skin. You glanced at the door, half-expecting her to reappear and tell you it was all some kind of misunderstanding. But no—this was your life now. Sharing a room with Steve Harrington, who looked about as thrilled as you felt.

You stole a glance at him. He stood near the bed, his hands on his hips and his lips pressed into a tight line. His jaw worked like he was biting back a string of words he wasn’t quite ready to say. It was strange, seeing him out of his usual sharp suit and into something more casual. The Steve Harrington you knew from the office had a confidence that bordered on arrogance, like he could handle anything thrown his way. But here? He looked... different. Smaller, somehow.

You pushed that thought aside and forced yourself to focus on the practicalities. The bed was big, sure—but not big enough to share without bumping into each other all night. And the floor, with its thin, scuffed wood, didn’t exactly scream comfort. You could already feel the ache in your back if you tried to sleep down there.

“This is a disaster,” you said quietly, half to yourself.

Steve snorted from where he stood, arms crossed. “Tell me about it.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he shook his head and leaned back, letting out a long, slow breath. His hazel eyes drifted to the window, where the faint glow of the Christmas lights outside cast soft shadows across the room.

“Look,” you said finally, breaking the silence. “We have to figure this out.”

Steve turned back to you, one eyebrow raised. “Figure what out?”

You gestured at the bed, your voice sharp despite your best efforts. “The sleeping situation. Because I’m not sharing that with you.”

His brows knit together. “You think I want to?”

“Good,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Then you can take the floor.”

“Why do I have to take the floor?” Steve snapped, his voice rising slightly. “It’s my room.”

“Because you’re the one who… hired me. I can walk downstairs right now and tell her this was all a lie.” From the grunt he made let you know you had won the battle. 

“Fine. Only because I don’t want my mom on the list of people who think I’m a loser,” he mumbled. He started to unpack his suitcase, mostly toiletries. 

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” you said quietly, barely loud enough for him to hear. 

Steve paused, his mouth half-open like he was about to retort. His walls crumbled for a split second before he composed himself upright, turning back around to the suitcase. “Tonight we always go downtown to the tree lighting ceremony. You’ll probably see some of my friends.” He changed the subject quickly, walking into his bathroom to put his stuff away. 

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The weight in his voice was unexpected, and it made your chest ache in a way you didn’t like. You wanted to poke fun at him, to say something snarky and lighthearted to cut through the tension. But the words caught in your throat, stuck behind the realization that Steve Harrington wasn’t as bulletproof as he seemed. 

He came back into the room, eyeing you up and down. “Are you wearing that?” 

You looked down at your denim jeans and sweater. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” 

The corner of his lips upturned. “Nothing. Nothing…” he trailed off, pretending to be busy with something. “I just imagine if you’re dating a wealthy man then you’d wear something…” he was treading in dangerous waters. “Sophisticated.” 

You scoffed. “Sophisticated? Have you tried hearing something called, humility, Mr. Harrington?” 

“You know, it’s weird to call your boyfriend that.” He turned, tilting his head. His 5 o’clock shadow was becoming painfully obvious to you. 

“Good thing you’re not my boyfriend.” 

“Then what am I paying you for?”

You flopped on his bed, legs up, smirking. “Have you seen Pretty Woman?” 

He shot you daggers. “You wish.” 

“Don’t think I catch you staring when I wear that one skirt.” The statement was casual.

Steve froze for half a second, his hand lingering on the edge of his suitcase. He recovered quickly, scoffing like he hadn’t just been caught red-handed. “I wasn’t staring. I was—”

“Admiring? Appreciating? Objectifying?” you supplied, your smirk widening as you folded your arms behind your head and sank into the plush comforter. “Take your pick, Harrington.”

“Monitoring,” he retorted, zipping his bag with far more force than necessary. “Making sure you weren’t breaking the office dress code.”

“Is there a dress code?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because I’ve seen your ties. If we’re holding people to a standard, you might want to start there.”

Steve’s mouth opened, then closed again, as if he couldn’t decide which insult to throw at you first. He shook his head and grabbed a pair of shoes from his bag instead, sitting down on the chair to lace them up. “Unbelievable.”

“What?” you said, feigning innocence. “I’m just making sure you’re held accountable. You know, for all your staring.”

“I wasn’t—” He stopped himself with a frustrated sigh, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like your name.

You let out a laugh, leaning up on your elbows to watch him. It was too easy to get under his skin, and honestly, it was the most fun you’d had all day.

“So,” you said, shifting gears, “this tree lighting thing. Is it, like, a big deal? Or just another excuse for small-town folks to put on their Sunday best?”

Steve glanced at you, his expression softening slightly. “It’s a thing. Hawkins doesn’t have much going on, so the tree lighting’s kind of... important. Everyone shows up. Friends, old classmates, people you try to avoid but somehow always run into.”

“Sounds delightful,” you said, swinging your legs off the bed. “Can’t wait to meet all your friends. Maybe I’ll find out what you were like before Chicago turned you into a grumpy corporate sellout.”

Steve gave you a flat look, tying his second shoe with more aggression than necessary. “Careful, or you’ll blow your cover.”

“Oh, please,” you said with a wave of your hand. “Your mom already thinks I’m perfect. I’ve got this in the bag.”

“Right,” he said, standing up and grabbing his jacket. “You’re a regular Oscar winner.”

“Thank you,” you said, hopping up from the bed. “I like to think I bring a certain… authenticity to the role. But hey, if you’re worried, feel free to jump in and charm your way through the night. Oh, wait.”

Steve rolled his eyes, shrugging into his coat. “Keep talking like that and I’ll tell everyone you begged me to hire you.”

“Joke’s on you,” you shot back, grabbing your own jacket. “They’d believe it. Who wouldn’t want to work for Mr. Harrington?”

He paused at the door, turning to look at you with an unreadable expression. For a moment, you thought he might actually say something serious, something that would shatter the rhythm of your playful back-and-forth. But then he smirked, the teasing glint back in his eyes. “You ready, or do you need time to come up with more ways to embarrass me tonight?”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Harrington,” you said, brushing past him with a grin. “I’ve already got a list.”

***

The drive to the town square was brisk, the chill of the evening air biting at your cheeks despite the layers you’d bundled into. Hawkins, for all its sleepy charm, had a way of making winter feel like something out of a picture book. Strings of warm lights crisscrossed overhead, illuminating the streets in a soft golden glow, while shop windows displayed carefully arranged holiday scenes. Wreaths hung on nearly every lamppost, their red bows fluttering slightly in the cold breeze.

As you followed Diane through the growing crowd, your gaze wandered over the scene, taking in the families, the couples, the quiet buzz of a small town coming alive for the holidays. It was… nice. Not the kind of “nice” you were used to in Chicago, where everything felt rushed and artificial, but something simpler. Quieter.

Beside you, Steve walked with his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, his posture a little stiff as he glanced around. You weren’t sure if it was the cold or the fact that he was being dragged into a public event he clearly wasn’t thrilled about. Probably both.

For a moment, your gaze lingered on him. His hair, ruffled by the wind, still somehow managed to look effortlessly styled. The sharp lines of his jaw stood out against the glow of the lights, and the way his coat fit—broad shoulders, lean frame—was almost unfair. He was handsome in a way that felt infuriatingly natural, like he didn’t have to try.

You quickly looked away, embarrassed by your train of thought. Since when were you noticing things like that about Steve Harrington? You chalked it up to being stuck in close quarters—forced proximity was bound to mess with your head.

Before you could dwell on it any further, Steve’s pace slowed, his head turning sharply toward the sound of a voice cutting through the crowd.

“Harrington!”

The name was called with an edge of disbelief and excitement, and Steve’s expression shifted immediately. His stiff shoulders loosened, and for the first time since you’d arrived in Hawkins, a genuine smile tugged at his lips.

“Oh, no,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no real irritation in his voice. “Robin.”

You turned your head, catching sight of the woman weaving her way toward you both. She was tall and lanky, with short brown hair that framed her sharp, curious features. Her grin was wide, a little lopsided, and when her eyes landed on Steve, she broke into a jog.

“Steve!” she said, launching herself at him in a hug that nearly knocked him off balance.

“Robin,” Steve said, laughing as he stumbled slightly. He hugged her back with a fondness that felt almost out of character for the grumpy boss you knew.

When Robin pulled back, her gaze flickered to you, her brow quirking as her grin shifted into something sly. “And who’s this?”

Before you could answer, Diane appeared at your side, her voice brimming with pride. She gave Robin your name. “She’s Steve’s girlfriend!”

You froze, feeling your cheeks heat as the word hung in the air. Girlfriend. It sounded so foreign—so wrong—and yet, Diane said it with such certainty that you almost believed it yourself.

Robin’s expression didn’t change, but there was a glint in her eye now, a sharpness that made your stomach twist. She looked between you and Steve, her grin growing wider. “Girlfriend?”

“It’s new,” Steve said quickly, his voice a little too loud, a little too defensive.

Robin turned to you, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Her handshake was firm, her gaze lingering just a second too long. You forced a smile, hoping you didn’t look as awkward as you felt. “Nice to meet you too.”

Robin’s eyes flicked back to Steve, and the smile on her face turned mischievous. “Well, isn’t this interesting. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Harrington.”

Steve groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Robin—”

“I mean, a girlfriend?” Robin interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “And you didn’t tell me? I called you three days ago and you never mentioned her.”

“Can we not do this right now?” Steve muttered, his cheeks reddening.

Robin shrugged, clearly enjoying herself. “Fine. But don’t think you’re off the hook. We’re talking later.”

Before Steve could respond, a loud cheer rippled through the crowd, drawing everyone’s attention to the tree in the center of the square. The mayor stood on a small platform, microphone in hand, as he began his annual speech.

You took the opportunity to lean closer to Steve, your voice low. “Your friend seems nice.”

“She’s fine,” Steve said quickly, his gaze fixed on the tree.

“She knows, doesn’t she?” you pressed, unable to keep the smirk out of your voice.

Steve sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “She doesn’t know anything. Yet.”

“Right,” you said, drawing out the word. “Because she definitely didn’t look like she was onto us.”

Steve turned his head just enough to glare at you. Then he looked back at Robin, noticing the way she was still looking at you two suspiciously. “I’m going to put my arm around you,” he said, looking straight ahead. 

You were taken aback. You hadn’t really been physical, but I guess it was different when it came to being around friends. They probably knew him better than his mom. So, you just stepped closer, leaning into him. His body tensed, arm wrapping around you. It was another odd feeling, but different from how it felt when you held his hand. A jolt of warm electricity buzzed through you as you relaxed into him.

The mayor’s voice boomed through the speakers, announcing the start of the countdown, and the crowd erupted into cheers. You let yourself get swept up in the energy, your smile lingering as the tree came to life in a brilliant display of twinkling lights.

For a moment, you forgot about all the lies that were bubbling inside you. The air was filled with warmth and light, and for the first time since you arrived in Hawkins, you felt yourself start to relax.

But then you glanced at Steve, catching the way his eyes softened as he looked at the tree, and that knot in your chest tightened all over again.

As the cheers from the crowd subsided, the tree’s twinkling lights cast a warm glow over the square. People milled about, sipping cocoa and chatting, their voices blending into a low hum that filled the crisp evening air. You found yourself lingering near Steve, half-listening to Diane’s enthusiastic conversation with a neighbor while Robin hovered close, her sharp gaze bouncing between you and Steve like she was piecing together a puzzle.

“Well,” Robin said suddenly, stepping into your personal space with a grin that could only be described as trouble. “Since Steve clearly doesn’t plan to introduce us properly, I guess I’ll take matters into my own hands.” She extended her hand again, this time with exaggerated flair. “Robin Buckley, certified Steve Harrington expert and general pain in his ass.”

You laughed, taking her hand despite the slight wariness creeping up your spine. You introduced yourself again, and this time, it felt genuine. Something about Robin Buckley made things less awkward. “Nice to meet you, Robin. It’s been... an eventful few days.”

“I bet,” Robin said, her eyes narrowing slightly as she released your hand. “So, how’d you two meet? Steve’s not exactly Mr. Social these days.”

Before you could think of a plausible lie, Steve jumped in, his voice a little too quick. “Work. We met at work.” You wanted to to stomp his foot. You had given him the job to explain how you met, but you had thought he’d at least come up with something unique.

Robin raised an eyebrow. “Work, huh? And now you’re dating?”

You felt Steve tense beside you, and it took everything in you not to burst out laughing at the way he was fumbling. “It was, uh, kind of unexpected,” you said, jumping in to save him. “One of those things where we just... clicked.”

Robin’s grin widened, her eyes flicking between you and Steve with laser focus. “Clicked. Interesting choice of words.”

“Robin,” Steve said, his voice low and full of warning.

She ignored him completely, stepping a little closer to you. “So, tell me—what’s your favorite thing about Steve?”

Your heart skipped, panic rising in your chest. What was your favorite thing about Steve? His ability to get on your nerves? The way he always found new ways to irritate you at work? The fact that, despite everything, you couldn’t stop noticing how stupidly handsome he was?

“He’s...” you started, glancing at Steve, whose face had gone pale. “He’s thoughtful. In his own way.”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “Thoughtful? Harrington?”

“He is!” you said quickly, warming to the idea. “Like how he makes sure everyone at work has what they need, even if he doesn’t say it outright. Or how he always, uh, remembers little things—like how I like my coffee.”

Steve’s gaze snapped to yours, surprise flickering across his face. You weren’t sure why you’d said it, but the words tumbled out before you could stop them. And now, looking at him, you realized they weren’t entirely untrue.

Robin studied you for a moment longer, her expression unreadable, before finally shrugging. “Huh. Well, guess there’s a first time for everything.” She turned to Steve, smirking. “Look at you, Harrington. All grown up and thoughtful.”

Steve rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Can we drop this now?”

“Fine,” Robin said, clearly amused. “For now.”

Before the conversation could spiral further, Diane reappeared, holding two steaming cups of cocoa. “Here you go,” she said brightly, pressing one into your hands.

Steve frowned. “Where’s mine?”

Diane took a sip of her hot chocolate tauntingly. “Maybe you should have been the one to bring her cocoa instead of standing around like a bump on a log.”

Steve groaned, his breath misting in the cold air. “Seriously, Mom?”

“Seriously, Steven,” Diane shot back, her tone sweet but firm. She patted his cheek with a gloved hand, clearly delighted by his irritation. “You could learn a thing or two about how to treat a lady.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, muffled slightly by the rim of your cup. Steve turned his glare on you, but it lacked his usual bite, his cheeks tinged with more than just the cold.

“Oh, come on, Steve,” you teased, swirling your cocoa for emphasis. “Maybe if you were more thoughtful, your mom wouldn’t have to show you up.”

Robin snickered, enjoying every second of the exchange. “She’s got a point. Chivalry, Harrington. It’s dead because of people like you.”

Steve threw up his hands. “Great. Gang up on me. Real festive spirit, guys.”

Diane grinned, clearly pleased with herself, before excusing herself to chat with a neighbor who waved her over.

Robin, still grinning, folded her arms and leaned closer to you. “So,” she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “What’s it like working with him? Does he actually do anything? We used to work together in our younger days and I wondered if anything had changed.”

You hesitated, unsure how much to say. Robin’s sharp gaze made it clear she was fishing for something, and while you couldn’t exactly throw Steve under the bus, you also weren’t about to give her nothing. “He’s... efficient,” you said carefully. “Most of the time.”

Robin barked out a laugh. “Efficient. That’s the nicest way I’ve ever heard someone say ‘bossy.’”

“Thanks,” Steve said flatly, glaring at both of you.

Robin clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Stevie. I’m sure she’s just being polite. Take it from me, it is exhausting dealing with you all day.”

Before Steve could respond, Diane called out from across the square, waving for you all to join her by the skating rink.

As you started walking, cocoa warming your hands, Steve fell into step beside you. His usual scowl was back, but there was something softer in his eyes when he glanced at you.

“Efficient?” he said under his breath, his tone low enough that Robin wouldn’t hear.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head.

“That’s how you describe me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Efficient?”

You shrugged, taking a sip of your cocoa. “Would you rather I say ‘thoughtful’ again? Because I think we both know that’s a stretch.”

Steve huffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable,” you shot back, your grin widening.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he shook his head, his expression unreadable. “Come on,” he said, nodding toward the rink. “Let’s get this over with.”

For a moment, he looked younger, softer—like the weight he carried wasn’t quite so crushing under the glow of the lights.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

“Yeah,” he said, snapping out of it. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

Steve hesitated, then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

The square buzzed with holiday cheer as the three of you approached the rink, the glow of the Christmas lights reflecting off the ice. Families glided hand-in-hand, couples laughed as they stumbled together, and the faint sound of holiday music filled the air.

The rink was smaller than you expected, a modest oval surrounded by strings of lights and wooden benches dusted with snow. A few families skated in lazy circles, their laughter cutting through the quiet hum of Christmas music playing over the speakers.

You stood at the edge, sipping your cocoa and pretending you weren’t sneaking glances at Steve as he leaned against the railing. He looked more relaxed here, his expression softening as he watched the skaters.

“You used to skate?” you asked, breaking the silence.

Steve snorted. “Not exactly. I was more into sports that didn’t involve falling on my ass.”

“Ah, so basketball and being a high school heartthrob?” you teased, smirking.

He shot you a sideways look. “Something like that.”

Before you could press further, a group of skaters passed by, waving at Steve. One of them called out his name, laughing, and you could see his old reputation hadn’t faded entirely.

“Small-town royalty,” you said under your breath, shaking your head.

“Jealous?” he asked, his smirk returning as he straightened up.

“Hardly,” you shot back. “I prefer the anonymity of city life. No one there knows me well enough to make assumptions.”

Steve’s smile faltered slightly, something flickering behind his eyes. “Yeah. That’s the good part, isn’t it?” The weight in his voice caught you off guard, and before you could respond, he turned away, his gaze fixed on the skaters again.You wondered what memories were circling in his head, what had caused that flicker of something—regret, maybe?—to cross his face.

“You know,” you said, trying to lighten the mood, “if you want to prove Robin wrong, this would be the perfect opportunity. Show me your moves, Harrington.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, though there was the faintest hint of amusement behind them. “I don’t skate.”

“You just said you don’t fall on your ass,” you countered, grinning.

“That’s not the same thing,” he replied, shoving his hands deeper into his coat pockets. “And besides, I don’t have anything to prove to Robin.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, tilting your head. “Then why do I feel like you’re avoiding it because you know you’ll look ridiculous?”

Steve straightened, his brows knitting together in mock offense. “I do not look ridiculous.”

“Then prove it.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “I’m not playing this game.”

“Scared?” you teased, stepping closer and raising an eyebrow. “I mean, it’s fine if you are. You can just admit it.”

Steve stared at you, his lips twitching as though he was trying not to smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“Efficient and insufferable,” you said, crossing your arms. “It’s called versatility.”

Robin reappeared then, her grin wide as she caught the tail end of your exchange. “What’s this? Harrington getting cold feet?”

Steve groaned, running a hand down his face. “Not you too.”

“Oh, definitely me too,” Robin said, slapping him on the back. “Come on, Stevie. Show your girlfriend how it’s done.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to remind Robin that you hadn’t actually agreed to this skating charade, but the words caught when Steve turned to you. There was something challenging in his gaze now, something that made your stomach flip.

“Fine,” he said, his voice low and even. “Let’s do this.”

You blinked, taken aback. “Wait, what?”

“You wanted proof, right?” he said, already pulling off his coat and tossing it onto a nearby bench. “I’ll show you.”

Robin’s laughter rang out as she clapped her hands together. “This is going to be amazing.”

Steve stepped onto the rink, his movements deliberate and measured as he adjusted to the ice. For someone who claimed not to skate, he wasn’t half bad—his steps steady as he began to move in slow, cautious circles.

“See?” he called out, flashing you a smug grin. “No falling. No looking ridiculous.”

You crossed your arms, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “You’re going slow enough for a toddler to keep up.”

“Keep talking,” Steve said, his grin widening as he picked up the pace.

For a moment, you just watched him, the teasing comment you’d planned dying on your lips. Under the glow of the lights, his smile was defenseless, easy—something you weren’t used to seeing from him. He moved with a kind of grace that caught you off guard, his confidence radiating as he made another smooth lap around the rink.

“Okay,” you said reluctantly. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” Steve echoed, stopping just in front of you. He leaned against the railing, his cheeks flushed from the cold. “That’s all you’ve got?”

You smirked, leaning closer. “Fine. It’s impressive... for someone who spends most of his day sitting behind a desk.”

Steve’s laugh was warm, and for a second, it felt like the rest of the crowd faded away. Then Robin appeared at your side, nudging you with her elbow.

“Careful,” she said with a sly grin. “Keep looking at him like that, and people might start thinking you’re into him for real.”

Your cheeks burned, but before you could respond, Steve pushed away from the railing, his gaze flicking to Robin.

“Alright,” he said, his voice full of mock bravado. “You’re next, Buckley. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Robin snorted, crossing her arms. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Steve smirked, gesturing toward the ice. “Scared?”

“Not a chance,” Robin replied. “I just have this thing where I don’t voluntarily humiliate myself in front of an audience.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “That’s a shame. Because if you’re half as bad as I remember, it would’ve been a great show.” Robin rolled her eyes, muttering something about “childhood trauma” before stepping back toward the bench.

Steve turned back to you, his grin softening. “You coming or what?”

You hesitated, your heart doing an unexpected flip. “I... don’t skate.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Really? And here I thought you were fearless.”

“Fearless,” you repeated, narrowing your eyes. “Or just smart enough to know my limits?”

Steve held out his hand, his smirk fading into something gentler. “Come on. I won’t let you fall.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, your pulse racing in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you reached for his hand.

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over Steve’s outstretched hand. It was warm, even in the freezing air, and the way his hazel eyes held yours felt... different. For a moment, you forgot the small-town square, the hum of holiday music, and even Robin’s knowing smirks. All you could focus on was Steve.

“Alright,” you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended.

Steve’s smirk softened, and he tightened his grip, leading you cautiously onto the ice. Your boots wobbled the instant you stepped off the safety of solid ground, your legs feeling impossibly unsteady.

“Relax,” Steve said, glancing over his shoulder as he guided you. “You’re not going to fall.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you muttered, clinging to his arm. “You’re not the one flailing like a newborn deer.”

Steve chuckled, and the sound sent an unexpected flutter through your chest. It wasn’t his usual scoff or the dry laugh you’d heard before—it was quieter, more genuine. “You’re doing fine,” he said, slowing his pace.

Fine wasn’t the word you’d use. Every step felt like a battle, your balance precarious as you gripped his arm like a lifeline. You caught a glimpse of Robin on the sidelines, her grin wide with amusement. “Do you think she’s buying–”

Before you could finish, your skate caught on the ice, and your legs gave out. Steve’s hand shot out to steady you, but in the process, his own balance faltered. The next thing you knew, you were both tumbling down in a tangle of limbs, hitting the ice with a loud thud.

The cold bit into your palms, and for a moment, all you could do was blink up at the string lights above you, your breath fogging in the air.

“Okay,” you groaned. “This was a mistake.”

Steve’s laugh broke through the haze, full and unrestrained, and you turned your head to see him lying beside you, one hand over his face as he tried to catch his breath. It was the first time you’d ever heard him laugh like that—loud and free, without any trace of the prudent bitterness you were so used to. The sound was infectious, and before you knew it, you were laughing too, the absurdity of the situation overtaking you. Your head fell carelessly on his chest.

“You’re terrible at this,” Steve said between breaths, his voice light with amusement. You felt his hand splay against your back. 

“Me?” you shot back, propping yourself up on your elbows. “You’re the one who said you wouldn’t let me fall!”

“I didn’t think you’d take me down with you!”

Your laughter mingled with his, echoing across the rink. For a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered—just the two of you, lying on the ice, laughing like kids.

When you finally managed to untangle yourselves and scramble back to the railing, Diane was waiting, her expression soft. The two of you giggling as you took off your skating boots. “That laugh,” she said, her voice wistful. “You sound just like your father.”

Steve froze. The easy warmth in his eyes disappeared, replaced by a tension that tightened his jaw and straightened his posture.

“Mom,” he said flatly, the single word carrying a warning.

Diane’s smile faltered, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just—”

“I’m going to return these,” Steve cut her off, his voice clipped as he turned toward the rental booth. 

You watched him walk away, the lightness from earlier evaporating with every step. The Steve Harrington who’d been laughing with you on the ice was gone, replaced by the closed-off version you’d first met.

Robin sidled up beside you, her expression unusually serious. “That’s a sore subject,” she said quietly, nodding toward Steve.

“What is?” you asked, though you already had an idea.

“His dad,” Robin replied, crossing her arms. “It’s been... hard on him. They weren’t exactly close, but, you know, losing a parent messes you up. He tries to act like he’s fine, but... well, you’ve seen how he is.”

Your stomach twisted. You had no idea. The Steve you knew from work never mentioned his father, and you hadn’t thought to ask. Now, pretending to know him—really know him—felt heavier than ever.

“Yeah,” you said softly, nodding as if you understood. “I know it’s been hard on him.”

Robin gave you a small, sad smile. “You’re good for him, you know.”

Her words caught you off guard, and you glanced at her, unsure how to respond. “What makes you say that?”

Robin shrugged. “You make him laugh. He hasn’t done that much lately.”

Your chest tightened as you looked back toward Steve. He was at the rental counter, returning his skates with a forced politeness that didn’t reach his eyes. Even from a distance, you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he carried himself like he was bracing for a fight.

You weren’t sure what to say or do. But as you watched him retreat further into himself, one thing became clear– Steve Harrington wasn’t just your grumpy boss or the boy-next-door pretending to be your boyfriend. He was someone who carried more weight than he let on. 

The drive back to the Harrington house was quieter than you expected. Diane hummed along to Christmas music on the radio, and Robin had waved goodbye at the square, promising to catch up with Steve later. You’d stolen a few glances at him in the passenger seat, his profile sharp against the faint glow of streetlights. He hadn’t said much since the rink, his jaw tight and his gaze fixed on the snowy roads ahead.

By the time you reached the house, the warmth of the living room felt almost stifling. Diane retired to her room with a cheery “Goodnight!” and Steve muttered something about getting water before disappearing into the kitchen. You lingered in the living room for a moment, trying to steel yourself for what would inevitably be an awkward bedtime arrangement.

When you finally made your way upstairs, Steve was already in the room, leaning against the dresser as he scrolled through his phone. He glanced up when you entered, his expression unreadable as you shut the door behind you.

“Uh, so,” you started, gesturing toward the bed. “How do you want to do this?”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“The sleeping thing,” you clarified, crossing your arms. “You’re right. It’s your room, so—”

“No.” His voice was firm, cutting you off before you could finish. “You’re not sleeping on the floor.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Okay, then... I can grab some pillows or something. Make it work.”

Steve shook his head, setting his phone down on the dresser. “That’s not happening either.”

“Steve—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, his tone a little softer now. “Just take the bed.”

You frowned, feeling a twinge of guilt. “What about you? Where are you going to sleep?”

“I’ll figure it out,” he said, but the way his gaze flickered to the bed made it clear he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

You let out a sigh, brushing a hand through your hair. “This is ridiculous. We’re both adults. We can share the bed. It’s not a big deal.”

Steve hesitated, his jaw ticked as he glanced at the bed again. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you said, trying to sound casual despite the heat creeping up your neck. “It’s not weird unless we make it weird.”

Steve let out a breath, nodding slightly. “Okay. But if you start snoring, I’m kicking you out.”

You rolled your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Right. Because I’m the one who snores.”

He smirked faintly, grabbing a spare pillow from the closet. “Just don’t hog the blankets.”

The bed was softer than you expected, the navy comforter heavy and warm against the chill seeping in from the windows. Steve lay on his side, facing away from you, his breathing steady but not quite even enough to pass for sleep. You stared at the ceiling, the quiet stretching between you like a fragile thread.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, listening to the faint creak of the house settling, before you finally worked up the nerve to speak.

“Steve?” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shifted slightly but didn’t answer.

“You’re awake. I know you are,” you pressed.

After a moment, he sighed, his voice low and rough. “What?”

You hesitated, turning onto your side to face him. His back was still to you, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand clenched slightly against the pillow. “I was just... thinking about what your mom said earlier,” you ventured carefully. “About your laugh.”

Steve didn’t respond, but the silence felt heavier now, the air between you thick with something unspoken.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked.

“No.” 

The word was curt, final. But you didn’t back down.

“Sometimes it helps,” you said quietly. “Talking, I mean. You don’t have to, but—”

“I don’t want to,” he interrupted, his voice sharper now. “It’s late. Go to sleep.”

You frowned, your chest tightening. You should’ve dropped it, let him have the space he clearly wanted. But something about the way he said it—like he was pushing you away out of habit, not because he didn’t need to talk—made you stay.

“Okay,” you said softly. “I just... I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you. Losing your dad.”

Steve stiffened, and for a moment, you thought he’d snap at you again. But when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost bitter.

“You don’t have to pretend you get it,” he said, still not turning to face you. “We weren’t close.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt,” you countered gently.

He let out a hollow laugh, finally rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “You don’t get it. My dad wasn’t... He wasn’t some great guy. He didn’t care about me or my mom. He only cared about what I could do for him.”

You stayed quiet, letting him find his words.

“He wanted me to follow in his footsteps,” Steve continued, his voice low and bitter. “Take over the business, be just like him. I thought... I thought maybe if I did what he wanted, he’d finally be proud of me. But it didn’t matter. Nothing I did was ever enough.”

Your chest ached at the weight in his voice, the years of frustration and hurt wrapped up in every word. 

“And now he’s gone,” Steve said, his jaw tightening. “And I’m still doing this job because... I don’t know. Because it’s all I’ve ever known. Because I don’t know what the hell else I’m supposed to do.”

The room felt impossibly still, his words hanging in the air like fragile glass. You wanted to say something, anything, to make it better. But you knew there wasn’t a quick fix for something like this.

“I’m sorry,” you said finally, your voice soft.

Steve let out a breath, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Yeah. Me too.”

Steve didn’t say anything for a while, and you weren’t sure if you’d overstepped. His breathing was steady, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling, and you wondered if he was retreating into himself again.

You sighed softly, turning your own gaze back to the ceiling. “For what it’s worth,” you started, your voice quiet but steady, “tonight was kind of... nice.”

Steve glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his expression skeptical. “Nice?”

“Yeah,” you said, letting out a small laugh. “The lights, the skating, even Robin grilling us... It was different. A good different.”

He frowned, shifting slightly. “Different from what?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. This wasn’t something you talked about often, and definitely not with people like Steve Harrington. But something about the quiet of the room, the faint hum of the heater, and the way he’d let down his walls just a little made you feel like you could.

“From how I usually spend Christmas,” you said finally, your voice soft. “If I was back in Chicago right now, I’d be on my couch. Probably eating takeout. Watching some random TV marathon.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. “That’s it? No family dinner? No tree?”

“Nope,” you said, shaking your head. “I’ve never really done the whole Christmas thing.”

His frown deepened. “Why not?”

“I was a military brat,” you explained, letting your hands rest on your stomach as you stared at the ceiling. “We moved around a lot. My dad was always deployed, my mom was always busy, and holidays just... weren’t a priority. There was no time for decorating or big dinners. Half the time, we didn’t even know where we’d be by Christmas.”

Steve’s gaze softened, his brows furrowing slightly. “That sucks.”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light. “It was what it was. I didn’t really know anything else. But nights like tonight? They’re kind of a breath of fresh air. Hawkins is... cozy. Even if it’s a little chaotic.”

Steve let out a small huff of laughter at that, and you smiled despite yourself. You thought you heard him whisper, “You have no idea.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” you continued, glancing at him. “Your mom is relentless, and Robin is terrifying in the best way. But the lights, the tree, the skating... it was nice. A little overwhelming, but nice.”

Steve didn’t respond right away, his eyes flickering back to the ceiling. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost thoughtful. “So you’ve never had a tree? Or, like, stockings or presents or any of that?”

“Nope,” you said, popping the "p." “I mean, there were a couple of years where my mom tried to make it festive, but it was always last-minute stuff. A wreath on the door, maybe some cookies if she wasn’t too busy. But the big, magical Christmas? Never had it.”

Steve turned his head to look at you, his expression unreadable. “That’s... kind of depressing.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Gee, thanks, Steve.”

“I didn’t mean—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair. “I just... I don’t know. Christmas was always a big deal in my house. My mom would go all out. Lights, decorations, giant tree. My dad hated it, but she didn’t care. She said it was her favorite time of year.”

You smiled faintly. “She’s good at it. Making things feel festive.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, his voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “She is. She’d approve of your atrocious office decor.”

You snorted. 

Silence stretched between you again, but this time it felt... softer. Like the weight you’d both been carrying had eased just a little. 

“You know,” you said after a moment, turning your head to look at him. “If you ever get tired of this job, you could probably make a killing as a skating instructor.”

Steve snorted, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious!” you insisted, grinning. “You were, like, weirdly good out there. It was kind of infuriating.”

“Infuriating?” he echoed, his smirk growing.

“Yeah,” you said, rolling onto your side to face him fully. “You’re annoyingly good at things you don’t even like. It’s not fair.”

Steve chuckled, the sound warm and low, and for a moment, you forgot about everything else—the fake relationship, the awkward sleeping arrangement, even the tension lingering from earlier.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Steve’s gaze lingered on you, his expression softening. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “Thanks for coming.”

You gave him a half-hearted smile before flopping over. Sleep finally took over.

[theonottsbxtch]

PREACHER’S DAUGHTER FINAL PART | MV1

an: i bet you guys thought i forgot about this, i didn't. i just didn't want to say goodbye to them just yet because this is officially the end of our favourite couple. i'm defo going to miss them a lot and i hope you enjoyed them as much as i did.

wc: 3.6k

previous part

THE HOUSE WAS QUIETER than it used to be. It wasn’t silent—there was no such thing in a house with three kids, even if they were teenagers now—but the chaos had mellowed into a rhythm.

Theo, now eighteen, had shot up like a weed and was nearly as tall as Max. He spent most of his time tinkering in the garage with his dad, learning the ins and outs of engines and dreaming about rebuilding the motorbike Max had never fully let go of.

Mary-Ann, sixteen and the spitting image of her mother, had inherited her sass and determination. She was perched at the kitchen table, headphones on, doing homework—or pretending to, judging by the way she was doodling flowers in the margins of her notebook.

And Daniel, their youngest, now twelve, was sprawled on the living room floor with a pile of Legos, determined to construct the "coolest car ever" and occasionally asking Max for design advice. 

Max leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping his coffee. The years had been kind to him, though there was a little more grey in his beard and a few more lines around his eyes. He wore them well, a testament to a life lived fully.

His gaze drifted to his wife, who was standing at the stove flipping pancakes. She hummed under her breath, her hair tied up in a loose bun, a familiar warmth radiating from her. The sight of her, even after all these years, still made his heart skip a beat.

“Need a hand, angel?” he asked, setting his mug down.

She glanced over her shoulder with a smile. “I’ve got it. You just make sure Daniel doesn’t eat the syrup straight out of the bottle again.”

Max chuckled, ruffling Daniel’s hair as he walked past. “You hear that, buddy? No syrup until the pancakes are on the plate.”

Daniel groaned but nodded, his focus back on his Legos.

Once the pancakes were ready, the family gathered around the table, the smell of maple syrup and butter filling the room. Theo and Mary-Ann bickered over who got the last pancake until their mum intervened, splitting it in half with a raised brow that said don’t push your luck.

Max leaned back in his chair, watching his family with quiet contentment. They weren’t perfect—there were still squabbles, slammed doors, and the occasional teenage attitude—but they were his. They were hers. And they’d built this life together, brick by brick, from nothing.

Later that day, Max and Theo were in the garage, going over the specs of a carburetor Theo had salvaged from the junkyard.

“Think we can make it work?” Theo asked, his voice filled with the kind of excitement only an eighteen year old with a dream to take over his dad’s garage could muster.

Max grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. “We can make anything work if we put in the effort.”

Mary-Ann wandered in, rolling her eyes, hands glued to her phone - something Max realised she was doing more often. “Mum said you two need to stop talking about car parts long enough to eat lunch. Also, Daniel wants to know if he can use the drill.”

But Max chose peace and never mentioned it as he snorted “Absolutely not.”

Mary-Ann smirked. “I told him you’d say that.”

When dinner rolled around, Max watched as her phone lit up and she smiled. All of this had started innocently enough. Mary-Ann had come home from school, cheeks pink and a slight bounce in her step, and casually mentioned during dinner that a boy had asked her out on a date.

She might as well have set off a grenade.

Theo, who had been lazily poking at his mashed potatoes, froze mid-bite. His eyes snapped up to his sister with the kind of intensity usually reserved for critical engine failures. “I’m sorry, what?”

Daniel, sitting next to him, dropped his fork entirely. At twelve, he wasn’t entirely sure what “dating” entailed, but he knew enough to side with his older brother. “Nope. Not happening.”

Even Max, who had been chewing a piece of chicken, paused. He set down his knife and fork, leaned back in his chair, and folded his arms. “Who’s this kid?”

Mary-Ann groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Oh my gosh, this is why I didn’t want to say anything!”

Her mum, sitting at the head of the table, was trying—and failing—not to laugh. She sipped her water to hide her grin, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Let the poor girl live, you three.”

But the boys were relentless.

Theo, the self-appointed enforcer, turned to Mary-Ann with a raised brow. “What’s his name? Is he in your grade? What’s his deal?”

Daniel piped up, his brows furrowed in a stern expression that would have been intimidating if he weren’t still twelve. “Does he know we’ve got a garage full of tools? And Dad has a hammer?”

Max nodded sagely, playing along. “Big hammer.”

Mary-Ann threw up her hands. “You guys are ridiculous! It’s just one date!”

Theo leaned forward, fixing her with a deadpan stare. “And that’s how it starts. First it’s one date, and then he’s calling you all the time, and then—”

“—he’s asking you to marry him!” Daniel chimed in, clearly pleased with his contribution.

Max smirked, glancing at his wife. “We’re just looking out for her, angel. Can’t have some punk kid messing with our Mary-Ann.”

She shook her head, laughing softly. “She’s sixteen, Max. Let her figure it out.”

Mary-Ann crossed her arms, glaring at her family. “You’re all the worst. Mum, do something!”

But her mum just shrugged, biting back another laugh. “Sorry, sweetheart. You’re on your own. This is way too entertaining.”

Mary-Ann groaned, pushing back from the table. “I can’t believe you guys! I’m going to my room.”

As she stomped off, Theo called after her. “You’re not leaving this house until we meet him!”

Daniel added, “And I’m bringing the hammer!”

Max, unable to resist, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “BIG hammer!”

Her mum finally burst out laughing, shaking her head as she looked at her husband and sons. “You three are unbelievable.”

Max grinned, leaning back in his chair. “What can I say? We’re a protective bunch.”

Daniel puffed out his chest. “Yeah, Mum! We’re protecting her honour.”

She rolled her eyes, still smiling. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it one day. Maybe.”

Max winked at her. “Just doing our duty, angel.”

And that day did roll around.

The atmosphere in the head teacher’s office was tense—at least, it was supposed to be. Theo sat in the chair next to his parents, arms crossed, chin jutting out defiantly like a boxer after a victory. His knuckles were still a little red, and there was a faint smudge of what could only be described as "evidence" on his school blazer.

The head teacher, a middle-aged man with a thin mustache and a receding hairline, sighed heavily as he glanced over the disciplinary report in front of him. “Mr. and Mrs. Verstappen, I’ve called you here because your son, Theo, punched another student today. Quite hard, I might add.”

Mary-Ann, sitting to the side with her own chair, looked both embarrassed and secretly pleased as she avoided her brother's gaze.

Max sat back, trying—really trying—not to crack a smile. He’d been biting the inside of his cheek since they arrived, but the mental image of Theo landing the punch was too much. His lips twitched dangerously, and he coughed to cover the beginnings of a chuckle.

His wife shot him a sharp look. “Max.” Her voice was low, a warning in one word.

Theo, sensing the opportunity for backup, jumped in. “It wasn’t my fault! He called Mary-Ann a...a...” He hesitated, glancing nervously at his mother.

The head teacher cleared his throat uncomfortably. “A ‘church freak,’ I believe, was the term used. Followed by...other comments.”

Max’s lips pressed together tightly, his shoulders shaking as he fought the laugh bubbling up. He turned his head away, trying to disguise it as clearing his throat.

Theo, emboldened by his dad’s silent support, added, “Yeah, so I punched him! Right in the mouth.” He demonstrated with his fist, making a swooping motion like a dramatic action movie. “I didn’t even miss!”

Max lost it. A short laugh burst out before he could stop it, and he quickly turned it into a cough. His wife’s head snapped toward him. “Max Emilian!”

Her tone was scolding, but there was a flicker of amusement she couldn’t quite hide.

Max held up his hands in mock surrender. “What? The kid’s got good aim!”

The head teacher looked horrified. “Mr. Verstappen, this is hardly something to celebrate. Violence is unacceptable under any circumstances—”

“He started it!” Theo interrupted, glaring at the head teacher.

Max leaned forward, his voice mock-serious. “Way to go, buddy.” He reached out and fist-bumped Theo before his wife could stop him.

She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Max, you’re not helping.”

Mary-Ann finally spoke up, her voice small. “He only did it because he was sticking up for me. It’s...kind of sweet.”

Her mum sighed, turning her attention back to Theo. “Theo, you can’t just go around punching people, no matter what they say.”

Theo blinked at her, his face scrunching up in confusion. “But Dad did. He punched your dad, and no one told him off.”

Max froze, wide-eyed. “Whoa, whoa, let’s not drag me into this.”

But his wife turned to him, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “Oh no, you’re definitely getting dragged into this. Theo wouldn’t be punching anyone if you hadn’t decked my dad in front of him.”

Max rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I mean...to be fair, your dad deserved it.”

“And that’s exactly what Theo thinks about this kid!” She gestured at their son, who looked increasingly smug.

The head teacher cleared his throat, trying to regain control of the conversation. “Mr. and Mrs. Verstappen, while I understand the context, the school has a zero-tolerance policy for violence. Theo will need to serve a two-day suspension.”

Max shrugged. “Two days? That’s not bad. Maybe we can—”

His wife slapped his arm lightly. “Stop encouraging him!”

Theo grinned, clearly unrepentant, and looked up at his dad. “Can we go home now?”

Max ruffled his hair. “Sure thing, champ. You earned a break.”

His wife threw her hands in the air, muttering something about boys and her fate of living with three of them. Despite her frustration, though, there was a small smile on her face as they walked out of the office.

As Max and Theo bolted out of the school building, laughter echoing in the hallway as they raced each other to the parking lot, she shook her head with a small, amused smile. Mary-Ann stayed by her side, clutching her school bag as they walked together at a slower pace.

Her daughter’s quietness didn’t go unnoticed. She looked down, noticing how Mary-Ann stared at the floor, her brows furrowed in thought. Gently, she placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

“You okay, baby?” she asked softly.

Mary-Ann shrugged, hesitating for a moment. “I guess. Just...what that kid said about me at school.”

Her heart sank. She crouched down a little to meet Mary-Ann’s eyes, pausing in the hallway. “It’s okay if it upset you, you know. What he said was mean, and he was wrong.”

Mary-Ann chewed her lip, looking conflicted. “He called me a ‘church freak.’ I guess I don’t really know if I am one. Is it...bad?”

She felt her chest tighten at the vulnerability in her daughter’s voice. She took Mary-Ann’s hand and gave it a squeeze, guiding her to sit on a nearby bench where they could talk.

“I know how you feel,” she admitted after a moment. “When I was your age, I got called things like that too. Kids made fun of me for going to church, for praying, for all the little things I believed in. And it hurt.”

Mary-Ann blinked, her curiosity piqued. “Really? You got made fun of too?”

She nodded. “I did. A lot. But you know what? It doesn’t matter what they think. You don’t have to go to church just because I do. If you don’t like it, or if it makes you feel weird, you don’t have to keep going.”

Mary-Ann looked up at her in surprise. “You mean that?”

Her heart twisted as she nodded. Christianity was such a core part of her own life, something that had anchored her during her darkest moments. Letting go of the idea of her children growing up in the church wasn’t easy, but she also knew she couldn’t force it. Faith had to be their choice.

“I do, baby. What’s most important is that you feel comfortable. It’s not about what Dad or I want for you—it’s about what you want for yourself. Okay?”

For a moment, Mary-Ann said nothing, her little face thoughtful. Then she smiled, small but genuine. “I like going to church. I like Sunday school, and singing the songs. And I don’t care if kids at school think it’s weird.”

She felt a wave of relief and pride as she pulled her daughter into a hug. “That’s my girl. You’re so brave, you know that?”

Mary-Ann grinned against her shoulder. “Thanks, Mum.”

The sound of Max and Theo shouting in the distance broke the tender moment, and she shook her head as she helped Mary-Ann up.

“Come on. Let’s see if those two actually waited for us at the car or if they’re already halfway through that oil change.”

Mary-Ann giggled. “Dad’s definitely winning. Theo’s fast, but Dad’s faster.”

“Let’s go find out.” She smiled, holding Mary-Ann’s hand as they walked toward the parking lot.

Later that day, when the sun set and all of them had packed up the dinner table, Max found himself curled up on the sofa with his wife. His arm was draped around her shoulders, her head resting on his chest, their legs tangled as they relished a rare quiet moment. The kids had been unusually calm after dinner, and they’d taken full advantage of the lull.

But the calm didn’t last.

Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps broke through the peace, and all three kids came bounding into the room. Theo was leading the charge, with Mary-Ann and little Daniel trailing close behind, their faces lit up with excitement and mischief.

Max groaned, shifting slightly but keeping her close. “There goes the quiet.”

She smiled, sitting up just as Theo hopped onto the armrest of the couch. Mary-Ann plopped herself between her parents, while Daniel crawled up onto Max’s lap, nestling in without hesitation. At his age of 12, he just got away with it.

“What’s up, guys?” his wife asked, amused by their sudden energy.

Theo spoke first, his voice laced with curiosity. “How did you guys meet?”

She exchanged a look with Max, one eyebrow raised. “Where’s this coming from?”

Mary-Ann piped up, clearly eager to share. “We were looking in Dad’s office—”

Max’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Wait, wait. You were snooping in my garage? What were you doing in there?”

Daniel, ever the bold one, looked up at his dad with an innocent expression. “Pictures! We saw pictures!”

Theo nodded, practically bouncing now. “Yeah, pictures of you two when you were younger! You looked so different, Mum. And Dad didn’t have any grey hairs!”

Max snorted. “Gee, thanks, bud. Remind me who gave me these grey hairs.” He shot a mock glare at Theo, who grinned unrepentantly.

Their mother, who was laughing now, shook her head as she ruffled Mary-Ann’s hair. “You guys found the old photos, huh?”

Mary-Ann nodded, her eyes wide with wonder. “Mum, you looked so pretty in your dress, and Dad looked cool with his jacket and helmet.”

Max smirked, leaning back into the couch. “Cool, huh? You hear that, Angel? They think I’m cool.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “You’re inflating his ego, guys. So, why do you want to know how we met?”

Daniel, still snuggled in Max’s lap, whispered conspiratorially, “Was it like a movie?”

Max chuckled, wrapping an arm around Daniel. “Sort of. It started with a Church and a bit of my chivalry. And maybe a little bad timing.”

She laughed softly, her eyes sparkling with fond memories. “He was as stubborn as he is today, kept offering to carry some boxes for me.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Max teased, brushing a kiss against her temple.

Theo leaned forward, his curiosity insatiable. “So, you just saw Mum and were like, ‘She’s the one’?”

Max pretended to think for a moment. “Pretty much. Your mum was gorgeous. Still is. But it wasn’t just that. She had this thing about her—strong, determined, kind. She made me feel like maybe I could be a better man.”

She rolled her eyes but was clearly touched. “Oh, stop. You’re making me blush.”

Mary-Ann sighed dreamily. “That’s so cute. I want a love story like that one day.”

Max groaned dramatically, covering his face with a hand. “No. Absolutely not. You’re staying single forever.”

Mary-Ann smacked his arm lightly, laughing. “Dad!”

Daniel, trying to stay on topic, asked, “Then what happened? After the parking lot?”

She smiled, pulling her kids’ attention to her. “A lot happened. We fell in love. We got married. And then we had you guys. And that’s the best part of the whole story.”

As the laughter faded and the kids began settling down, she found herself staring at the curious, innocent faces of her children. Their questions had slowed, but the warmth of the moment lingered, leaving her with a quiet space to think.

The memories came rushing back—the hurried whispers in the dark, the rumble of Max’s motorbike as they fled the life she’d desperately wanted to escape. The fear, the uncertainty, and the overwhelming relief when she finally felt free.

They deserve to know, she thought, her gaze drifting to Theo, who was fiddling with the hem of his shirt, and Mary-Ann, who was resting her head against her shoulder. Even Daniel, with his sleepy eyes and little fingers clutching Max’s sleeve.

But how could she tell them? How could she explain the life she’d left behind without tainting their view of the world? Of family?

Her chest tightened at the thought. What if knowing changed how they saw her? Or worse, how they saw Max?

She bit her lip, glancing at him. He was leaning back on the couch, his arm resting along the backrest, his other hand absently ruffling Daniel’s hair. His eyes caught hers, and his brow quirked slightly, a silent question: You okay?

She nodded subtly, offering him a small smile.

No, she decided. Not now. Not yet.

They were still so young, their world so pure. If she told them the truth, it wouldn’t be to satisfy curiosity or ease her own conscience—it would have to be necessary, something they were ready to hear. And she would know when that moment came.

For now, she tucked the thoughts away, sealing them behind the same mental door she’d locked so many years ago.

And that’s how life was for the Verstappens.

Years passed, but the heart of their family never wavered. She and Max, once two young souls bound by circumstance and love, had built a life that was both imperfect and extraordinary.

The children grew, each carving their own paths in the world. Theo, ever protective and headstrong, went on to study engineering, inspired by the hours spent in the garage with his dad. He eventually took over the family’s repair shop, rebranding it with a sleek new sign that read “Verstappen & Son’s Auto.” He still teased Mary-Ann mercilessly but remained her fiercest defender.

Mary-Ann, with her gentle strength and quiet faith, became a teacher. She carried her mother’s warmth into the classroom, where she guided and inspired children from all walks of life. Her love for the church endured, but she carried it as her own, unpressured by anyone. She often joked with her parents that her students were easier to handle than her brothers.

And Daniel—sweet, clever Daniel—emerged as the family dreamer. With a heart as big as his father’s and a mind as sharp as his mother’s, he pursued a career in writing, crafting stories that captured the chaos and beauty of family life. His parents swore they recognised pieces of themselves in his characters, though he always denied it with a smirk.

She and Max grew older, their once fiery love mellowing into something deeper and even more unshakable. The garage was still Max’s domain, though he worked less and spent more time tinkering for fun. She often joined him, still the same girl who’d fallen for him in that tiny trailer all those years ago.

The white picket fence eventually aged, its paint chipping in places, but it stood strong—just like them. Sunday dinners became a cherished tradition, with laughter filling the house as their children and, later, their grandchildren gathered around the same worn dining table.

In the end, their lives weren’t perfect. They had their disagreements, their challenges, their moments of doubt. But they always had each other, and that made all the difference.

And as they sat together on the porch in their twilight years, Max’s hand in hers, the memories of their wild, beautiful journey were enough to fill a lifetime.

Because that’s how life was for the Verstappens—a story of love, resilience, and the kind of family you fight for, cherish, and hold onto forever.

the end.

taglist: @sinofwriting @le-le-lea @vanicogh @iamred-iamyellow @rayaskoalaland @spookyanamurdock @iimplicitt @hellowgoodbye @maximuminfluencerstarlight @lottalove4evelyn @piceous21 @ladscarlett @leclerc13 @linnygirl09 @labelledejourr @cmleitora @fortunapre @felicityforyou @isagrace22 @bookishnerd1132 @formulaal @mastermindbaby @daddyslittlevillain @inmynotes63 @litllefox @hollstopia @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow

[fratttymatty]

All Bleached Up

(All characters are 18+)

It was a crisp Saturday morning when five friends—Eli, Max, Simon, Oliver, and Noah—ambled toward "Luminous Lux Spa" in downtown Portland. The group, all 25 years old, shared many commonalities. They were unabashed nerds, fanatical about RPGs, sci-fi marathons, and lengthy debates about quantum mechanics over artisanal coffee. Athleticism had never been their thing, nor was blending into the mainstream. Each identified as gay, content with their identities, but also mutually perplexed by how the world so often seemed to pass them by.

The spa trip had been Simon’s idea, a whimsical response to an internet ad promising “transformative rejuvenation” through luxury hair treatments. The rest of the group laughed it off at first, but as they joked about who would look best with frosted tips, the plan stuck. Bleaching their hair sounded fun and absurd—an ironic experiment to kickstart the new year.

As they checked into the spa, an elegant attendant guided them toward a sleek, dimly lit room that smelled faintly of lavender and ozone. They each settled into cushioned chairs as hair stylists went to work on their heads. The bleaching process began, with foils and thick pastes applied liberally. There was a sense of giddy rebellion as they watched their dark locks begin to lighten.

None of them could have guessed what was coming next.

The first oddity was the heat. As the bleach set in, each of them began to feel an intense warmth—not painful, but almost electrical, like a current buzzing just beneath their scalps. Simon, who had been midway through explaining the intricacies of a D&D subclass, suddenly stopped speaking. His usually quick, articulate thoughts felt… fuzzy. Across the room, Oliver scratched his arm and mumbled something about feeling “kinda... weird.”

Then it hit them all at once. A blinding white flash filled the room, and the world seemed to tilt sideways. In an instant, the chairs beneath them felt too small, their clothes too tight. Muscles swelled, skin smoothed, and voices deepened in a chorus of surprised groans. By the time the light faded, the five friends were unrecognizable.

Eli, now Ethan, blinked in the mirror and grinned. His newly muscular frame filled out his formerly baggy hoodie, and he grinned as he caught sight of his mullet. The messy layers cascaded down the back of his neck, while the front stayed perfectly tousled. He ran a hand through it, noticing how soft it felt, then flexed his bicep for no reason other than how cool it looked. “Bro, this is... sick,” he said, his voice several octaves lower and tinged with confidence he’d never known before.

Max, now Mason, was already admiring his buzzcut. The clean, sharp lines accentuated his chiselled jaw and strong cheekbones. He stood up and stretched, marvelling at how tall he suddenly was. “Dude, I feel... awesome,” he laughed, the word “awesome” rolling off his tongue like a mantra.

Simon had become Shawn. His short, straight middle part framed his now angular face perfectly. He tilted his head from side to side, checking out his reflection and smirking. “Yo, I look hot,” he said, running his fingers through the soft, silky strands of his new hair.

Oliver, now Cody, had traded his glasses and wiry frame for a broad chest and messy, spiked hair. He ruffled it playfully, delighted by how effortlessly cool it looked. “This is, like, next-level,” he said, his former eloquence replaced with a casual, almost lazy cadence.

Finally, Noah—now Nate— his platinum-blonde hair—wavy and flowing with a casually styled middle part—gave him the look of a model straight out of a teen drama “Hell yeah,” he said, flexing his shoulders and cracking his neck. “I look like a beast.”

As they stared at their reflections, a strange calm washed over them. Their former selves—nerdy, awkward, gay 25-year-olds—felt like distant memories, as if they’d read about those lives in some book they barely remembered. The idea of going back didn’t even cross their minds. Why would it? This was so much better.

When they left the spa, the group barely recognized the world around them—or maybe the world didn’t recognize them. Their old habits and quirks had melted away, replaced by the easy swagger of high school jocks who owned every room they walked into.

Ethan, the leader of the group, quickly found himself the captain of the high school soccer team. His wavy, platinum hair and sculpted jawline made him the talk of the school, and it wasn’t long before he started dating Maia, a bubbly blonde cheerleader who adored how confident and protective he was. She was a total ditz, always giggling and clinging to his arm, but Ethan didn’t mind. They were perfect together.

Mason, with his buzzcut and sharp edges, joined the wrestling team, where his natural strength and newfound aggression made him unstoppable. He caught the eye of Brittany, a loud, flirtatious cheerleader with a penchant for blowing pink bubblegum. Brittany adored how strong Mason was and constantly bragged about him to her squad. The two became inseparable, their conversations rarely deep but always full of laughter.

Shawn’s sleek, short middle part and smoldering gaze earned him the nickname “Pretty Boy.” He became the go-to guy for advice on dating (despite never thinking too hard about it himself) and ended up with Tiffany, an overly dramatic cheerleader who spent most of her time obsessing over her nails and selfies. Shawn found her giggles and constant texting endearing and loved how she’d lean on him during lunch.

Cody’s messy spikes gave him a carefree, rebellious vibe that made him a magnet for attention. He became the star quarterback, and his cocky grin was enough to win over Jessica, the ditziest of all the cheerleaders, who rarely remembered what class she had next. She loved cheering for him from the sidelines, and Cody thought her cluelessness was adorable.

Nate, with his mullet and devil-may-care attitude, joined the skateboarding crowd. He started dating Amber, a thrill-seeking blonde cheerleader whose giggles always followed her daring stunts. She wasn’t the brightest, but she matched Nate’s chaotic energy perfectly, and the two were constantly laughing as they pulled off ridiculous pranks.

By the end of the week, the five friends had fully embraced their new lives. They had no memory of “Eli,” “Max,” “Simon,” “Oliver,” or “Noah,” and even if they did, it wouldn’t have mattered. Their days were now filled with sports practices, bonfires, and parties, not late-night coding sessions or board games.

The spa had delivered on its promise: transformative rejuvenation. It just happened to transform them into something they never could have expected—and they wouldn’t have it any other way.