#Why should you give them a minute of yours ??? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

katsu28 · 19 hours ago

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snowfall

pairing: lando norris x best friend!reader

summary: when plans with your family fall through at the last minute, lando invites you to come home with him for the holidays. (3.8k)

a/n: the big finale!!! lando is so best friends to lovers coded, i couldn’t resist. does it snow in the uk in december, probably not but it’s for the plot so bear with me pls <3 happy holidays everyone!!

“Yeah, of course. Yes, mum, I understand. No, I’ll be fine, I promise. Okay. Okay, I love you too. Cheers, see you when you get back.”

You end the call with a heavy sigh, tossing your phone away from you on the sofa.

That was your mum on the phone, telling you that her and your father wouldn’t be home for Christmas this year. You’d planned on going home to celebrate with them like you always do, but for the first time ever in your life, it looked like you were going to be spending Christmas alone.

It was bound to happen sometime in your life, really. You’re an adult now, still trying to find your place and your people in this world.

Speaking of your people, Lando has just made his way into McLaren hospitality, head on a swivel until his eyes land on you. He takes notice of your downtrodden demeanor immediately, marches his way over to where you are with gusto and plops down next to you, bumping his shoulder against yours.

“What’s wrong?” He asks bluntly, dark brows furrowed in concern.

You inhale a deep breath, forcing a smile onto your face to respond. “Nothing. How was testing?”

“Fine. Seriously, what’s going on? Why do you look so sad?” He demands, but not unkindly or rudely. Just simply how Lando is with you, direct and to the point. It’s one of many ways he is around those he cares for.

“I was planning on going home to spend Christmas with my family, but my parents aren’t going to make it home in time,” You confess. Your finger picks at the loose thread of your sweater sleeve, a welcome distraction from the lump threatening to form in your throat.

Lando frowns. “Oh. M’sorry to hear that. That sucks.”

“Yeah. Looks like I’ll be spending the holidays on my own this year.”

“What? No, you can’t spend Christmas alone. That sounds so sad.”

“I’ll be fine, Lando,” You chuckle, patting his knee. It does indeed sound sad, but you won’t have Lando all worried about you when he should be celebrating with his loved ones. He’s got a lot to celebrate this year, and you don’t want your situation to take away from any of it. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Come spend Christmas with me.”

For a moment, you’re at a loss for words. Lando is one of your best friends, sure, but joining him for something like this seems too imposing of you. Despite being close with his family, you can’t do this to them so last minute. After a long year, this is their time with Lando.

You shake your head immediately, wrinkling your nose. “No way. I wouldn’t want to barge in on your family time.”

“C’mon, you wouldn’t be! My family loves you.” He shrugs. “I mean, you’re basically an honorary Norris already at this point, and I think my sisters might love you more than they love me.”

That makes you laugh. “Shut up, no they don’t!”

“Uh, yeah they do.”

“Okay, maybe they do. I’m just that easy to love.”

“Yeah, you are,” He says, smiling softly. Your head cocks to the side at the pure warmth in his tone, and it seems to make him snap out of whatever trance he’s in, because he gives his head a subtle shake. “Seriously, come home with me. It’ll be fun. Way more fun than just sitting around at home watching those boring home improvement shows you seem to like so much.”

“Hey! Those shows are fun!” You huff, swatting him on the thigh.

“Sure they are,” He says, still unbelieving. “So what do you say? Christmas with the Norrises, how ‘bout it?”

You let out a breathy chuckle, nodding. “Okay. Yeah, that sounds lovely.”

“Mint! I’ll go let my mum know.” He beams, bouncing to his feet. “Better let Flo and Cisca know too, they’d kill me if I brought you round and didn't tell them ahead of time.”

“Lando?” You call after him. He whirls around with an arched brow, phone already in hand. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I’d never let you spend the holidays alone.”

Looks like this Christmas might not be so bad after all.

-------

The first thing you hear when you climb out of the car at Lando’s family’s house is a shout of your name.

Before you can even register who might be calling you, a little body crashes into your legs, arms wrapping around your knees tightly. Now you know who it is, and you grin.

“Why hello, miss Mila!” You chirp, kneeling down to be at her level. She giggles loudly at the finger you boop against her nose, throwing her arms around your neck as best she can, and you lift her up onto your hip. “Are you excited for Christmas?”

“Christmas!” She cheers. Lando wanders over to the two of you from the boot of the car at that moment, and the second Mila spots him, she grins even wider than you’d thought was possible. “Lala!!!” She squeals, reaching out for him.

Lando takes her into his arms, swings her around a little bit, beaming brightly at the peals of laughter that escape her with every swing. “My goodness, you’ve grown! You might be almost as big as me now!”

Lando’s brother, Oliver, emerges from around the house now with his other daughter nestled in his arms, raising his free hand in greeting as he makes his way over.

“Guess my brother finally gathered the nerve,” He says cheerfully, clapping Lando on the back. Lando not-so-subtly steps on Oliver’s foot, garnering a hiss of pain from the older Norris. “To…make it home when it’s still bright out! Yeah, he usually doesn’t come around til the girls have gone off to bed.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Oliver,” You chuckle, pushing aside your confusion as you give a small wave to the toddler in her father’s arms. She waves back shyly. “Thanks for letting me join you guys this year.”

“Please, you’re welcome here anytime,” Oliver replies, sounding more than sincere. “C’mon, let’s head inside. Mum and everyone’ll be stoked to see you.”

Mila wriggles out of Lando’s arms to come hold your hand, dragging you towards the house excitedly. You don't notice Lando and Oliver dropping back, nor the hushed conversation they have that is definitely about you.

Much like both boys have said, the rest of their family welcomes you with open arms.

His parents tell you how good it is to see you again, and that they’re happy you’d decided to come home with Lando, Flo and Cisca glue themselves to your side immediately to catch up with you, even little Athena starts to warm up to you the longer she watches her older sister play with you.

You feel right at home with all of them like you always do, and it makes you start to forget about spending your first Christmas without your own family. Though, in a way, Lando’s family is starting to feel like yours too.

-------

It’s Christmas Eve and you can’t sleep. You’ve been at Lando’s house a few days now and everything’s been great—the food, the company. Lando.

You’re used to him being a little forward with his affections towards others, because that’s just the way he is. So when he pulls your legs over his lap while you’re watching a holiday film with the whole family, or rests his head on your shoulder during Monopoly, you don’t think anything of it at first. He likes cozying up to friends and being close to them. But as the days go on, it starts to feel different this time.

At first you just assume it’s because he doesn’t want you to feel awkward, but then you catch him staring at you a few times in a way you can only describe as pure fondness. While you're on the sofa cuddled up with Mila and Athena watching one of their shows. As you're helping Cisca figure out what to wear for her next date with her boyfriend, or helping his mum in the kitchen.

It could be platonic, but it feels a little too intimate to be so.

You don’t want to think too much into it, though. It wouldn’t do you any good to get your hopes up about the possibility of something more with Lando when it could just be all in your head.

Sitting up in bed, you scrub your hands over your face. Too many thoughts run their way through your brain for you to fall back asleep, no matter how tired you may be. You glance out the window beside you, and suddenly your attention is captured at the scene outside.

It’s snowing.

Sure, it’s an ungodly late hour, but seeing snow makes you want to go outside. Doing your absolute best not to wake anyone up as you swing yourself out of bed and creep down the hallway, you make your way down the corridor to Lando’s bedroom.

You knock on his door quietly, listening for anything that could give away whether or not Lando was up. For a few seconds, there isn’t a sound. Then you hear the clacking of a keyboard and the faint sound of him talking, and you know he’s awake. He probably didn’t hear you knock.

Pushing open the door slowly, you pad into the room to see him slouched over in his gaming chair with his back towards you.

“Yeah, mate, I’m gonna tell her—no, I’m not! Fuck off,” He says. There’s a lengthy pause—whoever he’s on call with is talking, you assume. “I’m just—I’m waiting for the right time. Like, I’ll know when it comes, won’t I?”

Your heart gives an involuntary pang in your chest and you sigh, having already had enough eavesdropping on this conversation.

You pad towards Lando, going for a gentle tap on the shoulder. Your hand just barely touches his arm, but he jumps about a foot in the air, flinching so hard you think the poor boy might’ve given himself whiplash.

“Jesus! What the—don’t sneak up on me like that!” He yelps, pushing one side of his headphones above his ear. On the screen, you can see he’s playing Tarkov again. Alway playing Tarkov instead of sleeping, that boy.

This time, it works out for you. Now you can drag out into the snow with you. Not that you weren’t going to do it anyways even if he was asleep.

“You couldn’t hear me! What was I supposed to do?” You huff. Squinting at the other username on screen, you smile, pushing into Lando’s space to reach his microphone. “Is that Max? Hi, Max!”

Lando’s voice sounds a bit strangled when he relays Max’s response a few moments later. “He says hi.”

“What else did he say?”

“What? Nothing,” He replies quickly, swallowing hard. “Why?”

“That was such a long pause, there’s no way he just said hi.”

“Well, he did, so…it’s whatever. What’s, uh, what’s up? Everything okay?”

Now you remember what you came here for. Grinning, you bounce on the balls of your feet. “There’s snow outside!”

“No way!” He says earnestly, cocking his head to the side. He abandons his game in favor of shuffling over to the window and peering outside, letting out a pleased little noise when he sees that it is indeed snowing out in the garden. “That’s wicked.”

“Will you come outside with me?”

He exhales sharply, giving an amused chuckle. “Yeah, right. I’m not going outside.”

“It’ll be fun!”

“Don’t see what’s so fun about freezing my ass off in the cold,” He grumbles, but you can tell he just needs a little more convincing. You jut out your lower lip, giving him the pout of yours that he can never seem to withstand, and his resolve starts to crumble. “No, don’t do that. Stop that right now. I’m not going outside with you at this time of night.”

“Please, Lan?” You plead, taking his face into your palms so he can’t look away. For a split second, his gaze seems to flicker down to your lips, but before you can process the tiny movement, he’s squeezing his eyes shut.

“Oh my god, fine,” He groans, shoulders sagging. You beam, wrapping your arms around him in a quick hug. “Let me go tell Max I’m being held against my will and then we can go.” He crosses back over to his desk and mutters something into the microphone that you can’t quite make out.

As you’re pulling on layers to guard yourselves from the cold, he pauses, turning to you with one shoe on. “You didn’t, erm, happen to hear anything when you came in to get me, did you?”

“No, why?”

You’re not sure why you choose to lie about what you’d overheard, something about Lando telling some girl something at the right time. He hadn’t told you anything about having a crush on anyone, but then again, these past few weeks have been hectic.

“Oh, nothing. Just wondering.” He pulls the front door open right then, suddenly seeming so eager to get outside despite his previous grievances. Something in his tone hints that it might not be as nothing as he says it is, but you won’t push.

You traipse out into the garden after him, making careful sure to close the door behind you so the cold doesn’t seep in. Fresh powder crunches underfoot as you make your way further out.

The falling snow has already begun to coat everything out here in layers, and you drag your finger through it, smiling to yourself at the clean cut line it makes.

It feels like another world out here. In a life that is so often always hustle and bustle all the time, the quiet of this time of night in the countryside seems deafening, but in the best way. Peaceful can only begin to describe how you feel right now.

“Why is it so fucking cold out here?” Lando grumbles, burrowing deeper into his three scarves. Along with the two jumpers and thick coat he’d shoved himself into before even stepping foot outside, he looks well freezing.

“Don’t be such a grinch, Lan. It’s snowing!”

He scowls. “It’s freezing.”

“C’mon, at least try to have some fun! You’re killing my vibe, mate,” You huff, bending down to scoop up a loose handful of snow to chuck in his direction. It scatters into the air before it even makes it to him, but hey, at least he’s laughing now. You turn to say something else, but you’re immediately stopped in your tracks.

A snowball explodes against your forehead before you can say a thing, spraying bits of icy snow everywhere.

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry!” Lando yelps, nearly tripping on his own feet in his scramble towards you. You’re too stunned by the snow dripping its way down your face to even register his words. “I wasn’t aiming for your face, I swear! Are you okay?”

You blink owlishly at him, at the concern and horror mixing in his expression as he takes you by the shoulders to check you out. He uses his teeth to pull off one glove, tossing it off to the side as he reaches to brush the snow from anywhere he can reach.

“For a professional athlete, you really do have shit aim,” You huff, playful annoyance in your tone.

Lando’s teeth dig into his bottom lip, eyes crinkling happily at the corners as he giggles quietly. “I know. S’terrible, innit? Good thing my job doesn’t require me to do any throwing.”

“Good thing,” You echo.

His palms cup the expanse of your cheeks, the pads of his thumbs brushing across your cold skin delicately, and he’s looking at you in that way again, the way that makes you feel like you’re the only other one in the world. Blue-green eyes like sea glass flit around your face, thick brows furrowing ever so slightly as he inches forward. Slowly, like he’s giving you a way out if what he’s about to do isn’t what you want.

You’re holding your breath as he gets closer, closer, closer, until—

Fireworks.

As if kissing your best friend isn’t cliche enough, all you can describe of the feeling of his lips against yours is fireworks, bursting in your chest like little explosions.

“Wait—” You breathe, splaying a hand across Lando’s chest to push him back a bit before the kiss can go on any longer. Despite how much you want it to continue. He makes some sort of displeased noise out the back of his throat, pink lips turning down into a pout. “What about the other girl?”

That gets him to pull back a little more, head cocking and nose scrunching in genuine confusion. “What other girl?”

“I lied. I did hear you talking when I came into your room, you said something about waiting for the right time to tell her something. You can’t be kissing me if you like someone else, Lando!” You exclaim incredulously.

He regards you blankly for a few seconds. Then he starts to laugh. You’re trying to save his ass and he’s laughing at you. You scowl at him. “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

“Oh! Oh, that was so good! That was gold, really,” He splutters, tears in his eyes. You swat indignantly at him and he holds up his hands in surrender, doing his best to catch his breath. “There is no other girl, you muppet! I was talking about you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Guess this is the right time then, huh?” He says, chuckling nervously as he rubs at his reddened nose. “So, here goes it. I think I’m in love with you.”

“Why?” You ask, disbelieving. It’s a blunt response, you’re fully aware, but you want to know.

“What d’you mean, why? Have you met you?” He scoffs, like he’s astonished you even have the nerve to question him. “You’re amazing. You’re kind and funny and so smart, and you make people happy—you make me happy, even when I’ve had the absolute shittiest day, I know everything’ll be fine as soon as you find me. You know what I need, even when I don’t know what I need.”

You’re at a loss for words hearing all this now. How has Lando been in love with you all this time, with you none the wiser?

“Why’ve you never said anything?” You ask softly.

Lando smiles almost sadly, letting his hands drop back down to his sides. “You’re one of my best friends. I’d rather keep my mouth shut if telling you meant losing you. Losing what we have because you didn’t feel the same way.”

That, you understand. The fear of ruining your friendship with Lando is one of the reasons why you’d kept your feelings for him secret as well. So to both of you, it was better to ignore your feelings and stay this close than to let the other know and possibly lose one of the best things in your lives.

“We’re idiots,” You sigh, closing your eyes.

“You’re not an idiot,” He says immediately. Then he frowns. “Wait, why would you be an idiot? I know I am, but why you?”

You grab Lando by the collar of his puffy jacket, pulling him into a firm kiss. If he’s surprised, it only shows for a split second before he’s kissing you back fervently, drawing you flush against him by the hips. His nose against your cheek is much colder than before, but the warmth that spreads from your chest down to your toes is more than enough to remedy it.

“Please tell me that means you do feel the same way,” He pants, looking entirely dazed when you pull away.

You raise an amused brow at him. “No, I just kissed the living daylights out of you because I don’t feel the same way—what do you think?”

“Best Christmas gift ever, is what I think.” He smiles warmly. Then he shivers, blowing out a sharp breath. “Now can we please go back inside? I can’t feel my face anymore.”

Once you’re inside and have shed your coats and shoes and anything else wet with snow, Lando nudges you towards the kitchen. “I’ll make us some hot cocoa.” He murmurs, quiet so as to not wake anyone in the house. You pause, causing him to look back at you. “What?”

“The package kind or the real kind?”

“What sort of question is that? The real kind, of course,” He snorts. “With milk and everything.”

“Oh, you do love me!” You say gleefully.

Lando rolls his eyes playfully, giving your hand a firmer tug that has you sliding right in under his arm on your socked feet.

Despite all his moaning and groaning about being cold, he’s pleasantly warm, and you sigh, nuzzling in closer. He welcomes your closeness, dropping a kiss to the side of your head as he shuffles his way towards the pots and pans cupboard with you latched onto him, not even trying to wriggle out of your grasp.

It feels natural because you’ve always been close. Though now, things have changed. Now, you can kiss him if you want to, instead of wondering what Lando would do if you did it. You’re not just friends to each other anymore.

You press your lips against his quickly as he’s piling marshmallows on top of two mugs of hot cocoa, pulling back right after just to see his reaction to the impromptu kiss.

As expected, his mouth curves into a grin, dimples on full display. He flicks a marshmallow at you, and you reciprocate, tilting your chin up at him in challenge.

Soon enough, now you’re both chucking the tiny white sweets at each other, trying and failing to catch them into your mouths. The first of you to catch one of them is you, and you cheer, flinging your hands in the air.

“Oh my god, shush, you! People are sleeping!” He breathes, lunging forward to press a hand over your mouth as you’re mid-shout.

Your eyes widen in comical realization and it makes him laugh, which makes you laugh. His hand falls from your face as you both fall apart in quiet giggles.

You’re laughing because he’s laughing, he’s laughing because you’re laughing, and neither of you can stop until your sides hurt.

“C’mere,” He murmurs, stepping in close and sliding a hand around the back of your neck. His gaze flits all around your face, taking in the sight of you with eyes that twinkle with happiness even in the darkness of the kitchen. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Lan." You smile.

He kisses you then, long and sweet and with such gentleness that it makes your stomach do somersaults.

In the morning, you’ll need to figure out how you’ll play things with Lando’s family, and then everything after. But not now.

For now, you’ll watch the snow fall outside while you snuggle up on the sofa with the boy you love and a mug of not so hot cocoa.

So maybe this Christmas hadn’t gone exactly as you’d planned, but really, you aren’t too sad about it anymore. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

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#lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 #ln4 x reader #lando norris fic #lando norris x fem!reader #lando norris x best friend!reader #lando norris fluff

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sweetdispatch · 2 days ago

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We need to talk - Q. Hughes

part 1

pairing: Quinn Hughes x girlfriend!reader

summary: Quinn and his girlfriend have a heart to heart conversation about what happened in the past two days

warning: mentions of sex (nothing graphic), swear words

words: 1.2k

note: continuation to the "The card", thank you for request and pushing me to make second part!

---

When you woke up, Quinn wasn’t by your side, which was unusual because he loved to cuddle you in the morning, especially when he had a free day and didn't have to rush on training. You were laying in bed thinking about the past two days. You and Quinn had an argument. He used the card. You said a safeword. You two promised to talk about it in the morning.

You groaned at the thought of having a confrontation with Quinn. The last thing you wanted was to talk with him about it. You felt embarrassed that this stupid argument had a domino effect and now, you had to explain yourself. You started to wonder if there was even a point of giving him a cold shoulder. It was, you had full right to do it.

After 30 minutes, you decided to start the day and have the conversation behind you. You couldn’t be mad at Quinn forever. He deserved to hear your point of view and why it hurt you that much. You went into a closet to pick clothes for today and went into a bathroom. You stood in the shower longer than always, trying to collect all your thoughts of what you were planning to say to him.

You stepped out from the bathroom and took a deep breath before you left the bedroom. There was no turning back now. Immediately you went into the kitchen to make yourself a cup of mint tea. You tried to cut the coffee and you were drinking tea every morning. To your surprise, you saw an already prepared drink on the kitchen island in your favorite mug.

“I heard you going into the bathroom so I made you a tea so you don’t have to wait until it’s ready” You heard Quinn’ words and turned to see him sitting on the couch and reading a book.

“Thank you” You grabbed the cup and took a first sip.

“Also, I bought your favorite donuts. You have them on a plate next to the sink” You looked there and saw three chocolate donuts.

“You didn’t have to go to the bakery and buy them. I would eat something from the fridge”

“But I wanted” He shrugged.

You took the plate and mug and sat next to him on the couch. You started scrolling your phone while eating to occupy your mind. You wanted to turn on the tv and watch your tv show but you were too scared. The atmosphere in the living room was tense and the last thing you needed was another argument.

“You can turn on the tv. I don’t mind and you know it” Quinn said, not even bothering to look at you from the book he was reading.

“It’s fine. I’m almost done” You replied.

After 5 minutes, you finished your breakfast and went to wash your plate and mug. You were doing this longer than always. Everything not to start the conversation about what happened between you in these past two days. You turned off the water and took a deep breath. Quinn finished a chapter and put his book back on the coffee table.

“I think we need to talk about what happened” He started.

“Yeah, we need to” You replied and sat again on the couch trying to keep your distance.

There was a silence between you two. None of you wanted to start this unpleasant conversation.

“I think we should start from the beginning” Quinn took a deep breath. “Why were you so mad after the argument?”

“Are you serious?” You looked at him and you saw that he didn’t have a single clue. “You said that I’m not doing anything. I get it, you might not see it but I’m cleaning the whole apartment. I’m cooking for you. I’m always washing your suits. I’m doing everything for you to make your life easier so you don’t have to do it and focus on hockey”

“I never asked you for that” He replied.

“I know, but I’m your girlfriend and I want you to have everything done so you can rest after games” You fought back.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I understand why you got mad but I never asked you for that. Although I really appreciate it. I never saw you doing this and I took everything for granted. It was wrong from my side and I’m truly sorry” Quinn grabbed your hand. “I’m really sorry, I just… I don’t even know what I was thinking when I said it. As I’m thinking now, you’re doing everything here. Sorry for saying that”

“Thanks for saying this but it would be nice if you would start noticing it. It really hurt me when you accused me of not doing anything” You squeezed his hand.

“I will. I promise to be a better boyfriend and be grateful for the things you are doing. I guess… No, no excuses. What I said was wrong and I need to be better for you. You deserve the world” He brought your hand and placed a kiss on top of it.

“Okay, we sorted things out, it’s time to do something different” You tried to stand up but Quinn stopped you.

“We have to talk about what happened yesterday when we had sex. I know you don’t want to but I need to know for the future”

“Quinn, drop it. It’s embarrassing” You covered your face in your hands.

“It’s not. We have the word to use it. I just want to know what I did wrong to push you to say it” He gently grabbed your wrists to look at your face. “Please”

“It was too much. I felt overstimulated and overwhelmed by your actions. I needed to cum really badly but at the same time I was too fucked and I said it so you could stop. I’m sorry for this” You said and looked at your legs. Quinn placed his fingers under your chin and you were forced to look at him.

“Don’t apologise. You had full right to say it. I should be the one to apologise for pushing you too much”

“I like when you’re rough and dominant but I guess orgasm denial is not my thing” You joked and heard him laughing.

“I’ll remember for the next time. I’m really sorry for the past two days. I was terrible for you” He admitted.

“Stop it. It was just a misunderstanding between us and things like this happened. Glad we could sort things out” You smiled.

“Are we alright?” Quinn asked you.

“We are alright” You leaned and pecked his lips. “How about staying on the couch all day and just enjoying the moment of peace?” You proposed.

“I’m up for it” He kissed you again.

Quinn laid on the couch and pulled you closer to him so could place your head on his chest. You were listening to his heartbeat while he was scrolling through Netflix to find a movie to watch. You two laid in comfortable silence while a movie was played in the background. From time to time, Quinn was placing kisses on top of your head. You were glad that you two were back on the right track.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes oneshot #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #vancouver canucks #v' work

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miniseokminnies · 1 day ago

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the gambit —- y.jh

♙ pairing: yoon jeonghan x fem!reader ♙ genre: enemies to lovers, rivals to lovers, 1960s au, university au, chess club president!jeonghan, club member!yn ♙ wc: ~12.5k ♙ warnings: 18+ MDNI, sexism (it's the 1960s), heavily implied reader is a virgin, unprotected sex (that's a no no), oral sex [f. receiving], fingering, pet names, praise kink, marking, drinking and getting drunk, a lot of rude men ♙ a/n: this is obviously VERY LOOSELY inspired by The Queen's Gambit lol. give jeonghan a chance he's learning okay?? thank you to my army of beta readers: @haologram, @lovetaroandtaemin, @highvern, and @tomodachiii i genuienly would not have this posted without them. ♙tags: @seungkw1, @cherry-zip, @crab-ranjun, @myhimbomingi oh and happy holidays i guess (i wanted to have this out way sooner) enjoy! and as always comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated

Three succinct knocks rang out as you rapped your knuckles against the door frame. The man alone inside the room looked in your direction. Looking him over you noticed his striking features that were delicately framed by his black hair that was only a bit shorter than your own.

“Are you lost, miss?” He straightened up, “Sorority recruitment is across the hall.” He turned back to setting up the chess set on the table in front of him.

“What?” you asked, confused, “No, this is the chess club, is it not?”

“It is,” he didn’t bother looking in your direction this time.

“Then I am in the right place,” you took a few steps into the room as he looked up at you again.

“Girls don’t play chess.” he stifled a laugh.

“There’s nothing in the university rules against gir-women joining recreational clubs.” You watched him sigh and snatch a notebook off the table.

“Look,” he walked closer to you and held out the notebook, “you may watch”

“I have my own notebook, thank you.” You turned on your heel and huffed into a chair near a chess set across the room. The man watched you for a moment before turning back to his task of setting up the chess boards. You could only assume that he was the president of the club, but could not wrap your head around why he was voted in.

After waiting for a few moments several more boys began trickling into the room, all of them giving you a once over. Have these people never seen a girl before?

“Excuse me miss,” one of the boys approached you and sat at the board nearest to you, “I’m Minghao”

“Y/N,” you nodded and scribbled his name down in your book. You could feel Minghao’s eyes on you, but you didn’t feel as though you owed him any explanation. After a few minutes another boy who introduced himself as Wonwoo joined Minghao at the table.

The president announced that the meeting today would function “tournament style” and everyone should get the chance to have a match with each other. Perfect.

Wonwoo and Minghao played well, but Wonwoo had a bad habit of leaving his queen unprotected and Minghao always overutilized his rook. In the end, even with a queen out in the open, Wonwoo found a checkmate.

Minghao was unhappy with this result and challenged him to a rematch outside of club time which Wonwoo eagerly agreed to. You were finishing up your notes on their match when two new men appeared at your table introducing themselves as Mark and Yunho.

The remaining matches went by quickly, you felt the president’s eyes on you every so often, he wondered what you could possibly be taking such detailed notes about when you weren’t even playing. Men came and went, all politely introducing themselves to you, clearly they don’t take after their fearless leader in any capacity.

The “tournament” went on for a few hours, your ass was starting to go numb from the chair by the time it was called in favor of the president, who peculiarly you never had the opportunity to observe. He dismissed the club and they all filtered out as you finished up your notes. You heard his footsteps approaching as you dotted the last punctuation on the page.

“So?” he started smugly, “Enjoy your observations?” he watched as you ripped out several pages of your own notebook. You rose out of your seat and square your shoulders, you shoved the pages into his chest and left the room without another word. He watched you leave the room, your skirt swishing around your knees.

Tearing his eyes from the door he looked down at the papers you left him. He read over them and quickly realized what it was you were doing all this time. Each member was written down and in detail you scrawled out every single missed check from each and every game played here today.

The bottom of the page reads “The President: ?”

“What are you doing?” your roommate, Cami, flopped around in her bed, “It’s the first month of classes, there’s no way you have course work already”

“I don’t” you moved your rook, not looking away from the board, “Remember how I told you I was going to join the chess club?”

“Yes?”

“Well the stupid president won’t let me play” you captured white’s queen, “so I’m not able to practice with anyone” you heard her throw her blankets around and the clatter of her hand hitting her glasses,

“What?” she hissed, “he can’t do that can he?” she sat up in bed

“I mean,” you finally looked up at her, “He didn’t technically bar me from joining”

“Look at you” she scoffed, “Making you just sit there and watch when you’re the best player like ever!”

“I am nowhere near the best, Cami.”

“Well” she protested, “You’re the best player I know!”

“I’m the only player you know,” you laughed.

“Not true!” she hopped off her bed, “Teach me.” She pulled out her desk chair and pulled it next to you. You quirk an eyebrow at her, “Seriously! Teaching is great practice plus you keep me awake with this dreadful lamp anyway”

You swipe all of the pieces from the board and begin to set them back up in their proper places, you set the black in place and invite Cami to mirror them with the white on the other side. Starting off you teach her some simple and popular openings. For as airy as she tends to be she is an attentive listener and is able to grasp the basics quickly.

You feel like you could cry, no one has truly taken this much of an interest in you, besides your parents and some friends from high school. When you first moved in with Cami you were worried she would join a sorority on campus and never be around, and while you like your alone time, being alone is a difficult task.

“And how do you win?” Cami asked once the board was scarce with pieces.

“You need a successful and all encompassing check,” you move your queen to trap her king sufficiently, “Like this one, check mate” you reach over and softly lay the king on the board.

From your usual chair in the back of the room you strain to listen to the conversation happening between Wonwoo and the president, who you learned recently was named Jeonghan. The discussion looked heated and Wonwoo was hesitating at the door frame like a child being scolded.

Jeonghan threw his hands up, exasperated, and turned to make a beeline for you. You fumbled about trying to get your notebook open and to a page to make it look like you weren’t just eavesdropping.

“You heard all of that I’m assuming,” he asked gruffly, “You’re not as subtle as you would like to think.”

“What?” you blinked up at him. He bent down to get closer to your face,

“Don’t play dumb, we both know you aren’t,” he nearly growled, “You were listening to that entire conversation”

“I was trying to,” you admitted with a roll of your eyes, “I couldn’t hear a thing from over here,” He backs away from you and makes a subtle noise of approval.

“You’re with Minghao today,” he said as he was turning to leave, which made you shoot up out of your chair.

“I actually get to play?” You blurted out, which caused him to turn back to you,

“Yeah,” he scoffed at your enthusiasm, “Uneven numbers, Minghao needs a partner, Wonwoo had to go tutor our idiot friend Mingyu, I guess” You made a mental note to thank whoever Mingyu was profusely if you were to ever meet him. Jeonghan took your silence as an invitation to leave this conversation,as if he had ever needed one before.

You glanced around the room until you found Minghao’s eyes on you.

“Hi,” You offered your hand for him to shake as you approached his table. He easily took your hand and shook it.

“Sit, sit” he insisted, “It’s an honor to be the first to play you, sorry it’s under weird circumstances,” he chuckles awkwardly.

You told Minghao not to worry about the circumstances, you were just happy to be playing after weeks of sitting around watching. With this he began the game, he utilized a simple opener and your first capture came quickly. This wasn’t to say that Minghao wasn’t a good player and didn’t put up a fight.

You, however, were hungry to show everyone here that you were not to be messed with. Minghao felt that you were two steps ahead of him the entire match, he didn’t understand how it felt like you were in his head and knew his moves. If it wasn’t so impressive he would be infuriated.

He didn’t even mind that you baited him quickly into a checkmate. He wanted to see you beat Jeonghan, to wipe the winning streak clean. Even more, he wanted to see Jeonghan get beat by a freshman, a wickedly smart and kind of scary freshman.

“What are you doing?” Jeonghan asked from across the room where he was putting pieces back into boxes, “I need to clean that up and I can’t very well do that when you’re still using it”

“Minghao almost beat me” You mumbled, not looking up from the board. You hear Jeonghan sigh and walk toward you.

“Almosts don’t matter in chess, you either win or you don’t” he swiped your notebook from under your elbow, “And you won”

“Give it back, Yoon, I’m not in the mood” you attempted to grab it back from him.

“When are you ever,” he snorted, holding the book over his head. You shot out of your chair.

“Give it back!” you attempted to reach for it, “I’m trying to find weaknesses in my game and you’re acting like a child!”

“Fine,” he lowered the book with a look in his eyes that let you know that this would not be that easy, “play me then” You blinked at him,

“Really?”

“You’re looking for weaknesses in your game, play me” he pulled out the chair recently vacated by Minghao and sat down, “Well? I don’t have all night." You took your seat, studying Jeonghan’s face. He has never been across from you as your opponent, let alone offered a match. He passes your notebook back to you and watches as you carefully turn to a new page, crack the spine, and scrawl out his name and the date at the top of the page.

You carefully move your first pawn, which in return Jeonghan moves his, beginning the dance. Your second pawn takes its place and you hear your opponent chuckle.

“What?” you spat defensively.

“Oh nothing,” he hides his smile with his hand, “you’re just predictable, you always start with attempting a queen’s gambit”. Heat rushes to your cheeks and you immediately know you are at a disadvantage, Jeonghan knows your game and you know nothing of his. He delicately moves a second pawn forward, “Queen’s gambit declined” he sits back in his chair, thinking he already has you beat.

The first capture of the match is in you taking his first pawn, he returns the favor by taking yours quickly. The two of you go back and forth like this for several turns. You realize quickly that he is very much your equal, he is smart and clever, but he plays rigidly and by the book. By the book players are usually easy for you to handle.

Jeonghan was different, it’s almost as if he knew your moves before you made them, and admittedly he kind of did. Not well enough, you were nervous in the middle of the match but now you were sure that you could lure him into a checkmate within three moves.

Letting him capture your rook was a small sacrifice. Luring him into a false sense of security letting him take this piece and your queen earlier in the game, so that your second rook could move to take his queen and leaving his king open. Attempting to move his king out of the line of fire from your rook only placed it in harm's way at the hands of your bishop.

“Checkmate” you declared. Jeonghan sat quietly, you saw the math he was doing in his mind by the way his eyes were flitting around the board, calculating his mistakes. You gathered your things and swiped them into your arms and turned to leave.

Fingers encircled your wrist and pulled you to face him. Judging by the look on his face he did not think before he acted for once, “If it means so much to you, I won’t tell anyone I beat you,” you offered, rolling your eyes.

“You’re infuriatingly irritating” was the last thing he said before pulling you closer and pressing his soft lips to yours. You stood perfectly still, shocked at the sudden development, Jeonghan didn’t push until you parted your lips. With this he deepened the kiss, his mouth tasted of tobacco, the expensive kind. His skin was warm against yours, and you weren’t sure why you didn’t entirely hate this exchange.

Tentatively, you placed your hands on his hips, your notebook falling to the floor forgotten. Jeonghan swiped his tongue into your mouth and you let him. He felt your fingers grip for dear life and tried to ignore the fact that the gesture caused his head to swim. He had the faintest idea of why he kissed you and even less of an idea on why you let him but he would not complain. He tangled his hands in your hair.

He pulled your lip between his teeth and it snapped something in you, you pressed your thighs together and sighed. When Jeonghan moved to plant kisses just below your ear you realized what was happening and pushed back against his chest.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“You seemed to enjoy it.” he sighed pushing a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know what this is,” you picked up your notebook, “but find someone else to help you out next time you get hard over a girl beating you”

You shifted uncomfortably in the doorway of the fraternity house as Cami was informing the poor boy working the door who she was and who the two of you were intending to meet inside. Finally, after what felt like an eternity out on the porch, he stepped aside and the two of you shuffled past him. The inside of the house was nothing special, it smelled of smoke and sweat. There were groups of people scattered about talking and drinking.

Cami put a hand on your arm and began to pull you further into the house, “Come on!” she shouted over the noise, “I’m meeting him in the kitchen!” and she began weaving her way through the house, as if she had done this a thousand times before.

The kitchen was open and frankly dirty. There was a couple making out against the counter closest to where your roommate dragged you.

“Y/N, this is Mingyu, the guy I told you about,” she smiled up at him, “and this is Y/N, my roommate”

“Nice to meet you,” Mingyu smiled at you momentarily before turning his attention back to the girl he actually invited to this party. You were surprised, you figured it would have taken longer than five minutes for you to start wondering why you came here in the first place. You were starting to feel boxed in, the couple on the counter was getting dangerously close to exposing themselves to you, and Mingyu was whispering close to your roommate's ear. You could only imagine the filthy things he was surely saying to her, judging by the scarlet blush rising up her neck and the giddy smile playing at her lips.

“Take this,” a familiar voice cut through the panic, a small glass being pressed into your hand. Looking up, Jeonghan had a matching glass up to his lips, looking down at you expectantly. You followed suit and the two of you tipped the glasses back together. The liquid burned your throat and you sputtered a cough as you felt the heat settle in your belly. “Woah,” he stifled a laugh, “Never had a drink before, noted,” he filled up his shot glass with water from the sink and traded it for your empty glass. He guided it to your lips and disappeared down the hall, just as quickly as he approached.

The water dulled the burn in your throat. During your exchange with Jeonghan your roommate and Mingyu disappeared somewhere, sighing you left the kitchen to find them or somewhere quiet to sit down, whichever came first.

As it turned out, at a party there are few places unoccupied by people. You took to walking laps around the bottom floor of the house looking out for anyone leaving or a room you missed. On lap one thousand (give or take) you heard your roommate’s laugh cut through the dull thrum of the music from the turntable in the living room. You looked toward where you heard her, your shoulders slumped seeing Mingyu lead her up the stairs, cursing under your breath you stomped through the kitchen and into the first door you came across.

You plop to the ground and cross your arms over your chest, if anyone were to be looking at you right now you’re sure you would look like a petulant child. You’re not even sure why you’re angry, you knew she would end up hooking up with this guy tonight. Walking home could be an option, however it’s getting cold…and do you even remember how to get back? Don’t parties like this typically have sober drivers? But I’m not drunk…I only had whatever Jeonghan gave me, you thought, Jeonghan! You could find him, but how embarrassing would it be to crawl to him for help right now? He would use it against you forever and you are as good as kicked out of the chess club after this! What would have been the point of any of this if you can’t play chess? This stupid situation with Jeonghan would have been for naught.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening, you scramble to situate yourself in this damned skirt to have any semblance of appropriateness for whoever is coming through that door.

“What are you doing in the laundry room?” you could hear the smirk in his tone before you even looked up. Jeonghan slipped into the small room, which when looking around you realized it was in fact the laundry room. He closed the door behind him with the hand not occupied with a bottle of liquor and a cigarette perched between his pointer and middle fingers. Scooting back you pressed your back against the washing machine and stretched your legs straight in front of you. Jeonghan grunted while sitting down on the floor next to you, his back up against the dryer. He set down the bottle and two of those little glasses from earlier on the floor in front of him.

“There was nowhere else to sit…” You offered quietly. “My stupid roommate went upstairs with some guy and she is the only reason I’m even at this fucking party! I wanted to stay home tonight, but she dragged me out here and–and are you trying to get me drunk?” you interrupted yourself, eyes flicking between the contents on the floor and Jeonghan. He cracked a smile, not a smirk, a smile, at your question.

“No, Dove,” he chuckled sticking the cigarette between his lips, “I’m trying to get you to loosen up for once,” he brought his hand above your thigh, hesitating in the air for only a moment before placing it down slightly above your knee, kneading the flesh there. Jeonghan had kissed you last week, but this felt…intimate, not angry. Before you had the chance to yell at him he brought his hand back to his lap, “You’re tense.”

“Yeah, not a great night,” you pointed out, “And it seems like it is getting weird now,” he rolled his eyes at your addition and began pouring the liquid into the two glasses.

“Take another shot with me, will you?” he attempted to hand you the glass, “before I decide you’ve annoyed me too much for one night”

“No”

“Y/N please, don’t be so insufferable for once,” he moved his glass to his lips and removed the cigarette, which admittedly was distracting enough for you to almost give in. You held strong. Jeonghan clicked his tongue disapprovingly and threw back the contents of the glass. He brought his free hand and scrubbed his face, “Fine, let’s play a game.” he poured himself another shot.

“What kind of game?”

“Really that’s all it took?” he looked at you, his eyes starting to shine with the alcohol, “Beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose.” he taps the glass with his fingers, a habit that manifests when he’s thinking, you’ve noticed throughout his chess matches,

“You’re making a game up,” you point out nonchalantly,

“What?” the drumming stops for a moment, “No, I’m remembering the rules”

“No you’re not, tell me about your made up game, Yoon”

“It’s a real game…anyway, rules are simple, you ask me a question, I answer, then you answer. If you don’t want to answer, you take a shot, if we both answer, we both take a shot”

“Those rules don’t make sense” “Yes they do, who was the first LP you ever got?” you were taken aback by the tameness of his question, but you figured he was just getting started.

“The Blues and the Abstract Truth by Oliver Nelson”

“Jazz?” he scoffed, “Have you ever thought about not being boring?”

“Have you ever thought about being a decent person?”

“Don’t get unglued,” he rolled his eyes, “mine was Nice’n’Easy by Frank Sinatra” With that he tipped his glass back and emptied it, you followed suit and tried not to cough this time. He gestured to you seemingly inviting you to ask a question of your own. You thought for a moment,

“Why do you play chess?” you asked.

“My dad figured it would be a good skill to have” he shrugged, “But I think it has something to do with the fact that the world chess champion was, and still is, a Soviet. I don’t really care about that though, I just like to play, I’m good at it.”

“You only play chess because you’re good at it?” you said flatly

“Ah ah” he tsked, “You already asked your question, so either answer or drink up”

“Fine,” you sighed with a pointed look in his direction, “My grandpa taught me, I always watched him and his buddy play when he babysat me. I learned by watching and then eventually playing, and beating, both of them.”

“Learning chess just by watching,” he mumbled and shook his head. “Gimme,” his lithe fingers took the glass from your hand, set it on the floor next to his and poured another round. You both drank the shot with no complaint.

The game continued like this for a while, Jeonghan never asking anything that stumped you, and in return he answered every question of yours. You weren’t sure what being drunk actually felt like but if someone told you this was it you would believe them. Your muscles relaxed more than you can remember in recent months, your vision was slightly blurry, and you felt a pleasant buzz in your brain. Jeonghan was slumped against the dryer and his head leaned on your shoulder.

“When’s your birthday?” Jeonghan asked, playing with your fingers lightly.

“January 2”

“Coming up,” he noted, “Mine was October 4”

“How old are you now?”

“22” he sighed, “graduating in May” You knew Jeonghan was older than you, but you hadn’t thought about the fact that he would be actually graduating, leaving. Something about that made you sick to your stomach in a way, but you weren’t sure why, don’t you hate him?

“I’ll be 19 next month” you mumbled. He shifted his body to sit up and look at you. His eyes were glassy and heavy, physical evidence of the alcohol thrumming in his system.

“Are you drunk?” he asked

“I have no earthly idea, Han” he smiled at the nickname. He reached over to cup your cheek in his hand, unconsciously you melted into him.

“I might be,” he mumbled, and even in your intoxicated state you couldn’t miss the way his eyes flicked from yours to your lips, only for a moment. After what felt like ages he connected his lips to yours. The kiss was sweet, his lips were warm and he didn’t rush it. He held you as his tongue swiped against your bottom lip, requesting entrance. Once that entrance was granted it was as if the floodgates opened for him. Both of his hands were in your hair and he was licking into your mouth. Jeonghan tasted of the alcohol the two of you had been drinking the entire night, different from the taste on his lips last time. Jeonghan curiously tugged at the hair around his fingers.

Butterflies, or something like that but infinitely more intense, erupted in your stomach. The suddenness of it all allowed a whine to escape your lips. With that Jeonghan pulled back from you but stayed close enough for your noses to still be touching.

“I think you should start coming to meetings early,” he panted. The only response you could muster was a nod, and an attempt to bring his lips back to yours. He pulled back against your request, and much to your dismay the wicked smirk was back on his face, “Y/N, are you a virgin?” You were taken aback by the question, you backed away from him and grabbed the bottle on the floor. You forwent the shot glass and just took a long pull from the lip. He watched you down the burning liquid before nodding, “So that’s a yes,” he settled back against the dryer and watched you flounder.

“You don’t know that!” you stood up, feeling wobbly on your feet, “Maybe I’m just being a lady”

“Woah,” he stood up and wrapped his arm around your waist in an attempt to steady you, “but it doesn’t really matter, I trapped you, even a nonanswer would have told me what I wanted to know, I won and you know it.” You attempted to hit his chest but the way he was holding you proved it impossible. He maneuvered you to sit back down, “Sit right here, I’m gonna go find your roommate and get you home.”

The walk back to your dorm was quicker than you thought it was, but that could be on account of the alcohol warming your skin. Jeonghan informed you that your roommate had decided to stay the night with Mingyu back at the house so the responsibility of getting your drunk self home fell on him. Serves him right, he’s the one who got you to this state in the first place. Your arm linked with his and his arm around your waist he walked the short trek very carefully, because he truly was not sober himself.

He fished your room key out of your pocket and let the two of you into your room. He blinked to adjust to the lower light, the room was only illuminated by the lamp on your desk that you must have forgotten to turn out before leaving earlier in the night. Moving further into the room he helped you sit down on the bed. On the desk there was a chess board with a half finished game set up. He smiled to himself moving closer to see that the pieces of paper strewn about were the notes you always take during matches with him. You’re replaying matches between the two of you he realized.

“Y/N” he called, tearing his eyes away from the pretty way your handwriting captures his name, “You gotta change.”

“Tired,” you grumbled from the bed. He moved towards you and attempted to pull you up.

“Come on, you can’t sleep in this” he begged, “Fine! Where do you keep your pajamas?”

“Top drawer”

He moved the short distance to your dresser and opened the top drawer. He flushed seeing your undergarments being housed in the same space as your pajamas but he tried to ignore the feeling in his stomach. He pulled out the first nightgown he found and moved back to you.

“Okay, undress” he was met with protest noises. He sighed and moved to the hem on your shirt, “I’m going to help you and then leave, okay?” he waited for your approval and then began lifting your shirt up over your head. He felt perverted in a way as he watched each inch of your skin come into view and then the clothed swell of your breasts. The situation was in no way sexual and he had no plans to take advantage, but he had never seen you in a vulnerable state before. You were softer than you often let on, something he almost didn’t believe.

He removed the shirt completely and moved to unclasp your bra. He hesitated only slightly before taking the plunge. He removed the piece of fabric and quickly, and unceremoniously shoved the nightgown over your head. Finally, you were dressed for bed and he helped you under the covers.

Soon he heard your soft snores and took this as his signal to leave. Turning out the lamp he pressed his lips to your forehead, hoping it didn’t hurt too terribly in the morning.

“Goodnight, Y/N”

The gentle sting of teeth against your neck paired with the vice grip on your thigh under your skirt almost sent you into a frenzy.

“Jeonghan” you shied away from his mouth, he grunted and chased you in response, “Jeonghan!” you hissed and pulled his hair until his lips separated from your neck.

“What?” he whispered, his eyes heavy and clouded with lust.

“The boys will be here in,” you twisted to check your watch, “Twenty minutes and I would rather not have them distracted by fresh hickies on my neck for the entire meeting.”

“And why not?” he attempted to connect to the spot below your ear again, “They might respect you more if they know you’re getting some”

“They respect me just fine!” you shove against his shoulder, but there weren’t many places for him to go in the small closet. His hand stayed gripped on your thigh.

“Okay, okay” he conceded, taking back his place crowding you against the wall behind you. “You’re tense again” a squeeze to your thigh, “let me help” his hand slowly traveled higher, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

All you could do was nod.

A flash of a smirk and he is wedging his thigh between your knees, “Keep ‘em spread” he commanded. His hand continued up and up until - oh - his thumb pressed that delicious bundle of nerves, separated only by the thin cotton of your underwear. He watches your face as you bite your lip, if he was a better man he wouldn’t be doing this in the supply closet, but the promise of seeing you unspool was too delicious. He’ll make it up to you someday, he promises himself.

He started with slow torturous circles, refusing to move the barrier. The touches are too feather light, you resist the urge to rut up against him in an attempt to increase the friction. This didn’t stop the pathetic whine from escaping your lips. “What was that?” Jeonghan teased, increasing the pressure on your clit.

“Please…” you screwed your eyes shut.

“Is this what you want?” he slid your underwear to the side and gathered your arousal on his fingers. Nodding you felt him slip in a finger experimentally. You bucked your hips to meet him, “Eager” he commented nonchalantly. The tightness in his pants reminded him that time was of the essence and he slipped in another finger.

You bit your lip to keep quiet, no matter how much Jeonghan encouraged you to let him hear you. His long fingers reached a spot inside you that you didn’t know existed with ease. You rocked on his fingers, feeling a tightness in your stomach begin to gather.

Jeonghan pulled aside the neck of your sweater to access a new swath of skin untouched by him until now. He sucked a deep bruise just below your collarbone as you felt the snap in your stomach.

The euphoria washed over you in waves and Jeonghan continued his ruminations until you came down from your high. Once you were more lucid, you noticed the gaping neck of your sweater. Your hand flew to where the top two buttons once were and gasped.

“You ripped the buttons off my sweater, you ass”

“Right like I meant to!” he began to scan the cluttered floor for the buttons.

“Well I don’t have the time to go back to change” you gritted your teeth, “This was my favorite sweater” you stormed out of the closet, leaving Jeonghan’s apology to die on his lips. What you didn’t expect was Minghao sitting at the table closest to you, reading. You clutched your sweater, careful to cover your new mark. He tore his eyes away from his book and just looked at you, it felt like he was looking right through you.

You open your mouth to explain yourself but the sound of Mark bursting through the door with Yunho stole the moment away from you. Minghao gave a curt nod of understanding and snapped his book closed. Jeonghan entered the room, clearly trying not to look flushed. You shot him a pointed look and proceeded to sit in front of an empty chess board.

“Pair up,” he mumbled, “scrimmages today” and throws himself into the chair across from you. “Take that look off your face, Dove” you blinked at him, not realizing there was even a look, you were just surprised he was willingly choosing you, in front of everyone. However, if he was going to act like this, you could make the meeting Hell too.

His timer clicked, he made his first move. Jeonghan was going to lose this match, you stretched your legs, leaving your foot next to his. You felt his eyes boring into your skull as you were making your opening. Your timer clicked. Jeonghan laced his fingers under his chin, it would look like he was thinking, but you knew better, he was trying to figure you out this time. He reached to move his knight and you trailed your foot up his leg, disrupting his trousers. Placing his knight down with a definitive thunk he looked up at you with widened eyes.

“Your timer, Jeonghan” you smirked. Click. Jeonghan watched your subsequent move, trying desperately to ignore the tightness in the crotch of his pants. You played it safe for a majority of the game, letting Jeonghan believe that you were the one distracted by your nonsense. You let him have some meaningless captures.

His fingers weren’t drumming on the desk, he felt confident. You captured his bishop. You could easily have a checkmate within four or five moves. You brought his bishop to your lips and hit your timer. You looked at him from under your lashes and waited.

Jeonghan watched the white piece rest against your pretty lips, what was wrong with him? You were doing next to nothing but the hardness in his pants was almost painful at this point. His hesitancy was evident,

“I know” you whispered against the bishop, “It’s just so hard” Jeonghan had to bite his lip to keep from whimpering. He made a quick careless move and hit the timer. Smiling, you set the bishop aside and moved your queen into position, “Checkmate.”

“What is wrong with you?”

The only sound in your room was the soft drag of the white bishop you moved across your chess board. Cami was out, probably with Mingyu, as she is most nights nowadays. The game you were playing against yourself was almost finished and you were planning to retire to bed or to do some reading afterwards. Even you had your limit on the amount of chess you could play in a day.

You picked up the black knight thinking to capture a white pawn when there was a knock at your door. Untangling yourself from the position that was comfortable until you thought about it you stretched your legs and padded to the door. You don’t tend to get visitors unless Cami is home so you’re not sure who this could be.

Swinging the door open you see the familiar shape of Jeonghan standing in the hallway, illuminated by the fluorescent lighting. He was dressed more casually than you’d ever seen him, clad in an oversized t-shirt and pair of shorts with the faded logo of what you guessed was his high school hanging off his hips. You fold your arms over your chest, suddenly very aware of your lack of bra.

“Are you stalking me now, Yoon?” he blinked at you a couple times before pushing past you into your room and uttering,

“Do you really not remember?” he sits at your desk in front of the almost finished chess game, “Can I sit here?”

“You already are,” you raised an eyebrow as you took a seat across from him on your bed. Seeing Jeonghan comfortable and relaxed in the low light of your room was strange, but not entirely off putting. Almost as if he belonged here in a way. “Remember what?”

“I brought you home after Seungcheol’s party when Cami ditched you” he studied the remaining pieces on the board. Jeonghan doesn’t know when he started remembering things, like the name of your roommate, about you. He didn’t mind having you in his head, but he wasn’t aware just how often you were on his mind until this moment, seeing you bathed in the lamp light of your room.

“Wait,” your cheeks grew red and you felt the heat in them rise.

“Yes, I changed your clothes, no I didn’t look, but at this point does it matter?” His brown eyes gazed up at you before they trailed down your body, he realized that this is the first time he has seen you in your casual attire since that night.

“Maybe not…” You mumble, “But it certainly did at the time.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes and settled them back on the chess board in front of him. You watched as he moved the rook into position,

“Checkmate” he smirked smugly,

“I played that game myself, don’t think you’ve beaten me because you finished it.” He clicked his tongue disapprovingly at your comment and stood up from the chair and moved toward you. He stood in front of you and tapped your knee, you spread your legs so he could stand between them, you mentally cursed yourself for the automatic response. Moving in between your knees he ran his hands through your hair, he looked down at you, his face softer than you’d seen it in a while. His features were beautiful when he was concentrated and vengeful during a match but the soft moments between were quickly becoming your favorites.

“Hi,” he whispered, he could almost laugh, he felt so boyish. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Han,” you laughed, “you don’t need an excuse to kiss me, if that’s what you’re looking for”

“Okay Ms. Smarty Pants,” he ducked his head to press his lips to yours. What felt like lightning crackled between your lips and into your stomach, he hadn’t touched you let alone kissed you since that day that you teased him at the meeting in front of everyone. Partly because you stopped showing up early, and partly because he was clearly mad at you for the spectacle you caused. He had never anticipated Wonwoo of all people to ask him what that was all about.

A hand trailed from your hair down to your chest. You whined as Jeonghan took a handful of your breast and kneaded it underneath his fingers. He deepened the kiss at the sounds you were making. His teeth grazed your lip as he pinched your nipple between his fingers. His other hand was gripping your bare thigh.

He broke the kiss and grabbed the loose fabric of your nightgown and pulled it up around your hips. Hooking his thumbs under the waistband of your panties he mutters,

“Can we try something?” All you could do was nod in response. He swiftly shimmied the fabric down and onto the floor. “Let me know if it’s too much for you, okay?”

Jeonghan sank to his knees in front of you, his mouth level with your bare cunt. He takes his time sucking deep bruises into your thighs, he was only going to do it once but the sweet noises you made in response were too beautiful to ignore. You felt the sting of teeth on the last bruise, and then the soothing sensation of his tongue. In an attempt to get his long hair out of the way he raked his hand through it and leveled himself with your heat.

He licked the first fat stripe up your cunt, the warmth of his mouth on you was a new and spectacular feeling. He felt all encompassing, you were surrounded by him, and you couldn’t imagine anything better in this moment. He flattened his tongue against you and dragged it through your folds slowly. Your eyes screwed shut at the overwhelming sensation.

His lips wrapped around your swollen clit and began to suck. Jeonghan felt absolutely high on the sounds he was eliciting from you. Slowly, he moved from your clit to your entrance and experimentally dipped inside. You filled the room with quiet moans as he began to pump his tongue in and out of you. The coil in your stomach began to tighten, you bucked your hips up searching for stimulation on your clit. Jeonghan pulled away from you and you shivered at the lack of warmth. He blew lightly into your cunt, a whine getting pulled from your throat.

“Just wait, Dove, I’ll take care of you.” He stood and helped you out of the nightgown the rest of the way. You sat up slightly and reached for his shirt. He looked beautiful with the flush of want on his cheeks and the sheen of you on his chin. He smiled down at you and allowed you to peel off his shirt, “Lay down all the way” he whispered as he pulled off the rest of his clothes. You readjusted on the bed. He crawled on top of you, “Are you okay with this?” You nodded, you let your eyes wander down his body and caught a glimpse of his stiff cock, leaking and angry. The tension in your thighs returned, nervous for this next step.

“Hey,” he whispered, “look at me”, your eyes finding his, “Relax for me, Dove. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to”

“I want to,” you whispered. He smiled softly at you and pressed his lips to yours. He reached down and stroked his cock a few times before lining up at your entrance. You took a deep breath.

“I’m serious this time, you need to relax,” his eyes were dark with lust but ultimately serious. He reached to knead the muscle of your plush thigh. You nodded to show him you understood and tried to release some tension you were holding.

You felt the head of his cock push past your entrance. The feeling was entirely different to what you were used to with his fingers. He moved slowly, scared to overwhelm you. He stayed still for several agonizing minutes, allowing you to adjust to the new sensation.

“You can move now,” you breathed out quietly. He nodded and slowly began to rock his hips. It was almost as if you could feel every single vein dragging against your walls. The feeling was nothing short of intoxicating, you felt so full.

“Oh Dove,” his voice was deeper than you have ever heard it, “you feel so perfect, like you were made for me.” His praises went straight to your core and you couldn’t help but moan. “If you keep,” he grunted, “sounding perfect like that I won’t last.”

He doesn’t. Neither do you. He didn’t expect you to, you don’t last long on his fingers, his cock was a different story entirely. What he didn’t expect was how fast he was spent. He thinks he meant it when he said you were perfect, he fit inside of you just right. Thinking about how perfect you were had him releasing hot white spurts of himself inside of you.

He leaned forward to move the sweaty pieces of hair from your forehead and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“You okay, Dove?”

“I’m fab,” you breathed. Jeonghan laughed and slowly pulled out of you. He took a moment to look at your spent cunt, leaking with him.

“Uh, let me get you cleaned up,” he stumbled out of the bed and moved toward your collection of bath towels. He returned with one and helped clean you up. He rummaged through your drawer, retrieved a clean set of underwear and sent you to the bathroom. He got himself dressed and sat on the bed. He ran his hands through his hair.

When you came back you laid back down together. You draped your legs over his. The two of you stayed this way for what felt like hours. You talked about everything, he asked you about your classes, how you’re adjusting to being away from home, and your impressions of the guys in the chess club.

Talking to Jeonghan was easy, much easier than your first impression had led you to believe. Eventually, you fell asleep mid sentence. Cute, Jeonghan thought. He was starting to realize he found most of the things you did cute.

He slipped out of your bed and covered you with the blanket. Before he left he slipped your ruined sweater from where it was draped haphazardly over the foot of your bed. With that, he was out of the room and bounding down the hall.

“Y/N! Wait up!” Turning around you see Minghao jogging to catch up with you. You smile at him as he joins you, “Where you headed?”

“The teaching building,” you jerked your head in the direction of the building.

“Let me walk with you, I’m going to the art building, but I need to ask you about something.” he gestured for you to keep walking. You nodded and began the walk, “So what on Earth are you doing?”

“What?” you raised an eyebrow, “I’m going to class?”

“No” he shook his head, “With Jeonghan” you had to force yourself to keep walking and not stop right there in the middle of the sidewalk and gawk at him, “Oh come on, Y/N I’m not stupid”

“I never said you were,” you shifted your gaze to the ground, “But I have no idea what you’re talking about”

“Yes you do” A telling silence fell between the two of you for a few minutes before you reached the front of the art building. Minghao stopped walking and put a hand on your shoulder, “Listen it’s not my business, but whatever game you’re playing better have a good reason.” he sighed, “I don’t know if you actually like him or what this bullshit is, but be careful,”

“Careful?”

“You’re a threat to him, Y/N” you must look as confused as you feel because he continues, “I’m good at chess, Wonwoo’s good at chess, Jeonghan is great at chess, but Y/N, you’re phenomenal at chess.”

“So?” you protest, “It’s just a club, this doesn’t mean anything does it?”

“The competition season is coming up,” he offered, “You’ll be asked to be on the team by the faculty supervisor, so will Jeonghan, and hopefully me and Wonwoo, but there’s the individual tournament to worry about.”

“Okay?” you huff, “And?” you try to see the point Minghao is making.

“Just…” he sighs, “I’m worried he’s using you. He’s never lost the collegiate division, Y/N” you nodded, taking in what he was suggesting, “You’ve painted yourself as a threat to him winning that title for his last year. That’s why it matters, that’s what he cares about.”

“Isn’t he your friend?”

“Well, yes,” Minghao blinked at you, “Doesn’t that put me in the exact position to know what he might be capable of?”

“If I’m selected, I’ll try my best, win or lose” You assured him.

“I know you will, just be careful, don’t get distracted” He turns toward the entrance of the art building, “And stop using the supply closet, you have more dignity than that” you feel your face heat up and you turn on your heel toward the teaching building.

If anyone could see the great asshole, Jeonghan Yoon right now Mingyu could die happy. He bounded down the stairs and took in the sight of the man himself with a sewing needle snug between his teeth, instead of the usual cigarette.

“Oh you couldn’t be more keen on her, huh?” Mingyu plopped down on the couch next to the sweater Jeonghan had carefully spread over the cushion between himself and the younger man.

“Shut your fucking trap, Kim,” Jeonghan mumbled around the needle.

“She has you sewing,” Mingyu stifled a laugh.

“As if you have room to talk,” Jeonghan ripped the needle from his mouth, “Cami has you just about as tied up,” Mingyu blinked at him, “Oh come on! You don’t need tutoring, let alone from Wonwoo, you’re not in any of the same classes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mingyu attempted to insist but avoiding Jeonghan’s eyes gave him away.

“Obviously you do, Y/N was mad about not being able to play, so you and Cami decided to take matters of my club into your own hands,” he began to thread the needle.

“You could’ve let her play,” Mingyu shrugged watching Jeonghan struggle to find the simplest way to put the thread through the hole.

“She could’ve earned her spot like everyone else” he muttered, “Besides there’s nothing between her and I so there’s no need to compare”

“You made the comparison…” Mingyu pointed out, confused.

“No I didn’t,” the thread made it through the hole in the needle. Mingyu opened and closed his mouth, not sure what his friend was getting at. Jeonghan claiming that there was nothing going on between you and him was almost laughable, but Mingyu knew better than to voice this, as he valued his life. So instead he settled to watch Jeonghan skillfully sew the pearlescent buttons back on to your sweater.

Mingyu also knew better than to ask what happened in the first place. He knew that Jeonghan had his own way about things, and this was more than likely an apology of some kind. If Mingyu Kim was a far stupider man he would point out the fact that Jeonghan never denied that this was your sweater.

You could hear the other members of the chess club before you even saw the door to the meeting room, there was an excited buzz spilling out into the hallway. As you closed in on the room you saw a paper hanging up on the closed door.

“1963 Collegiate Chess Championship: University of Michigan

Yoon, Jeonghan

Xu, Minghao

Jeon, Wonwoo

Y/L/N, Y/F/N

Congratulations and good luck!”

That’s your name, you’re on the team. You thought Minghao was potentially exaggerating when he was predicting the team but he was right on the money. Something akin to anxiety bubbled in your stomach, what if you lose? What if you win?

Walking into the room Minghao smiled at you, Wonwoo gave you a thumbs up, and Jeonghan was simply staring at you He couldn’t deny that he was scared of your placement on the team, when it came for the individual matches you potentially have him beat, he needed to play his best set of games in his career.

You took your usual seat at the table you share with Wonwoo and Minghao. Jeonghan’s eyes bored into your skull as you set up your board. Was Minghao right? Did he do all of this as a distraction? Were you really that big of a threat to him? You knew the answer, but that didn’t stop the seeds of doubt from sewing in your mind.

“Congrats teammate!” You heard the smile in Wonwoo’s voice before you saw it.

“Congratulations, Y/N.” Minghao smiled at you as he took his seat next to Wonwoo, “A force to be reckoned with, as always.”

“Thank you both,” you smiled, “congrats to you as well.” You stole a glance in Jeonghan’s direction, he was still staring. He was quick, he saw your eyes, and knowing he got what he wanted he slowly licked his lips and turned back to the board he was setting up with Mark.

Your blood boiled in your veins, Minghao had to have been right, he’s so cocky even with no wins against you under his belt. He must have been banking on you losing your composure, now and at the competition, so you determined right then that you would not allow it. You began to slam the white pawns into their places, earning you sideways glances from your tablemates.

Wonwoo pulled the black pieces out and tried to match your pace, knowing that your patience has run out, for Jeonghan Yoon related reasons he’s sure. The meeting is spent by you beating the boys in a variety of ways and shooting angry glances at the back of Jeonghan’s head. Jeonghan was stealing his own looks in your own direction under the guise of “keeping an eye on the games”. A few times he catches you looking at him, he attempts to soften your face to no avail.

After watching Wonwoo deliver a final checkmate to Minghao, you shot out of your seat and attempted to flee the room as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, Jeonghan had other plans. He caught your arm and pulled you to face him.

“Congratulations,” he said softly after he made sure everyone was out of the room.

“Likewise,” you bit, “is that all?” Jeonghan blinked at you, clearly confused.

“What’s wrong?” He asked earnestly, “Aren’t you excited?” You couldn’t tell if he was truly confused or if he was acting again.

“I am,” you nodded, “what do you need? Or can I go home?”

“Right,” his lips pressed into a tight line, clearly no longer in the mood for whatever you decided you were mad about. He pulled his messenger bag to his front and pulled out a bunch of fabric. “I fixed this for you,” he held it out in front of him. You took it gingerly and unfolded it so you could look at what it actually was. The sweater he ruined a few weeks ago. A swooping feeling in your stomach took hold, something between tenderness and anger. You chose anger.

“Oh so you’re stealing from me now?” You snapped.

“What?” He hissed, “I fixed it for you!” He pointed at the top two buttons he carefully sewed back on. He looked like a petulant child if you weren’t seething you could laugh.

“You still stole from me!”

“Y/N you’re missing the point on purpose!” He whined at you, “I wanted to fix my mistake!”

“By making another mistake.” You turned and walked out the door and all Jeonghan could do was stare after you. For once he was at a loss for words.

You’re in over your head, you have to be. You have never felt so unprepared for a set of matches in your life. The day was going to be full, only breaking for lunch and then your schedule thinning out God willing that you get to participate until the finals.

You smoothed your hands over the new outfit you scrounged up money to buy for the occassion. The blouse is pretty, but the main focus is the new trousers. You have never worn pants to a big event before, and you’re nervous for the reactions of the men downstairs. Determined to exude confidence even when you were scared out of your mind you took deep breaths and practiced looking tough in the mirror. You could not, however, forget how out of place you felt at this moment.

You check your watch and mutter a curse under your breath. Snatching your notebook off the hotel bed you tossed and turned in the entire night you bounded out the door. Once downstairs you snaked through throngs of people, picking up bits and pieces of conversations about chess strategy.

You spotted Wonwoo’s head above various members of the crowd and made your way to him and where you assumed Minghao, Jeonghan, and your faculty advisor were as well. Your fingers wrapped around Minghao’s arm and he turned to you quickly.

His eyes lit up seeing it was you, “Y/N, hi” he smiled down at you.

“Hi Hao,” you wiggled through the last of the crowd and up next to him, “did I miss anything?” you look around at the people, trying to spot Jeonghan.

“No, we’re just waiting for table assignments,” he pointed toward the window, “he’s over there.” You followed his gesture and saw Jeonghan talking with the faculty advisor. He looked almost ethereal silhouetted against the window, cigarette delicately perched in between his fingers. You watched them talk for several minutes before you saw an official post a list on the wall opposite you. Jeonghan noticed as well, extinguished his cigarette, and excused himself to look at his table assignment.

The competitors funnelled into a line to check where they will be starting the day. You shuffled in behind Minghao, Jeonghan tucked in behind you. He was trying his best to ignore the new outfit and how good you happened to look in it as the line slowly moved. Minghao quickly found his name and moved out of the way for you to scan the document. You felt Jeonghan pressing against you slightly, clearly impatient and looking over your head. His hand hovered awkwardly over your hip, he ached to touch you even just casually.

Locating your name and your table you exited the line, leaving Jeonghan’s hand hanging in the air before he dropped it. He followed after you silently. Several other competitors were whispering about your outfit, he could hear them plainly even if you couldn’t.

The thing about Jeonghan Yoon was that his reputation proceeded him. Every person in this building knew who he was and what he came here to do today. This type of reputation comes with a healthy respect and a bit of fear. So the dagger-like glances he shot these stupid men were not to be questioned. To their knowledge it was because you were his teammate, none of them were aware of the affection he held for you.

You broke away from your team in order to find the first table, your opponent already sitting on white’s side. Holding your hand out for him to shake you could tell he was cocky, he rose to take your hand. His handshake was firm, an obvious attempt to scare you. Only you weren’t scared anymore, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. The environment was different but the game was the same, and you were one of the best.

The officials signaled for the beginning of the round and you watched as your opponent contemplated his first move. He selected a safe opener; for the first round and knowing nothing about your opponent this was a respectable choice. You tend to play it safe as well, opting for your classic attempt at a queen’s gambit. The match went uneventful for the first several moves, the only sound in the room was several timers clicking at different times. Some players were faster than others, and you were attempting to take your time and not get cocky.

The same could not be said about Jeonghan across the room. He was the epitome of confidence, as he has been every year since he won the first time. Freshly 19 and on top of the world. He always felt like the first win was some unbelievable stroke of luck and then he just continued to win. He realized quickly that he enjoyed winning, almost more than he liked playing the game itself. Maybe that makes him cocky, but he didn’t care. He was making quick work of his first opponent, he was confident and playing defensively. He clicked his timer and watched the man on the other side of the table panic under his gaze.

Jeonghan watched as the man moved his rook across the board. He leaned forward, seeing now that the opponent’s king was unprotected. Jeonghan moved his knight.

“Checkmate.”

Your timer clicked as you gently pressed the button. The man across from you looked perplexed as the board was dominated by your pieces. He figured that this would be an easy win for him, figuring that your university stacked the team so that Jeonghan would have an easier time winning. He was wrong, and everyone else in the room would soon find out if he didn’t find a way to save his own ass and soon. He moved his bishop across to prevent you from queening your pawn on your next turn. His timer clicked. No matter, that bishop was the last piece protecting his king from your rook.

“Checkmate.”

Your name was on everyone’s lips as you moved to your next table. It was almost annoying, all you did was win one game against someone who needed a lot of practice in your opinion. They could start whispering when you were at least in the semifinals. If that first game was any indication on how the rest of the day would go it would be easy to get there. You knew Jeonghan was faring well, because once people were done talking about you they were talking about him.

You took your place on the white side of this board as you were at the table far before your next opponent. Jeonghan watched you from his side of the room, smiling to himself that you won your first match. He slipped a cigarette between his lips and brought his lighter to the end. He dragged on his cigarette as he watched his next opponent take his seat.

Jeonghan lost track of you at some point over the next several hours, as the matches became a bit more difficult he felt the need to focus. While he wanted more than anything to know how the rest of the team was faring, he had to win. This was his last chance, what no one knew was that he was declining the faculty advisor’s offer to continue his career after graduation. He was getting his degree for a reason, and for him the reason was to move on from this part of his life. So finishing with four consecutive collegiate championships under his belt would be great. Only problem here was, unfortunately, you.

You beat Minghao again right before lunch. Things were going incredibly well, much to your surprise. Minghao shook your hand, his smile almost cracking his face. The two of you walked toward the conference room where the complimentary lunch was set up. Jeonghan and Wonwoo were already seated at a table in the corner.

“The sophomore from Clempson” Wonwoo mumbled as Minghao and yourself joined them at the table.

“What about him?” You asked as you reached for the water in the middle of the table.

“Beat me in round four,” Wonwoo sighed, pushing his food around his plate.

“Oh so you’re both out?” You looked between Minghao and Wonwoo, “What about you?” You asked, turning to Jeonghan. Jeonghan shook his head,

“I’m still in,” he turned to Minghao then, “Who got you?” In response, Minghao smirked and pointed a finger at you. Jeonghan’s eyes followed in the direction he was pointing. He tried not to smile and pushed away from the table. You don’t miss the roll of Minghao’s eyes as he watches Jeonghan walk out of the conference room.

“I’ve heard about you,” your first opponent after the lunch break spoke over confidently as he sat down across from you. “A girl at this competition is asinine.”

“Well, I made it just as far as you so far,” you opened your notebook, “and I have heard nothing about you so might as well get this over with.” You brought your eyes up to his, refusing to back down. The man across from you scoffed at your bold reply.

“God are all of you people from U of M like this?” He rolled his eyes, “A bitch and a bastard, you and Jeonghan.” You could punch him, him and his smug face. You bit your tongue to avoid getting yourself in trouble, if you didn’t beat him, Jeonghan certainly would.

The match was quick, he was careless and sloppy, letting the delusion of confidence brought on by sexism carry him to a loss. You thrusted out your hand for him to shake.

“Thanks for the practice,” you smiled, glancing down at your hand. He walked away without taking it. You let your hand drop to your side, trying and failing to hide the fact that you were upset by his words.

“This is my next table,” you heard Jeonghan’s unusually timid voice at your side.

“Oh,” you shuffled to the side, “I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” He blinked at you, “Did you lose?”

“No, obviously not,” you looked toward him.

“Okay,” he chuckled, “then what happened?”

“He called me a bitch, and you a bastard.” You mumbled.

“He called you what?” Jeonghan’s eyes wildly searched the room.

“A bitch, but he also called you a bastard.” You reminded him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he gestured vaguely, “that’s not the point.”

“Drop it, no big deal, I knew this would happen,” you shook your head, “it always does.” With that, Jeonghan watched you walk toward another table. He sighed and sank down into the chair that you just vacated.

Jeonghan was distracted for the rest of his matches, did he make you feel that way? He was sure he did, that first meeting you attended. The difference was that he seemed to light a fire with his comment, whereas this asshole dampened your spirits. Jeonghan could rip his face off, your confidence was one of the best parts of you.

He sighed, moving his bishop across from his opponent’s king.

“Check.”

The man moved his king one space to the left. This allowed Jeonghan to move his rook to trap the king.

“Checkmate.” He muttered, raising from his seat, ignoring the other man’s outstretched hand. He misses being challenged, namely by you, but he won’t admit that to himself just yet. He wandered toward the front of the room, trying to waste time before his next table opened. He caught sight of your concentrated face. He leaned against the wall across from your table and watched the end of your match.

You won, of course you won.

“So your semi finals match against Ms. Y/L/N will start in 20 minutes at the table towards the front.” An official interrupted his thoughts.

“What?” He tore his eyes away from you. “Semi finals is this round?”

“Yes, you and Ms. Y/L/N will begin in about 20 minutes,” he repeated gesturing to the table. Jeonghan didn’t stick around to chat.

“Y/N,” he snaked through people, “Y/N!” He caught your arm, and placed his hands on your shoulders. He was smiling.

“Jeonghan,” you nodded trying to ignore the feeling of electricity coursing through you.

“We’re paired for the semi finals”

“I am aware,” you smirked. Your last match had given you the confidence to let your smug attitude reemerge.

“Dove, please, nothing funny, just a straight up and down match,” he searched your eyes.

“Oh, Jeonghan, this is too important.”

“Thank you, I agree,” he exhaled.

“I need you to lose all on your own, not because I turn you on”

You watched Jeonghan fiddle nervously with his fingers from across the table. He was trying, and failing, to keep cool. On the other hand, you kept eerily calm, you always prided yourself on your ability to seem unaffected by the situation at hand. The breakdown earlier was a mistake you made in front of Jeonghan, one you wouldn’t be making again now.

Once you were given the go ahead you began your opener. Jeonghan felt his stomach drop watching your first several moves, you ditched the queen’s gambit, you weren’t playing safe. He had no idea how to handle this. You watched his fingers falter just slightly, you knew he was freaking out. He might know your game well, but you knew him. He was absolutely out of his depth.

The two of you were well matched, eliminated participants gathered around your table. People who didn’t know your name before today were watching in awe as you made moves that stunned even the man who’s name was on everyone’s lips before he even entered the building that morning.

He knew you could play circles around him, that wasn’t the question anymore, he knew you were better than him. That fact made him furious, and he had to figure out a way to beat you, and quickly because you pressed the button on your timer after claiming his second rook. His fingers twitched and he resisted the urge to make an uncalculated move. He could get a check right now, but he knows it’s flimsy and you could get out of it easily. He settles for capturing your first bishop. You always liked to use your bishop.

You calculated possibilities in your head, and then you saw it. You dragged your queen to the center of the board, leaving Jeonghan no choice.

“Checkmate,” you whispered, you weren’t sure if anyone but him heard you. The moment seemed to freeze, you didn’t dare breathe, just in case Jeonghan shattered in front of you. After what felt like an eternity he dragged his eyes from the queen to your wild eyes.

He rose to his feet and walked out of the room wordlessly. The crowd was silent as you watched him go. Jeonghan Yoon, the reigning champion, was just defeated by a freshman, on his own team. No one knew what to say. You didn’t know what to say, in all honesty. You just sat there, watching the door, willing him to come back, but he never did.

Minghao broke through the crowd and grabbed your shoulders.

“You did it,” he breathed, “Come on.” He pulled you out of your chair. He congratulated you profusely as he held your hand and dragged you back to your room upstairs. “Rest, recuperate, finals begin in a few hours.”

“Make sure he’s okay, Hao,” was all you could muster before closing the door and flopping yourself onto the bed.

“Stop pacing, you're going to wear a rabbit trail into the floor,” Minghao muttered watching you continue your ruminations back and forth.

“What if I lose?”

“Then you lose, that doesn’t take away the fact that you made it this far, beating the reigning champion to do it.” He sighs. You nodded, still not sure if you were okay with coming this far and losing. Minghao watched your opponent approach finally and wrapped you into a hug, “Good luck,” he whispered into your hair before letting you go and taking his place in the crowd next to Wonwoo. Jeonghan was still strikingly missing.

You shook your opponent’s hand and took your seat. The match started quickly, and rather unceremoniously. It almost put your nerves at ease that there was no fanfare, just a straight up and down game just as you had been playing all day.

The match quickly sucked you in, it was as if the rest of the room melted away. The man across from you was good, almost as good as Jeonghan. He was lucky that Jeonghan was paired with you in the semi finals, because you would have a different opponent right now if that weren’t the case. However, this would end up working in your favor, you’ve never lost to Jeonghan, so why would you lose to someone worse?

When you captured both of his knights he knew it was over, he didn’t let it show, but he knew. He knew that you had dissected his game as you were playing him, which was the smartest strategy a player could use. If you were smart enough to watch, learn and adjust as you were playing, you knew exactly what you were doing.

He was almost honored when he heard you squeak,

“Checkmate.” He held out his hand and you took it.

“See you next year, Y/N” he smiled. “Don’t expect it to be an easy rematch.”

“I would never assume anything would be easy,” you smiled back at him, “thanks for the game.” You turned back to the crowd for the first time since the match began. Immediately you zeroed in on someone that wasn’t there when it started. He was smiling widely. The officials prevented you from leaving your table. They spoke to you but none of it registered with you, you couldn’t take your eyes off of Jeonghan.

“Smile,” he mouthed to you. Camera flashes explained what he meant quickly, and you turned to smile at them while the officials were talking with reporters. Eventually, everything settled down and you were able to find Jeonghan leaning against a wall near the window. He once again had a cigarette lazily perched in his fingers.

“You came,” you called to him as you approached. His eyes lit up as he saw you and he reached out to smush the cigarette in a nearby ashtray.

“Of course I did,” he wrapped his arms around you, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Girls not only can play chess, but they absolutely should, they’re smarter than all of us anyway.” You couldn’t help but laugh, the most freeing feeling after the insane day you had.

“Finally, you see it!”

“Oh shut up, we both know I’m stupid,” you didn’t even have time to agree before he was tilting your head up to give himself access to you. He pressed his lips to yours, a continuation of the apology, showing everyone in the room how proud he was of you and not caring at all who sees anymore.

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huntingingoodwill · 1 day ago

Text

civil. (j.m.)

masterlist

desc: you can’t stand joel miller, and he can’t stand you.

pairing: enemies to lovers! joel miller x gn! reader

a/n: this is my gift for the pedrostories secret santa 2024 event!!! i had so much fun writing this for my giftee, @adora-but-ginger. thanks so much for introducing me to the absolute bop which is never let me down by depeche mode which inspired this lil fic. i really hope you enjoy it babes <3 happy holidays!

“You’re an idiot. A big, hulking idiot.”

“You think I’m big and hulking?”

You could hear the smirk in Joel’s voice, which made equal parts of anger and embarrassment flare up inside of you. You could admit he was… well-built. Sickeningly, disgustingly so. And right now, you wanted to snap his well-built body in two.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“I’d like to see you try, but we’re a little tied up at the moment,” his tone was sardonic, his meaning literal - the two of you were in the bed of some raiders’ truck, tied up and blindfolded, being driven to who-knows-where. It was probably for the best, as the restraints around your wrists were the only things stopping you two from choking each other out.

“And whose fault is that?” you hissed.

“I’m glad you asked. Yours.”

“Mine?!” you exclaimed, the anger pulsing through you growing stronger by the minute. “I told you we should avoid the cabin and you still dragged us right into this mess.”

Joel had insisted the abandoned cabin would be a safe place to rest. The raiders had the same idea, and were quick to pounce on the both of you after coming across your horses outside. They had ambushed the two of you, deciding to bring you back to their camp to figure out what to do with you later - probably nothing too pleasant. They had left your horses behind, and you had overheard them saying they’d come back for them later.

“Maybe if you didn’t fall asleep when you were supposed to be on lookout, we wouldn’t be here right now,” Joel muttered.

You sighed, a dull knot of ache forming behind your eyes. It was true. You had fucked up. But he had fucked up too. If it were anybody else with you, the two of you may have been able to admit that, kiss and make up. But you and Joel never got along. You bickered and fought on every patrol you were forced on together, and this was your last straw. You were livid, and he was too.

“We wouldn’t have been there in the first place if you didn’t-“

“Enough with the goddamn lover’s quarrel!” one of the raiders yelled out from the cab.

That shut you and Joel up sufficiently, but that word tinged the silence with a shy awkwardness.

“Lover’s quarrel,” Joel scoffed.

“Yeah. ‘Lovers’,” you mimic his veneer of nonchalance, poorly veiling the flustered tone in both your voices, “in your dreams.”

“In yours,” he shot back, immediately rolling his eyes at himself.

He was too old for this shit. Everytime he was around you, he acted like a petty teenager. You just ignited a flame within him, one that he mistook for the bitter burn of loathing, not knowing it was something else entirely.

“So, how are we getting out of this one?” you whispered.

“Why are you asking me? I thought I was an idiot?”

“I wish you could see the look I’m giving you right now, Miller.”

He lowered his voice to a whisper, unheard by the raiders up front over the rumble of the engine.

“Admit I’m not an idiot, and I’ll get us out of here.”

“Oh, come on-“ you started, gritting your teeth with exasperation.

“Or, you can always spend the rest of the day with our new friends here.”

“...You’re not an idiot.”

“And, who’s in charge?”

“Oh, fuck y-”

“I can always let you hitch a ride with these guys and see how you fare on your own,” his voice took on an annoyingly laissez-faire quality. You hated him.

“You’re in charge,” you assented.

“Correct. I hid my knife in my pocket. They missed it when they took away our weapons.”

Maybe you didn’t hate him.

“Maybe you’re not as big of an idiot as I thought,” you smiled.

“Flattery will get you nowhere. Get it out of my pocket, then cut my ropes. Then I’ll cut yours.”

You shimmied close to him, trying to ignore how the proximity made the heat rise in your collar. You tried to convince yourself it’s a physical reaction to your hatred for him. Like an allergy.

You managed to slide the knife out, only almost stabbing him in the ass once on a bumpy stretch of road.

“Hands!” He had grit through his teeth.

“Please, there’s nothing back there to cut. You’re as flat as a board,” you had whispered, immediately blushing and following your words up with a quick: “Not that I’ve been looking or anything.” (You had looked. A couple times. But you’d die before telling him that.)

Unable to see, you fumbled around a little, careful not to cut him as you sliced through the ropes binding his wrists together. Once free, he lifted his blindfold with careful, quick movements, sure to not let the men in the cab see him, before cutting off the remaining ropes keeping his legs tied together then doing the same for you.

With the ropes loosened in heaps around your wrists and ankles, you whispered: “What now?”

His voice was determined, but grim. “We pray.”

“I gotta take a leak.” One of the raiders mumbled a mere 5 minutes later, after you both had replaced your blindfolds and were acting like two good kidnapees in the back of the truck, in hopes that the men wouldn’t look too closely at the both of you and discover you had freed yourselves.

“Let’s hope our prayers have been answered. Do you trust me?” Joel asked.

“No.”

“You’re gonna have to. 3…2…1.”

The two of you ripped off your blindfolds.

The scuffle was over in a few minutes. Joel’s chest heaved from the exertion of the fight as he cleaned the bloody knife off on his shirt. He had subdued one of the men pretty quickly, which gave you enough time to grab your gun from the cab and deal with the other.

He had done a pretty good job, you had to admit, with hiding his knife and handling the raiders. Without him, you would have been royally fucked. You felt a twinge of gratefulness, and a pang of something else as you watched him, the slope of his nose and hardness of his jaw as he wicked the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He had saved you.

Then, you looked down at the two dead raiders, and what glimmer of heroism that you saw in Joel’s figure distorted into frustration.

You aimed your gun at Joel.

“Jesus Christ! What is wrong with you?!” he yelled, the bullet whizzing past his head.

“Cool it, Texas,” you huffed, “Now, hold still this time.” You aimed again.

“I just saved your ass, and you try to shoot me because of it?!”

“I told you we shouldn’t have gone to the cabin-”

“Look who’s talking, sleepyhead!”

You started to walk.

“Where d’you think you’re going?” he called after you, his voice already receding into the distance.

“Jackson. Back to the village of which you are the idiot of!” you screamed over your shoulder.

“A bit of a convoluted way to put it, darlin’.”

You refused to dignify that with an answer.

You had only made it a few metres down the road when you heard the roar of the raiders’ truck, and the heat of the thrumming engine as it pulled up beside you.

You stared straight ahead, feeling Joel’s gaze rove over you from the driver’s window as he cruised alongside you.

“Get in,” Joel called out to you.

“No.”

“D’you know where you’re going? ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t.”

“I do. I think. I tried to memorise the turns they took while we were tied up.”

“Well, you aren’t getting back to Jackson anytime soon on foot.”

You ignored him, marching forward. The next few moments were clouded in silence as you stormed down the road, Joel driving slowly beside you all this while.

“C’mon, get in. Please?” Joel’s voice was startlingly soft, a flash of vulnerability that you hadn’t expected that stopped you in your tracks. He said his words slowly, like it was difficult for him to articulate. It definitely wasn’t easy for someone as stubborn as him to seek help from you. “I can’t leave you out here alone, and I need your help to navigate.”

You turned to look at him, not expecting to find the sincerity scrawled over his face. It softened you. But you liked to make him suffer.

“Who’s in charge?” you said.

“Oh, c’mon…”

“Miller. Answer me. Who is in charge?”

“You are. Now get in.”

You smiled in satisfaction, clambering into the passenger seat.

“You’re in charge of navigation, I’m in charge of driving,” he mumbled beneath his breath.

You chuckled at his comment. Suddenly his snarkiness, though annoying, seemed like a harmless dig after the events of the day. That laugh was utter release, a reprieve from the loathing for him that had been boiling your blood all day.

Peeking over at you, you watched his confused face turn into one that mirrored yours. One of cathartic happiness. He let out a laugh, unable to help it. You had never noticed his laugh, his smile. Like a silver lining. You liked it.

The rest of the drive passed in relative silence, save for your directions, though the air between you was different. Still electric in its energy, but not because of anger, or frustration. It was strangely warm.

The sun had begun to dip beneath the horizon, and with a satisfying click, he flicked on the headlights, making a turn. The lights illuminated the cabin and your horses. Your heart soared.

“Well, shit. You did it,” he whispered.

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, and more laughter bubbled from his lips. Laughing with Joel seemed so foreign after spending every patrol together arguing or in heated silence. It was pleasant.

From here, the two of you would be able to find your way back to Jackson, no question. The two of you mounted your horses and started your way back. He turned to watch you, the delicate turn of your head as you gazed up at the vast sky, drinking it all in. He felt that same pang he always felt around you, what he always thought was annoyance. It hit him with that same ferocity, but it was charged with a different energy. It felt kind of nice.

You turned to lock eyes with him.

“I’m sorry,” the both of you said in unison.

You both dissolved into laughter.

“Well, I’ll go first,” Joel chuckled, “I’m sorry. I really am. I should have listened to you-”

“No, I’m sorry!” you said. “If it wasn’t for me falling asleep… and I guess trying to shoot you wasn’t very nice.”

“Wasn’t polite, was it?” he snorted, his smile reflecting your sheepish one. “Still, I fucked up. And the way you helped us find our way back… you saved our asses.”

“I fucked up too. And if anyone saved us it was you. There was no way we would have gotten out of there without you thinking ahead and hiding the knife.”

“I guess we make a pretty alright team, huh?” he said, the smile he shot you so hopeful and sweet you felt that hot, molten feeling in your gut again, though it definitely was not hate.

“Yeah, we do,” you sighed. “I guess if your brother’s gonna keep insisting on putting us on patrol together, we could at least be civil to each other. I think we work together better that way. Deal?”

“Deal,” he said. “You still drive me a little crazy though.”

“Ditto,” you smiled at him, and the smile he flashed back made you feel strange and floaty, a similar sort of light-headedness from when you used to get so mad at him on patrols you wanted to scream. You were starting to realise that feeling may have been motivated by a different emotion entirely. He was definitely driving you a little crazy.

“Where the hell were you guys? You missed the bonfire,” Tommy called out to Joel as the both of you arrived at the centre of Jackson, a dying bonfire crackling behind him.

“That’s the least of our problems,” Joel huffed, dismounting from his horse as you followed suit, thrusting the reins into his brother’s hands. “You deal with that.”

Tommy shrugged, leading the horses back to the stable.

The two of you stood side by side, staring into what little was left of the bonfire, now a flame that licked up to around Joel’s knee-height. The crowd that was surrounding it earlier that night had fully dispersed, leaving just you and Joel alone before the fire. He turned to look at you, the fire glazing your eyes with orange and red hues, setting your gaze alight.

“I have an idea,” you said. Your smile meant trouble. “Let’s jump over it.”

“What?” Joel asked, eyebrows shooting up incredulously.

“I read it somewhere. It’s an old tradition, supposed to bring about good luck and new beginnings,” you smile at him, a smile that instantly wins him over. “We need all the luck we can get. C’mon Miller, indulge me. Be civil.”

His laugh was hesitant, but when you reached for his hand he knew he could do it.

“Do you trust me?” you grinned.

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to. 3…2…1!”

There was a moment there, with his hand in yours, at the very top of where the flames swirled, where it felt like the two of you were flying, suspended against the dark sky.

Then, you hit the ground.

You were lying beside each other in the dirt, panting in between gasps of laughter, the cuffs of your pants and the soles of your shoes singed. That electric warmth fired through the air, boiling your blood - definitely not anger. Something else. Passion and anger possess that same fiery quality.

It burned so brightly within the both of you that he couldn’t help it. He leaned over to kiss you. The fire was warm by your side, the sky dark and electric above you as a storm gathered. The two of you were definitely going to be more than civil.

#pedrostoriesgift24 #pedrostories #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal x you #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #the last of us fluff #the last of us

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stevie-petey · 2 days ago

Text

growing pains

But you’re tired of pretending. “Why am I here, Steve?” “I thought we already established it’s because you walked in the snow.” He’s dodging. Avoiding the question and the truths that will come with it. “Steve.” Hissing his name is familiar, it feels more natural. This is how it should be between you. Anger, disdain, raw. “And there it is,” He winces. “The fighting begins. We lasted, what? Ten minutes? Merry Christmas to us.”

Summary: steve buys you shitty coffee five years after your breakup.

Rating: general, swearing

Warnings: fem! reader, use of y/n, exes!au, slight unhealthy relationship if u squint, ambiguous ending (kinda)

Words: 8k

Before you swing in: hi my dears ! heres a very sad/bittersweet coffee shop conversation with far too many flashbacks and miscommunication. yummy ! unintentionally made this a christmas fic, so the bleachers song merry christmas please dont call is very fitting lmao. enjoy !

A flurry of snow coats Hawkins. Christmas lights reflect off the pristine white as the quiet stills everything in the town. There are no cars that drive past you. Hardly anyone littering the sidewalk as your footsteps trace a path in the freshly fallen snow. In the small, rundown cafe there is only one other patron brave enough to face the winter cold.

The bell above the door signals your arrival.

Steve looks up at you.

The flush of cold air stains your cheeks a ruddy red, though his gaze tinges the hue pink. The blush gives away the fondness you hoped you had buried below your sternum; but the fondness is still there. It will always be there.

Steve gestures silently, offering you the seat in front of him. He’s chosen a small table in the back of the room. Secluded. Private. But he doesn’t stand to greet you.

You sit. The cold makes your body slow. Steve’s presence makes your posture stiff. Your hands remain folded in your lap. You don’t place them on the table, too reminiscent of the times he would reach across and interlace your fingers together.

The deliberate act is small, your only defiance, but still, after all these years, Steve sees it for what it really is. You’re still exactly as he remembers. The corner of his lip twitches, hiding a smile that you still know the weight of. How it felt against your own lips.

“The whole town is buzzing about a white Christmas. We haven’t gotten snow like this in years.”

Inconsequential. Steve’s first words to you in five years are inconsequential.

There are still flecks of snow on your clothes. A snowflake melts slowly on your scarf. You watch its demise. There is nothing you want to say to him.

Steve shifts slightly. Clears his throat. You still make him nervous. “I wasn’t sure you’d still come.”

“I walked.” Your first words to Steve are inconsequential, too.

“In all this snow?” His surprise is soft, bordering on amusement. He takes his coat off, and underneath is a cheesy holiday sweater that makes your throat clench. “Aren’t you freezing?”

You shake your head. “I like the cold.”

And then Steve smiles. Genuine, it stretches across his entire face. “Yeah,” a breathy laugh that echoes in your ears. “I remember.”

–

“I can’t feel my legs.” Steve whines, lagging behind you as the two of you trek through the snow. You’re at the bottom of the hill, still a long way from the top. “How are you still alive?”

You’re flushed in excitement and youth. The apples of your cheeks match the pink hat that keeps sliding into your eyes. Planting your feet firmly into the snow, you continue to climb. “It’s not that cold.”

“It’s freezing–shit!” Steve slips on a patch of ice. His voice cracks as he yelps, and you giggle at his embarrassment. He glares at you. “Please don’t laugh at me. I’m miserable here, Y/N.”

“You’re the one who wanted to come. I was perfectly happy going sledding alone.” You’re halfway up the hill now. The flimsy plastic tube you’re using to sled hangs loosely from your hand. “Don’t be such a baby.”

Steve scoffs. “God forbid I try to be romantic and go sledding with my girlfriend.”

Your cheeks flush an even deeper shade of pink. It still feels weird, hearing him call you his girlfriend. The word is new, foreign, but the warmth that accompanies it is one that you hope you never get used to.

“Besides, who even goes sledding alone?” Steve continues, still pathetically behind you. “What if you got hurt? No good boyfriend should allow that to happen.”

You snort. “What, are you my knight in shining armor now?” Shifting low, you start scooping up some snow. “Is that what you want me to say?”

“All I’m saying is that I’m totally a saint.”

You laugh, now packing the snow into your hands as you form a snowball. “Oh, I’m sure you are.” Steve hasn’t noticed what you’re doing yet. He doesn’t know that in a matter of seconds you’ll cover his face in snow. Sneaking a glance at him, your breath catches.

There are snowflakes in Steve’s hair. A few kiss his cheeks, dancing along his freckles. The brown of his eyes glow warm ember in the white snow. His skin is pink, alive and pure. He’s beautiful. Devastatingly beautiful in a way that makes you ache.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Steve asks you, face wrinkling in confusion.

You cough, embarrassed to have been caught. The snow in your hands starts to sting. The pain grounds you, clears your mind, and you try to pretend that the molasses in your bloodstream isn’t love.

Throwing the snowball, it explodes in Steve’s face. He shrieks, sputtering at the cold shock. “Y/N!”

You laugh, loud and happily. Your ribs ache and your breaths escape your lungs in a burn that soothes you. Steve lunges toward you, hands finding your waist as he pulls you close. He grips you tightly, he can feel your laughter in his chest.

“You’ll pay for that!” he buries his nose in your neck and you squeal, laughing even harder. Steve pulls you impossibly closer. He relishes in your warmth. He relishes in the way you squeal when he starts to tickle you.

Warm. Everything about you is warm.

You are sunshine against Steve’s skin.

–

Someone else walks into the cafe, the sound of the bell echoes in the chasm between you and Steve. There are no more snowflakes on your scarf. The warmth of the cafe is stifling, although there is a comforting familiarity to it.

“How are you?”

Another inconsequential question, although you can’t fault Steve for it. He’s trying. More than you are, anyways. But what are you supposed to say? What are you supposed to do, seeing your first love after five years of silence and absence?

“Fine.” The response falls flat, mundane. Disinterested. Wincing, you really do try to sound as if you want to be here. “Good. I-I’ve been good.”

“Yeah?” Steve raises his eyebrow, leaning in. “I mean, I’m not surprised.”

Your shoulders tense. “What do you mean?”

Seeing your unease, Steve quickly explains himself. “Shit. That sounded ominous. I’m sorry,” he runs his fingers through his hair. The same way he used to do when he was seventeen. “What I meant is that Robin told me. About what you’ve been up to these last few years.”

Your shoulders drop. Of course Robin still talks to him about you. You suppose it’s only fair, seeing as how she tells you about him, too. She remained friends with you both after the breakup. She hadn’t wanted to take anyone’s side, and she’s kept true to that.

“What has she told you?”

It’s a real question. You know Robin would never tell Steve anything embarrassing or incriminating. But curiously gnaws at you.

“Nothing bad, unfortunately.” Steve gently teases, but his prodding is only met with your uninterested gaze. He sighs, clears his throat. “She told me you moved to New York. Nearly screamed my ear off when your publishing deal got accepted. It’s pretty incredible.”

Your fingers pick at the skin underneath your nails. “It’s only for one book.”

“Five years, and you still can’t accept a compliment.”

“You’d be surprised by what can change in five years,” your eyes avoid his. “Is the coffee any good here?”

“It’s terrible,” Steve slides his mug over to you. Steam rises from the black liquid inside. “Milk and sugar. Hope it’s still how you like it.”

You take a sip, cringing at the taste. You’ve come to prefer your coffee black, bitter but rich. The coffee Steve has bought you is too sweet, but you drink more anyways. It gives you something to do.

“I’ve been good, too. Thanks for asking.” Steve leans against his seat, placing his hands behind his head. He’s as coy as ever. The years haven’t made him humble. “I’m sure you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t wondering.” You set the mug down. “I heard you made history being the youngest English teacher at Hawkins High.”

Steve’s mouth parts in shock. In another life, you pinch his lips together and kiss the tip of his nose. In another life, five years ago, you did.

But not this life. “Robin talks about you, too.”

“Of course she does,” Steve echoes your earlier thoughts. He leans back again, eyes never leaving your face. “Were you surprised? Steve Harrington. English teacher.”

The answer comes easily. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” you twist the mug around. Steve stares at you and you wish he would stop. He’ll see through you, he’ll see the fondness and he’ll know everything you’ve tried to erase. “You were always interested in what I was reading. You didn’t hide it very well.”

Steve smiles to himself, his own fondness leaking over. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t.”

He could never hide anything from you.

–

You’re in the classics section of Hawkins’ library. You wanted to check out a few books they recently collected. The librarian has your personal landline. You’ve spent more and more time in the building, reading all of the greatest authors.

Steve always comes with you.

“Look, Y/N. I adore you, but if there aren’t any ass-kicking spies or alien babes, then I’m not reading it.” He shoves the book you hold in front of him away. “What the hell is a Brontie, anyways?”

“It’s Bronte,” you poke Steve’s cheek. “And I really need you to stop pretending that you don’t know these authors. It’s gotta be exhausting.”

He grabs the hand poking his face and twists it, forcing you to spin and land against his chest. “I’m not pretending, sweetheart. I don’t know any of these names.”

Steve claims he comes to the library with you because he gets lonely without you, but you’ve caught him rifting through Albert Camus and Erich Fromm. He could spend hours paging through their works.

But you’ll allow him to keep this one secret from you.

“C’mon,” you laugh, tugging Steve’s arm towards a new section. “Help me find Fyodor Dostoevsky. I want to study the way he writes his characters’ inner monologues.”

“No way that’s a real name.”

You laugh again. “Just shut up and help me, please.”

Eventually you find Dostoevsky and you become engrossed in his words. They’re intricate and complex, yet there’s a simplicity and plainness that strikes you. You write down a flurry of notes, not wanting to forget a thing; one day you want to command words the way all the authors you’ve studied seemed to do.

You’re so lost in the world Dostoevsky has built, that you don’t notice Steve’s absence until he returns again.

“Hey, check this out.” He’s holding a book, his finger saving the line he wants to show you. “This Pablo Neruda dude was like, a total romantic. Wanna hear?”

You lean against the bookshelf, curious. “Are you going to read to me?”

The only response is Steve’s charming smile. He steps closer to you, your breath mixes with his. “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I don’t know any other way of loving.’”

He closes the book, but he doesn’t move away. Your foreheads touch.

“Love”. A word neither one of you has said until now. Until Steve read you a poem and uttered the word three separate times.

He loves you, and you love him.

Standing on your tiptoes, you kiss him. Steve kisses you back.

–

“Do you enjoy it?”

Steve drums his fingers on the table. “Enjoy what?”

“Being someone that kids look up to.”

He breathes out slowly. “I forgot how much you love asking heavy questions.”

You finally look at him. “You’re the one that asked to meet for coffee.”

“Fair point,” Steve scratches the back of his head. “Thank you, by the way. For agreeing.”

“I was in town.” You look away again. “The holidays. And the wedding, I guess. Nancy asked me to come.”

“I still can’t believe she got Byers to agree to a winter wedding.” Steve shakes his head, smiles to himself. “Anyways, to answer your shockingly emotional question: I do enjoy it. I love teaching. I love being someone that kids can come to. Is it terrifying? Absolutely. But selfishly, I like to think I’m good at it.”

Even though you don’t want to, you smile at him. “You’ve always been good with kids.”

Steve doesn’t expect your sincerity. The praise is small, a throwaway comment more than anything else, but it’s the nicest thing you’ve said to him in years. He’s suddenly shy, ducking his head. “I don’t know. Those little bastards were really difficult to handle.”

The little bastards being Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Will, Max, and El. The kids you grew up with, a consequence of being neighbors with the Wheelers. One day there was a kid on your doorstep demanding you let him use your old scooter.

Mike had been only nine then, but he had been fierce and persuasive. After giving the scooter over, Mike forced you into his life. Then the rest of the party’s lives.

Nancy came later, then Jonathan, and then, eventually, Steve.

“They admired you.” You tell Steve, honest. “They still do.”

He blushes again. “You really think so?”

“I remember more than you think,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I remember everything, too.”

–

The morning of the kids’ graduation, it’s a blur of packed cars and nervous excitement. Steve offered to drive everyone, giving the parents time to get situated and find seats at the high school.

“Your car reeks.” Mike kicks Steve’s seat.

He glares at the kid. “Why didn’t you ride in Nancy’s car, then?”

“Her and Jonathan are gross.”

Lucas fixes his graduation cap. “They whisper to themselves a lot. It’s creepy.”

Max elbows him. “It’s because they’re in love, doofus.”

“Steve and Y/N are in love, and you don’t see them whispering to themselves.” Dustin points out, which you laugh at.

“I’ll be sure to never whisper to Steve with you guys around.”

Will pokes the back of your head. “Can you tell your boyfriend to drive faster? If we’re late, I think Hopper might actually kill him.”

“My dad would not kill Steve.” El corrects. “He would only hurt him. A lot.”

Steve pales slightly, stepping on the gas. “Alright. Guess we’re getting a speeding ticket, then.”

You end up arriving at the high school with a few minutes to spare. All the kids run out the car, throwing a quick thanks as they scatter. They’re gone in a heartbeat, a mass of green caps and gowns.

“We’ll see you guys on stage!” You shout through the window, waving as they leave.

“Remember how nervous we were when we graduated?” Steve asks you.

You shake your head fondly at the memory. “You wouldn’t stop sneezing. I had no idea you were a nervous sneezer until then. Robin thought it was the most embarrassing thing ever. I contemplated breaking up with you.”

“It’s a debilitating condition, Y/N.”

The graduation is long, but with six separate kids to listen for and cheer on, it passes quickly. When their names get called, you and Steve are the loudest ones who cheer. Robin calls you guys dramatic, but she screams her heart out when Dustin walks the stage.

Nancy cries when Mike walks, and Jonathan, who had only just stopped crying after seeing Will walk, has to hold back his tears yet again as he consoles her.

The five of you are a mess, and when the kids find you after graduation, you aren’t sure who starts running first. They swarm you, arms encase you and you hold onto them tightly. Will is crying, El can’t stop jumping, the kids are all a mix of emotions, yet they all remain fixated on Steve.

“Did you see the way I walked?”

“I waved at you! Did you see me?”

“You’re really loud when you scream, ya know that?”

“A poster would’ve nice. Just saying.”

All their eyes are on him. Their questions directed at him, eager to be answered. They seek Steve’s praise, like sunflowers following the sun’s rays.

As you stand back, watching the way Steve is so loved by the kids, you fall in love with him all over again.

–

Steve picks at the frayed edges of his old jacket. It’s the same one he bought with you, back when winter in Hawkins was warm and yellow and light. Now everything is dull. Grey and bleak.

“I never thought that you’d forget.” He acknowledges your hurtful words. He doesn’t like their implications. “I’d never think that.”

Steve’s clipped words make you defensive. Heat rises to your face. It makes your heartbeat spike. “There are a lot of things I thought you’d never do.”

He sucks in a breath.

The cafe is quiet again. Your coffee remains untouched, cold.

Steve finally tears his eyes from you, and the loss of his gaze feels colder than you expected it to. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To see his disdain for you on his pretty face, for him to hurt how you had. Isn’t that why you agreed to this?

The way Steve’s entire demeanor changes, how quickly his smile slips from his face, makes you question why you’re even here. Suddenly you want to take it all back. To mold his face into a happier one, get him to look at you again and trick yourself into believing that the tenderness in his eyes is real.

“I’m sorry.” The apology comes out fast, the words mesh together, but it’s the best you can manage. “That… that was mean.”

“I think mean is fair.” Steve looks at you, his lighthearted smile is back, but it doesn’t shine like before. “Honestly, I’m relieved you’re being mean.”

You’re confused. Everything he does confuses you. “Is that why you asked me to coffee? Because you wanted me to be mean to you?”

“Partially.” He sips your discarded coffee and quickly spits it out. He wipes his mouth, gagging. “Jesus, that’s fucking rancid. I don’t even know why I did that. I hate coffee, and it’s even worse when it’s cold.”

He’s making a whole show of this. The way Steve talks to you, the questions he’s asking and the way he responds to whatever you tell him. He’s trying to recreate something that isn’t there anymore. Treating your time in the coffee shop together as if you’re two friends catching up.

But you’re tired of pretending. “Why am I here, Steve?”

“I thought we already established it’s because you walked in the snow.”

He’s dodging. Avoiding the question and the truths that will come with it.

“Steve.” Hissing his name is familiar, it feels more natural. This is how it should be between you. Anger, disdain, raw.

“And there it is,” He winces. “The fighting begins. We lasted, what? Ten minutes? Merry Christmas to us.”

Fed up, you slam your chair back and stand. If Steve wants to evade every question and act as if this is all some giant joke, then he can go fuck himself.

The sudden motion makes Steve jump, but he quickly stands up with you when he realizes that you’re leaving. “Shit, wait–”

Steve’s hand grazes yours and you flinch away, reeling back. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Y/N…” He stands still, the venom in your voice cementing him to the ground. In all the time he’s known you, you’ve never rejected his touch. Bitterly, he thinks that you were right about what you said when you first arrived at the cafe.

A lot can change in five years.

You press the back of your hand to your forehead, trying to calm yourself down. Even though there’s no one else in the shop, you still don’t want to cause a scene. Not here. Not like this.

“This was a mistake.” You swallow down bile. Steve still manages to get such a vulgar rise out of you, and you hate it. “At Nancy and Jonathan’s wedding, we won’t speak to one another. We won’t ruin their day, and you can sit with Robin. I don’t care. We can just pretend that we don’t–”

Your words die in your throat. You can’t bring yourself to finish them.

“That we don’t what, Y/N?” Steve knows exactly what you mean to say. He narrows his eyes at you, pushes you to lay the final blow.

Your breath stutters. Your body is cold. You may still make Steve nervous, but he still makes you nervous as well. He can still cut through you viciously in a way only someone who has truly loved you can.

He stands before you, begging. “Say it.”

You’ve always been weak for him. “That we don’t hate each other.”

But your words are meaningless. As if you could ever hate each other.

Steve lets out a bitter laugh. “The one thing I can’t do when it comes to you is hate you.”

“Steve–” You want to take it all back. You shouldn’t have said it. You don’t know why you even said it, but you did.

“I can go five years without hearing your voice. I can wake up without you next to me. I can spend the rest of my life regretting that I lost you.” Steve doesn’t move, he doesn’t come near you. He’s hurt and he’s in pain and you don’t know how to be the one to help him anymore. “But what I can’t do, the only thing I can’t do, is hate you.”

–

The bay window caught your eye first. Then it was the rich brown wood floors, and then the garden that overlooks Lover’s Lake. Inside the apartment there are vintage tiles that you adore and the baby-blue walls make you feel faint.

The home Steve finds for the two of you is, unsurprisingly, perfect.

“Do we really get to live here?” You ask, breathless as you wander through the empty hallways and bedroom. Never before have you had such endless space to yourself. It feels very adult, very final, and you wouldn’t have chosen anyone else to experience this first with than Steve.

“We better get to live here.” Steve huffs, setting down another box. You tried offering to help, but he scoffed at the idea and told you to admire the apartment instead. “The deposit was fucking expensive.”

Your fingers brush over the cream white curtains. They’re soft beneath your touch. “At least your dad was kind enough to pay it.”

“And if by ‘kind enough’, you mean ‘wanted his son to move out already’, you’d be right.”

“Same difference.”

Steve laughs and the sound echoes through the empty room that you know you’ll have years together to fill. You already have a million things you want to purchase for the apartment. Steve’s only request had been that you make the apartment feel like a home.

As if anywhere with Steve doesn’t already feel like a home.

Later in the night you order pizza, starving and exhausted from moving. There’s no table for you and Steve to sit at. No chairs to rest on. You eat your first meal in your new home on the floor, surrounded by boxes and laughter.

It’s perfect.

“While I’m grateful for Mrs. Wheeler for giving us her spare bedding and all,” Steve wraps the blanket tighter around the two of you. The bed beneath you is lumpy and old, the only furniture that came with the apartment, but a bed is a bed. “I feel weird sleeping in her sheets.”

You press your nose against Steve’s neck, feeling your bones sag with relief. “She’s hot. I’d sleep in her sheets any day.”

Steve chokes on his spit, falling into a coughing fit while you giggle hysterically. He hits his chest, tries to suck air back in, and you’re laughing so hard there’s tears in your eyes.

“You can’t just say that!” He sputters, still coughing.

“I know you were thinking it!” You giggle again, your smile presses against Steve’s cheek. His body is warm and soft and he smells like home; it's addicting. He’s still coughing when you kiss his cheek and brush his hair back. “Can you stop dying already? I’m trying to kiss you here.”

Steve wraps his arms around you and throws his body on top, smushing you beneath him. You squeal, giggling even harder now as he litters your skin with feathery kisses. “You’re trying to kiss me, huh?”

His nose runs down your cheek. Down across your forehead, to the tips of your ears. He kisses every inch of skin he can reach. “I don’t think you’re doing much kissing here, Y/N.” Steve kisses your eyebrow. His lips skim your chin, they linger in your laugh lines as endless laughter pours from you.

“It-it tickles!” More laughter, you try to shove Steve away, but he places all his weight against you and kisses the apples of your cheeks. His fingers curl around your waist, nails digging in softly. He has you right where he wants you.

“Kiss me,” he breathes into you. Over and over he repeats himself, kissing you with every enunciation. “Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.”

Steve begs you and you ache. He never has to ask you. You would do anything for him.

You tilt your head, find his lips, and you get lost in each other. He kisses you slowly, intentionally. With a softness that makes you shiver. He whispers how beautiful you are, how much he loves you, and the syrup in your lungs simmers.

“I love you,” you murmur, lips kissing his chest. “I think you’re my favorite person in the world.”

A childish praise, but it’s everything to Steve.

–

Steve orders you another coffee. Black this time, no sugar. The barista brings the cup over when it’s ready, the steam the only source of warmth between you and him.

Snow falls outside and Steve hasn’t been able to look at you since you sat back down.

You’re not entirely sure why you’re still here. Neither one of you talk. There is no more disingenuous small talk between you. No more forced smiles. Polite questions about how the other has been.

All there that remains between you and Steve is the absence of what was.

“Robin said we’d only last five minutes.”

You remember the surprise on her face when you told her you’d accept Steve’s offer for coffee. She didn’t think you’d say yes, and the surprise quickly morphed into skepticism. She placed her book down, patted your hand, and told you good luck.

Steve laughs, short and staccato. “She has such shit faith in us. We’re nearing twelve minutes now.”

“We’re stubborn.” The coffee is disgusting even without the excess sweetness. Steve is right. The coffee here is truly horrible.

“If I remember correctly, you’ve always been the more stubborn one.” He isn’t mean when he says this. More observant, stating a fact.

You set the coffee down. “And if I remember correctly, you hit your head a lot when we were kids.”

A small smile. “Which would mean?”

“That it’s possible you don’t remember anything correctly.” You tug at your scarf. “Maybe I wasn’t as stubborn as you’re remembering.”

Steve laughs this time, a real laugh that melts the ice that froze over moments ago. “Whenever we argued, you never let me get a word in. I’ll never forget that. I would’ve found it impressive, if it weren’t directed at me.”

Snippets of memories flash through your mind. You and Steve hardly argued throughout your entire relationship, but when you did, the fallout was always scattered pieces.

“Doesn’t mean I’m stubborn.” You say weakly, still not quite ready to admit otherwise.

“I’d argue with you, but I was hoping we’d make it to fifteen minutes.” Steve takes your coffee, sips it again and cringes like he did before. Only he doesn’t say anything this time.

“Is there a prize if we make it to fifteen?”

He smiles into the coffee. “Possibly.”

Silence again.

Steve keeps the mug in his hands, using its warmth to soothe his cold fingers. Years ago, he would use the heat of your hands to warm him. But your hands remain folded in your lap and you no longer want his touch.

The silence eats at you. You bite your lip, twist your fingers together. You don’t know why you stayed, but you don’t know why Steve stayed, either.

“I was pretty stubborn, wasn’t I?”

Steve looks at you. His eyes shine for a brief moment. “Maybe a little.”

–

Shortly after moving into your apartment, you started writing. After years of reading other people’s stories, you felt that it was time to write your own. But finding the story was difficult. Every night you stared at your blank pages, willing them to fill with the words you were unable to write.

As for Steve, he started picking up spare shifts at the local diner. He hated being a waiter. He thought it was degrading, but as a twenty-two year old with no college degree or work experience, it was all he could do.

Money was tight, you were both starting to feel the weight of truly being on your own. You weren’t just two kids anymore. There were real responsibilities now. Grappling with your futures rather than imagining them.

And then one day you got a phone call that changed everything.

“I can’t miss this interview!”

“And I can’t just leave work in the middle of the day to drive you, Y/N.” Steve sighs deeply over the phone. You can practically envision the way he pinches the bridge of his nose and tugs at his hair. It’s grown long. Longer than it’s ever been before. You like it this way.

You glance at your watch and curse, frustrated tears burning your eyes. “Steve, please. This could make or break my entire future.”

“Sweetheart, I understand that, but if I leave work early, I’m getting fired.”

“You don’t know that!” You need him to say yes. You need him to drop everything for you and drive you to Bedford so that you can meet with a literary agent and discuss your work.

It all happened so fast. One moment you were sending yet another draft of short story ideas to random agents. The next, you’re getting a phone call offering an interview in a town an hour away from Hawkins.

None of it felt real. That is, until the catch fell against you: the agent can only meet today and you don’t have a car.

“David explicitly told me that if I leave work early one more time, my ass is grass.” Steve rubs his face, exhausted. He wants to help you, he wants you to finally get your big break. You’re far too talented for Hawkins, you deserve to be somewhere better; but the reality is that you can’t afford it right now. “Can’t someone else drive you?”

“I already called everyone else.” Your face is hot from anxiety. “Robin. Nancy. Jonathan. Hell, even Mike and the kids! But no one can take me and I have to be there in two hours.”

“Y/N…”

Your head falls against the wall. “This is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Steve’s heart clenches. He sucks in a breath. “I know that, okay? I-I do. But I can’t afford to lose this job. We’re already behind on rent, we still owe my dad for the deposit–”

“But you can always get another job!” You exclaim, losing whatever grasp you have left of your sanity. “I mean, Jesus, Steve. You’re just a waiter.”

The line is silent for a moment.

“I’m sorry?”

His tone is quiet, it laces guilt into your veins.

“I-I just meant that there’s a shitload of restaurants in Hawkins,” you’re rambling now, regretting everything. You shouldn’t have called. You shouldn’t have said what you did. But now it’s too late and you’re in too deep. Letting out a breath, your lips tremble. “But there’s only one literary agent who wants to meet with me.”

There’s yelling in the background. Steve mumbles something to someone, you think you hear David yelling at him to get back to work. Muffled rustling, followed by a string of curses.

“I gotta get back to work.” Steve says curtly, not even giving you a chance to respond before he’s already hanging up the phone.

The dial tone rings in your ear.

You never make it to your interview.

Steve gets home late that night. He walks past you, he doesn’t acknowledge you besides the slam of the bedroom door.

–

“I never apologized to you.”

Steve sets the mug down. He doesn’t ask you what you mean. “No, you didn’t.”

You swallow. “I… I’m really sorry, Steve.”

He shrugs. It was a long time ago. He’s forgotten the sting of your words. The marks they left have long since faded. “It was your dream.”

“But you were more than just a waiter. Hell, you were the only reason we didn’t lose the apartment.” You rub the back of your neck, relieving the tension that knots it. “God, I was so fucking naive. I’m sorry for not realizing sooner, for not appreciating everything you did for us.”

Steve shrugs again. “We were just kids.”

The coffee you drank suddenly sinks in your stomach.

We were just kids.

Sometimes you forget that your relationship with Steve had been your childhood. The two of you met when you were fifteen, fell in love when you were seventeen, and fell apart when you were twenty-three.

You’d been so young together. The mistakes you made, the hurt you caused, were childish gashes with bullet-sized exit wounds.

“We were just kids, weren’t we?” The nostalgia in your voice surprises even you.

A fond smile ghosts Steve’s face. It’s barely there, almost imperceptible, but it’s there. “Young and in love. Now we’re just old.”

“At least we aged well.”

Steve raises his eyebrow at you. “Was that a compliment, Y/N?”

You smile, coy. “Who said anything about you? I was referring to myself.”

Steve scoffs, light hearted. You expect him to retaliate, to tease you how you’re teasing him. Instead, his gaze softens. He leans forward, drawn into you as he always is, and lowers his voice. “You’re as beautiful as ever.”

Years separate you and Steve. It’s been nearly a decade since love first tied you to each other. There used to be a knot, tied into something intricate, small, yet lovely, that connected you to Steve.

And yet, with one sentence, the strings come together again.

“I still haven’t forgotten,” you fall back in your seat, away from Steve. “How you hurt me.”

He mirrors your body language, moving away as well. “And what about how you hurt me?”

You cross your arms. Steve crosses his. Staring at one another, a stalemate is reached. The memories that tie you together are both your vice and your virtue. The love is still remembered, it’s still warm to the touch, but so is the hurt.

Robin would call you both childish if she were here right now. You can practically hear her now, annoyance in her voice as she rolls her eyes at the staring contest unfolding. She’s always resented how stubborn you both are.

“Why did you call me?”

Steve inhales sharply. He knows he has to answer the question. It’s only fair that he gives you an explanation for why he decided to call you at three in the morning the Friday before your plane was due to arrive in Hawkins’ small airport for Christmas and a wedding you both were invited to.

But he can’t. Not yet, at least.

“If it makes me look any better, I called Robin first.” Steve forces a laugh out. “Granted, she told that if I called you that I’d probably die. But still. Blame her.”

Everything unravels after that.

“You never showed up.”

“Y/N.”

A crack to the surface, followed by a fist of anger that shatters everything. “You promised me you’d be there.”

“I was dick, I know–”

“Do you know how humiliated I was?” Steve winces, and his shame only enrages you more. “How utterly shitty it was when all our friends, our families, asked me where you were, and I couldn’t answer them?”

“Y/N, please just let me explain–”

“No.” The mug spills over as you hit the table, standing up furiously. You’re crying. You don’t remember the tears building. “You don’t get to call me in the middle of the night, buy me dogshit coffee, and then spoon feed me shitty excuses! You were my boyfriend, I wanted to marry you, and you abandoned me.”

“Is the coffee really that bad?”

Your jaw clenches. Steve rubs his neck, looking everywhere but at you. He’s trying to be funny. His first words to you in five years were inconsequential, and now he’s trying to use humor to ease the sting of guilt that he feels seeing you.

The decision is an easy one.

“Goodbye, Steve.”

His hand grips yours before you can even turn away. Startled by his sudden touch, you don’t pull back. Not this time, at least. You’re frozen, staring at Steve as he stares at you. He’s pale. His chest heaves and there’s terror in his eyes.

“Don’t.” It’s all he can say to you.

“Let me go.” But still you don’t pull away.

Let us go. Please.

“I…” He blinks, almost winces to himself. Steve doesn’t know how to tell you the truth. Not anymore. Not like how he used to. But you’re pulling away again and he’s just gotten you back and he can’t lose you. Not again. “I resented you.”

Your back straightens. “Excuse me?”

“I-I know how bad it sounds, but if you just–” Steve gestures behind him, tries to sit you back down. But you don’t move. His eyes plead with you. “Y/N, please.”

He looks so akin to the boy you once knew. The resemblance twists the tendons in your chest, forces the air out of your lungs. You don’t move, but you don’t leave, either.

Steve accepts all that you’ll give him.

–

The home you built with Steve loses its warmth. Lazy Sunday mornings cease to exist. He doesn’t hold you at night. Dates go unplanned, dinners eaten alone. Laughter dies and you stop waiting for Steve to come home. Everything stills. Lost in a time capsule that was once your dream.

Winter comes and the snow that blankets Hawkins softens the dull ache of the distance that’s built between you and Steve. He starts taking night classes at a local community college and you spend your nights writing.

The first story you write is about a lonely barn owl who hops through dwindling branches trying to find its mate. The creature calls out for someone, its wails echoing through the deserted forest that once was alive with creation.

A snowflake that gets lost in a storm that it created becomes your second story. Its frail, lithe body too transparent to be anything other than alone.

Then you write about a dandelion that mourns for its seeds that have been cruelly torn from its body.

Over and over you write about loss. How cold it leaves a person, the emptiness that can never quite be filled.

In the end, it’s this sense of loss that gives you everything you’ve ever wanted, yet leaves you with nothing to show for it.

“I sent my writing to a short story show. I got in.”

Steve unbuttons his work shirt. He worked a double shift at the restaurant, but spares you a tired smile. “That’s great.”

The praise is small, but the rarity of it makes it feel like gold upon your skin. Cheeks flushed, you smile back at him shyly. “Thank you.”

Steve goes back to changing out of his clothes and you’re left to deal with the silence that always seems to follow you these days. Your feet carry you to the bed, sitting down gently as you watch him. He doesn’t shy away from your gaze, but he doesn’t acknowledge it, either.

“The show is in two weeks. Christmas Eve.”

“Oh,” Steve pauses in the closet’s doorway. His hand rests on an old sweater you got him when you first started dating. He pulls out a different one instead. “Well. I already took the day off, so I’ll come.”

You try not to focus on the fact that he makes attending sound like an obligation. A dull chore he has to complete.

“Robin already promised she’d be front row. Jonathan and Nancy, too.” You get up, stand behind Steve, rest your head on the back of his neck and encircle your arms around him. He stiffens at the touch, so do you. But you can’t let him go. “I think even some of the kids will come. And my parents, obviously.”

“Sounds like you’ll have an entire crowd devoted to you.”

“Yeah, but I only really want you there.” You whisper, vulnerable.

Steve sucks in a breath, releases it. He doesn’t say anything else.

The next two weeks you read your collection of short stories aloud for hours on end. You rehearse how to present them, the right cadence and intonations. How to make the loneliness heavier, the serenity sweeter. You don’t let Steve listen, claiming you want to surprise him alongside everyone else the day of the show.

Later, you’ll come to understand that you had been afraid of how he’d react. If he’d even react at all.

The show is a haze of people and praise. Robin brings you flowers, Jonathan takes pictures of you with all the kids. Dustin surprises you with an old leather journal he found for you to write all your ideas in and El hands you a ribbon to bind it.

Your mother cries and your father hugs you warmly. Mrs. Wheeler and Nancy bring Christmas cookies and organize the large audience you’ve built for yourself in the seats provided by the show. It takes two entire rows to seat everyone you love.

Robin saves a seat for Steve. He’s late.

The night is spent listening to brilliant writers reading their stories to a small, but kind, audience. There are a total of eight featured writers. You’re scheduled to read your writing last.

After the second writer finishes, you look anxiously over at the audience and bite your lip when you still don’t see Steve. The fifth writer goes on and your nails are bloody from picking at them. Mike murmurs something to Robin, who shakes her head and nervously shifts in her seat, eyes never leaving the empty seat next to her.

The seventh writer shares a story about newfound love and its warmth.

Nancy finds your gaze and the pitying look in her eyes makes your nausea even worse.

You stand in front of a mass of people who lean into every word you read aloud. The seat next to Robin remains empty.

Steve never comes.

And it’s the last time you ever wait for him.

–

“I really was proud of you, you know.” Steve says softly, regretfully. “Robin told me you won an award later that night.”

“I did.” The award had been your ticket out of Hawkins. It got you money, connections with publishing agents. You moved to New York not even a week later.

Steve looks down. “I should’ve been there.”

You don’t bother to agree with him. You don’t want to coddle him, lessen the guilt he feels for how cruelly he hurt you. You’ll never forget the pit that formed in your stomach when you realized he wasn’t coming.

“I regret what I did. Every single day I wish I had gone.”

“You resented me instead, apparently.” Your laugh is cruel, cold.

Steve sits back down numbly, his body falls and the seat beneath him catches it. He places his hands on the table, slowly, defeated. He looks up at you, allows himself to finally confess everything. “I resented how easy everything seemed for you. I mean, you were making a name for yourself while I waited shitty tables and slept through grueling night courses.”

You clench your fists, still refusing to sit down. “And that gave you a right to diminish my own accomplishments?”

“Nothing makes sense when you’re twenty-three.”

Not an omission of truth, but rather acknowledgement of how differently you see the world when you’re young. Though you want more from Steve, you accept this. In a way, you suppose he’s right.

“I didn’t go to the show because I was scared of how much I was falling behind.” Steve doesn’t look away from you. He’s laying all his cards on the table, open and waiting for you to read them. “We were in over our heads, but somehow only I was the one drowning.”

Rent, bills owed, grappling with adulthood while still shedding your adolescence. Loneliness while being together. Careers that hurt and dreams that struggled for breath. You and Steve had been drowning together. Until one day you weren’t.

Steve drinks the coffee, he doesn’t pressure you to sit down again. Instead, he sighs. “I let your words get into my head. In your mind I was just a waiter, and I felt that nothing I was doing with my life was worthwhile. The only thing I had done right by the time I was twenty was having you love me.”

The anger that was quick to rise is also quick to dim. There isn’t any left for you to fight.

Finally, you sit. You take the coffee from Steve and the now cold liquid is a reminder of how much time has passed. “The age old question: do actions speak louder than words?”

Did what I say justify what you did? Or did they cause each other, creating a cycle that we can never escape?

You won’t forgive him, but you understand him. Steve was hurting just as much as you were, only his hurt came from your own insecure and unsure words. You told him he was just a waiter because you were scared all you’d ever be was an unknown writer. The weight of your future made you scared, the uncertainty of it all overwhelmed you and made you cruel.

Steve had fallen victim to the same fate.

“Robin told me it was growing pains.” Steve says. “What happened between us. It was all just growing pains.”

Begrudgingly you smile. Your cards are on the table as well. “You called me to discuss growing pains?”

The crinkle of Steve’s smile warms the cold cafe. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

“Tell me, then. Are we done growing?” You lean forward, allow your body to be near Steve’s again and the buzz of the proximity sets your skin on fire. He breathes in sharply. He hasn’t been this close to you in what’s felt like a lifetime.

Steve leans forward too. You can smell his cologne, his eyes still shine how you remember them. His face is the same, though weathered with age and experiences you no longer know about. You count the moles that scatter his face, heart thumping wildly when you realize you still remember how many there are.

He’s still so beautiful.

You’re weak for Steve. Your bones still remember the weight of his love.

“I don’t think we’ll ever be done.” Steve sinks even closer, nose almost bumping your cheek. You hold your breath, body humming.

Breathless, you ask him, “then where does that leave us?”

Steve pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. He studies your face, the familiar angles and peaks of your nose. Your eyes, how they’re still his favorite color. Your hair is the same, maybe a little shorter now, and your perfume still the warm vanilla that reminds him of home.

You’re still the girl Steve fell in love with when he was a kid. He’s still the boy you fell in love with when you were a child. There is still hurt, memories you both want to forget, but there is love within it. Young love can be formed anew, if someone lets it.

“Together.” Steve finally says. “It leaves us together.”

⌑ writing masterlist

⌑ please feel free to like, reblog, and comment. i adore hearing from you guys :)

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem #stranger things #steve harrington angst #m's writing #ambiguous ending but not really #writing this felt like a warm but final hug

148 notes · View notes

pickinglilahs · 19 hours ago

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Okay, let's unpack this response here

TL;DR: 'weak and surface' level is exactly how I would describe prevs "obliteration". I'm not convinced THEY read the books. Or maybe they're just another TERF, considering that's how it reads. I completely disagree with Harry naming his kid after Snape. The ONLY explanation I can think for it is that JKR has no idea what love is (which is also cannon, as far as I'm concerned)

First: idk what book this person read, but Snape's obsession with Lily was creepy to the extreme. That their friendship started by him all but stalking her and Petunia should have been red flag #1. I mean, sure, he was a traumatized kid without friends, but that doesn't absolve him of his continued obsession. He literally stood outside the Gryffindor common room, refusing to leave, until she came out to talk.

And yeah, he did switch sides out of guilt. But he canonically didn't give a damn about Harry. If he was actually trying to protect the kid, he would have done more than bully and abuse (occlumency lessons anyone?) the kid. Teaching at Hogwarts was never about redemption. It was about staying out of Azkaban. (And Dumbledore's manipulation, but he's a whole 'nother can of worms)

Second: the books actually say that Snape was 'up to his nose in the dark arts'. He was an active participant. He didn't just 'hang out' with to-be-DE, he WAS one. He joined up of his own free will. He became Voldemort's RIGHT HAND. He didn't regret calling someone a mudbl***. He regretted that it was Lily.

And Snape CANONICALLY attacked the marauders just as much as they went after him. Just because they went after him first in that ONE memory, doesn't mean he didn't instigate too.

And let's talk about the werewolf incident for a minute because i am sick and tired of Snape Apologists using this as an excuse. That was NOT planned. That was a lapse of judgement on Sirius' part alone (yeah, fucked to hell and he is fully responsible for that). At the same time though, NO ONE MADE HIM GO. Snape was given a vague instruction and he was so focused on 'getting back' at the marauders that he put HIMSELF in danger. That is just as much on him as it is on Sirius.

Then the sexual assault? This is another common thing I see and it took me forever to figure out what it was even referring to. The pantsing? You cannot tell me he was the only one that happened to. If the levitating spell was really as popular as it's stated, this incident wasn't special. I'm willing to bet Snape did it to others too.

Third: Lupin not taking the wolfsbane. Yes, serious lapse in judgement. He also just saw Peter and Sirius on the map. The argument of it being criminal and a ticking time bomb is honestly werewolf prejudice and exactly why Remus has such a hard time finding a job in the first place. Way to go. You've discovered discrimination.

Fourth: Get McGonagall's name out of your fucking mouth. She is CANONICALLY shown NOT showing prejudice and treating EVERYONE by the same standards. And, did you forget that 'Moody' here was actually a death eater in disguise? No duh he's using cruel and unusual punishments??? Full of abusive teachers my ass.

Fifth: What do you mean the kids weren't scared for life? I do believe those CHILDREN will carry that trauma with them for the rest of their lives. Saying that it didn't break them is cruel and completely dismisses the VERY REAL pain and suffering that they went through. They are real heroes because they OVERCAME their trials. Not all of us out here in the real world are so lucky.

Lastly: yes, comparing CHILDREN who DID see the error of their ways to an ADULT who had to be CONNED into doing the right thing is laughable.

And saying Regulus accomplished nothing? Disgraceful. Of course it took a catalyst for him to change his ways thats how redemption arcs work.

If you made it this far, I hope you have a good day. Believe whatever you want, obvy I'm not going to change anyone's opinion. You can't MAKE a person understand. Still, it's nice to rant and remind myself how nice it is that I live in my own little corner of the fandom where I don't have to see this bullshit on my dash

okay, hold my drink *hands u cursed ancient goblet full of mead* i gotta talk my shit for a second.

ive been seeing a lot of severus snape love recently. and this is fine, obviously, y'all can love whomever you want. but. i need to rant or i will explode. if we're talking about canon. severus snape spends his adult years, seven books of it in fact, abusing children. and his excuse for this is the girl he loved (tho not enough not to join a group actively trying to exterminate her) fell for the hot jock instead of him (a tragedy indeed, i weep 4 him, i really do). and also she died, which, admittedly is very sad.

it is simply crazy 2 me 2 look at that and think *romance* or *genuine care and affection*. LIKE. fo real. snape calls her a slur in public, apologizes in private, hangs out with dudes who commit hate crimes against her friends (CANONICALLY, she says "you've been hanging out with that douchebag Mulciber, how could you do that after what he did to Mary???" this is not a direct quote but like, it's close enough). lame. loser behaviour.

"Oh but what about regulus" i can hear you say "he loves James potter but snape doesn't love lily???" well. idk. maybe. bit different tho, innit? due to james not being the demographic regulus is attacking (which doesn't make regulus a better person but does make the dynamic between him and james different). ALSO. Regulus chooses to turn against voldemort without hope for anything in return. snape doesn't seem to give a shit about voldemort, he's just sad he's not gonna get to bang lily evans. he switches sides for that reason alone. also doesn't care about what happens to her husband or her son which like. considering lily would be pretty fucking destroyed if they died. once again points to my whole, he doesn't really give a shit about her, theory. lame. loser. behaviour.

also. im sorry. I"M SORRY. but what snape does to neville? to hermione? to harry? gross. a grown ass man out here telling an eleven year old neville he's worthless or hermione she's ugly and annoying. or spilling harry's potion and refusing to grade him for it???????????????

reg and draco are children when we see them at peak suckage and therefore they feel like they can be redeemed much more compellingly (CAN be, not SHOULD be, not HAVE to be, just narratively i think they are easier to turn into interesting, sympathetic characters). but snape? snape grows up into a garbage adult. like he doesn't get better. and again, the only real excuse we're given is his obsession with lily. not very demure. not very cutesy.

ALSO. yall remember that time he got a destitute, struggling Remus Lupin fired from the best job he ever had just because he felt like it? remember that time snape weaponized Remus's lycanthropy and people's prejudice against him just cause. like. literally just cause??? his ego was bruised after the shrieking shack incident so he was like "get wrecked Lupin I'm going to tell everyone your secret so you will be forced back out onto the streets" DO YALL REMEMBER THAT BITCH ASS MOVE????????? THAT HE DID AS A FULL ADULT.

IN CONCLUSION, this is silly and, of course, like i said at the start, everyone can have their own thoughts and feelings about characters, but i simply needed to interject here on behalf of snape haters everywhere because i feel like so much of snape's shitty behaviour as an adult during a time when he was really under no duress and was very safe and cozy, is ignored. and my hater heart just cannot let that stand.

#severus snape #nothing could make me like an abuser #fuck severus snape

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umathurwin · 2 days ago

Text

get what i want ’cause i ask for it (not because i’m really that deserving of it)

rafe cameron x f!reader; nsfw 18+

Summary: Rafe is so close to receiving the CEO title of his father’s company, he can taste it. But before he can have his dream job, he has to complete the most grueling task he’s ever been given: watch over the bratty heiress of their partner company, who’s decided to make his life hell.

He’s persistent. But so is she.

A/N: tags, warnings, and more on ao3!

“So,” Rafe started, striding into his father’s office and getting way too comfortable in the chair. Ward’s clients would expect nothing less than Memory Foam under their pompous asses, of course– how could you not sink down and kick your feet on the desk? “What’s next for me? Corner office with big windows? Company Lexus? A solid-gold bathroom?”

“I’ll be frank. What the hell are you talking about?”

“When I’m CEO of Cameron Development. Duh. I’ve been hearing the rumors about Maurice retiring, and you’re gonna need someone to fill his role…”

“Easy . You haven’t even been working here a whole year,” Ward reminded him, smacking the peppermint gum Rafe hated. “And your office has big windows!”

“I’m just being cliche. It’s the title that I really want, Dad.”

“Why should I give it to you, though? You’re barely even old enough to be out of college, if you’d gone.”

It stung, when his father reminded him that he hadn’t gone to school. He swallowed anyway. “Don’t need to, not with my work ethic. I take the job you gave me really seriously. All the departments love me, we’ve had great numbers the last three quarters, I’ve secured five deals that we’ve missed out on in the past,” he ticked off. “Tell me why you shouldn’t give it to me.”

Ward leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen on the desk rapidly. “Okay, you’re right. I agree. And I actually think I have something in mind that’ll really prove to me you’re worthy of totally running this company with the CEO title.”

Rafe all but purred. “Name it.”

“I should warn you, this is… probably gonna be the ultimate test of how loyal you are to Cameron Development.”

“Jesus, am I gonna have to fight a Jedi, or something?”

“Remember when I ran errands when you were younger, and you acted like it was inhumane torture to watch Sarah for 45 minutes?”

He sulked, already rubbing at the space between his eyebrows. “Oh God. You hired her, too, didn’t you? And here I thought my job was a special offer. Are you giving one to my cousin Tristan, too? Y’know he sits down when he pees?”

“I’m not hiring your sister. Or… your cousin,” Ward sighed. “We have a huge offer coming up soon. We’re teaming up with Kerrington Design to build on the northern side of the island, meaning we’d have properties in every zone. I cannot stress enough how important this bid is, Rafe. Josephine Kerrington will be working with us for the next month or so while we iron out details.”

“This all sounds great so far,” Rafe said. “Where do I come in?”

“Josephine mentioned that she was bringing her young daughter, and that she doesn’t feel comfortable with her being alone. I offered for you to watch over her while she’s here.”

“What?!”

“Look, I know you—”

“Hate dealing with kids? Yeah, I do,” he groaned. “Dad, you realize I have actual work to do around here? I have that O’Brien meeting coming up! How am I supposed to get stuff done with someone playing Webkinz in my office?”

“You love Webkinz.”

“Good Lord. Sure, when I was six!”

“Like I said before,” Ward started, tone carrying a warning out to his son that matched his tilted head, “this is an ultimate test. I’m counting on you to be a good babysitter.” Ward’s phone trilled, forcing a wince onto Rafe’s face, and the older man leaned forward to glance at the screen. “Ah. That’s her now. They’ll be arriving today, so be on the lookout for them, eh?”

Rafe stood up, smoothing out his pants. “Yeah, well, if there’s gonna be a child on the premises, I’m getting a cup of coffee right now.”

“Probably a good idea,” Ward conceded lowly, waving his son out of his office. “Mrs. Kerrington, good morning, it’s so great to hear from you…”

Rafe stepped out and went to the floor’s coffee station, noting an unfamiliar young woman getting herself a cup from the stack of thick cardboard. The company rarely hired people under the age of 25, so he was pleasantly surprised to see someone his own age.

“Morning,” he greeted to get her to turn around, and fuck, she was cute. “I don’t recognize you. New here?”

“You could say that,” the girl cocked her head a little. “Do you know every person who works here?”

He smiled. “Oh, I do a lot of paperwork on all levels. Surely I would’ve remembered you.”

She returned his grin. “You’re sweet. I’m Y/N.”

“My name’s Rafe. Your morning been good so far?”

“So far,” she repeated him in response, returning to her empty cup. “How about yourself?”

“Fine. Just dreading later,” he sighed, reaching behind the supplies in the cabinet to find the mug he’d hidden back there.

She made a little humming noise. “Why? What’s later?”

“Ah, nothing, I just have to babysit some CEO’s daughter for a few weeks. I hope to God I’ll be able to get any work done with a kid running around here, but I’ve got a little sister. I think I’ll be fine.”

The girl nodded, a little slowly to be seen as normal, but she was cute enough that he brushed it off. His eyes trailed down to where she was about to pour the coffee into her cup and he reached out to hold her wrist and stop her actions. “Wait, whoa!”

She gasped, jumping back. “Hey, watch it!” she shook her head, pouring her cup while still a few feet away from him. “It’s hot coffee, dude. What’s your deal?”

“If you pour the powder creamer first, it dissolves when you pour the coffee in,” he explained, shaking his head. “Too late now. You shoulda listened to me.”

“Well, it really doesn’t matter when y’all have thousands of these,” she reached for a coffee stirrer. “You micromanage a lot of shit around here, or am I special?”

He scoffed. “I practically run this place, sweetheart. You should be thanking me for bestowing my wisdom on you. Now, don’t you have something, I dunno, administrative to do?”

“Administrative?” the girl parroted, setting down the stirrer. Her tone was amused, but her eyebrows were still in her hairline. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to talk to women like that?”

“My step-mother,” he corrected, “is a useless witch. So, no.”

Her mouth fell open. “I guess this company is run by an absolute pig.”

He clenched his jaw. Who is this girl, and how dare she speak to him like that? “You better watch how you talk to me before I–”

“Rafe!” Ward called, interrupting his son’s threat and joining the two young adults at the coffee bar. “I see you’ve already met your partner for the next few weeks. How are you, Miss Kerrington?” he turned to warmly address her, reaching out to take her hand politely and shake it. He either didn’t notice the horrific tension between them or was desperately trying to cut it.

The girl smiled. “I’m doing just fine, Mr. Cameron.”

“Please, call me Ward,” he insisted, stepping aside to grab a cardboard cup.

Rafe finally found his voice. “So, Josephine Kerrington…” he started, anxiously looking between her and his father.

“Is my mother,” Y/N finished, tilting her head smugly. “Rafe, was it? Why don’t you show me to your office?”

***

He tried to keep his back straight as he showed her where he worked, and she looked around nosily the second she was inside. While she snooped around his belongings and photos, he took another look at her.

She was wearing a lavender floral dress that was just too short to be considered professional, though those rules clearly didn’t apply to her. When she spun back around to look at him, he had to snap his gaze back up quickly to not reveal he’d been staring at her ass.

“So, Y/N,” he started sheepishly. She set her coffee on the table and he ran over to put a coaster under it. “I think we got off on the wrong foot—“

“Water under the bridge,” she interrupted. “Could you Airdrop the Wifi?”

Rafe stared at her face, expecting her to burst out laughing at him. “I understand all of those words, separately.”

She sighed. “You have wireless internet here, no?”

“We do.”

“And I assume it’s password protected?”

“That’d be a correct assumption.”

“And I also bet it’s harder to type than ‘cameronwifi’?”

He scrunched his face. “It’s some combination of letters and numbers, so yeah.”

She pressed her lips together. “Figured. Open up contacts on your phone.”

Rafe obeyed, though he didn’t know why. Curiosity, maybe? She put in her number then guided him to the Wifi tab and held her phone up. The password to the internet auto-filled on her device and she was already skipping away to use it.

“What? I don’t get a ‘thank you’?” he snorted, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“Why? You didn’t even do anything!” She flopped on the couch. “Feel free to text me, now that you’ve got my number.”

He scoffed. “Are you hitting on me?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Yeah right, nerd. If I did hit on you, I’d probably comment on your Marlon Brando slicked hair. Heavy gel, in this decade, it’s a sexy and modern choice.”

There was no holding back now. “You’re a brat.”

“Get used to it.”

“Why should I? It’s not like you do anything.”

“You say that like I’m not important.”

“Of course you’re not important here. You—You don’t even have a title!”

“Ah, that’s just not true,” she corrected. “I’m a CTA. Chief Tactics Associate.”

Rafe rubbed at his forehead. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means what I say, goes.”

He snickered. “Is that so?”

“Glad you find it funny. Why do you think I’m even here? My opinion means a lot to my mother, and if I run to her and tell her I don’t like how things are run at your company, she’ll pick up her business and run to the next development firm that’s eagerly waiting to spring properties up on the island.”

Rafe’s stomach turned. With how important this deal was to Ward, she really had the upper hand on him. “Fine. Just stay out of my way while I work, and we should get along alright.”

A smile curled up on her face. “I’ll try my best, sir.”

***

She did not.

When confronted by his son, Ward was not sympathetic. He eventually gave a half-hearted apology but not before bursting out laughing in Rafe’s face. His only defense was something like, “Josephine’s exact words were ‘young daughter’. How was I supposed to know she’s able to vote?”

“I sure love finding you in my office all the time,” Rafe announced sardonically to the girl lying on his comfy leather couch watching loud Tik Toks.

He knew why she hovered, of course. Even if his father hadn’t twisted his arm into watching her, he was one of the few people in the building within ten years of her age. It made sense that she’d linger around him, even if she was a nuisance most of the time.

She didn’t look up from her phone. “It has the best view. Big windows.” She reached into her shirt, dipped into her bra and pulled out what looked like a USB until she brought it to her mouth and sucked.

Rafe reached down to snatch it from her hand and stuck it in his lapel pocket. “Not in my office.”

She waved her hand around annoyedly, letting the tiny wisps of smoke escape from her lips. “Vibe killer. I’ve got another one at home.”

“I’m sure you do,” he muttered, sniffing the air. “Wait. Is this mint? They don’t make JUUL pods in that flavor anymore.”

“I get ‘em from Europe,” she explained impatiently.

He huffed. “How stupid of me,” he noted before stalking over to his computer. He looked around his desk and noticed things were not as he left them. “Goddamnit, quit messing around with my stuff! I’ve told you before, I care ab–” he stopped himself, and the pause actually garnered her attention.

Rafe picked up a stack of documents and inspected them carefully. “Wait. These are the quarterly verification logs?”

“I know what they are. Title at the top and everything.”

“Y/N, I’ve been trying to get these back from credentialing for months. I email them twice a day, they don’t even blink at me. Is this what you did during my meeting?”

“Yeah. I saw you typing one up earlier, so I paid their department a little visit when I was bored. Can I have my JUUL back as a prize?”

Rafe laughed. “I thought you had another one at home.”

“You called my bluff.”

He rolled his eyes, but still reached into his jacket and tossed her the stick. She caught it and took another rip, looking behind him and shaking her head wistfully. “Just imagine what else you could get done if you had a pair of tits to weaponize with every half-witted employee you have crawling around here.”

Hmm. Maybe he didn’t have to imagine.

***

His least favorite part of what he did was dealing with the shareholders, by far.

He gets it. A critical part of the job was kissing rich ass despite them knowing the least about what’s best for the company, because money makes the world go round. But the meetings he was forced to sit in on were like pulling teeth, and every minute he sat in those rooms was a performance. He nodded along, looked over papers and presentations, pretended not to notice the older men had no idea where they were, and shook hands until they slapped their thighs and announced it was time to head out.

Today, the meeting ran over, because none of those antiquated bastards have any concept of time. His skin itched, watching the clock tick minute after minute when he should already be getting back to work. When they finally noticed, Rafe pretended to receive a critical phone call to escape without dealing with their falsely pleasant goodbyes.

Rafe rested his forehead on his office door before going inside. For a moment, he forgot everything that was going on in his life, and prepared himself to enjoy the rest of the day in peace and quiet.

Except, he couldn’t, because Y/N was sitting in his chair, feet kicked up on his desk, with one of his lollipops in her mouth. He deflated, walking over to see what she was doing. Rafe groaned when his eyes landed on a coloring book and some crayons in her lap, and was especially peeved that she was too focused on Aurora’s hair to look up at him.

“What are you, five?” he sneered, picking up a completed Ursula and Ariel sheet off his desktop. “That’s you,” he said, pointing to the villainous witch.

Y/N’s eyes flicked up annoyedly and she took the sucker out, letting it clack on her teeth. “Yeah, and you’re so mature.” Without breaking eye contact, she placed the glistening lollipop right on his desk.

“Damnit, you–,” he sputtered, picking up the candy and remorsefully throwing it away. He swiped at the wet spot that remained and brought his fingers to his lips without thinking. It looked like the wood was too dark to show a stain anyways. “You win. Just, please get up.”

She waved around to the many empty chairs in his office. “Sit somewhere else.”

“It’s my office,” he scoffed. “Get up. Or you can sit in my lap, if you want,” Rafe added with a smirk.

Y/N grimaced. “Do I need to go to HR?”

“Best of luck with that, doll. The Lead HR lady is my godmother.”

She paused her coloring to look up at him. “Tell me, is there anyone in this building you don’t have a familial relation to?”

“Our CTA.”

“You’re funny.”

“I know. That’s why I thought you’d jump on the offer to sit on my lap.” She ignored him again, returning to coloring the pink dress. Rafe glanced at the stack of manila envelopes on his desk and an idea popped into his head. “Say, has my father shown you the mail room here?”

She lifted an eyebrow–he almost laughed at how easy she was to entertain. “Mail room?”

He nodded. “Yeah, real shiny place. There’s tubes all over the building that we shoot letters into that all lead to the mail room downstairs. It’s a really cool set-up, and I think you’d like it.” He looked at his desk again, feigning surprise. “Oh, hey! And these need to be sent out anyways. They don’t fit in the chutes, so you have an excuse to snoop around there.” He picked up the stack and held them out to her, fully expecting her to snort and tell him to shove them up his ass. It’s what his sister would do.

But to his complete surprise, she nodded wordlessly and set her colors down. She took the envelopes and skipped out of the office on a mission.

Shit. Maybe he could make this work.

***

Two hours later, Rafe burst out of his own office, crashing right into his father.

“Hey, I was just coming to check on you,” he greeted before noticing Rafe’s sour expression. “Whoa, what’s wrong?” Ward asked, holding out a hand to his son’s chest to slow him down.

“Oh, nothing. Just that Y/N painted her nails in my room earlier,” he huffed. Likely because she wanted to cover up the scent of her dab pen, he really wanted to add on. “I made her count reams of paper to make her leave, but the room still smells like chemicals. Getting a migraine.”

“Did you open a window?”

“No, Dad, and I also didn’t try spraying Febreze, so don’t ask,” he snapped.

Ward pressed his lips together, eyebrows lifting softly. “Come sit in my office for a little?” he offered.

Rafe nodded, pressing the up button himself. His phone in his pocket chirped to indicate a text message, but he didn’t move. The phone buzzed over and over, beeping so many times that they were cutting themselves off.

Ward blinked. “Gonna check that?”

“Nope. I know it’s just Y/N.”

“Why is she sending you so many texts?”

“I made the mistake of giving her my number in case she needed anything. Now, she sends me fifty iMessage games if I’m not paying attention to her.” The elevator doors opened again to the top floor. “Dad, you don’t realize. She’s the most annoying pest I’ve ever had to deal with.”

“Worse than your sister?”

Rafe hesitated. “She gives her a run for her money.”

***

Y/N bounded up to Rafe the following day, looking from the phone nestled in the crook of his neck to where the cord led back to the desk. She brought a freshly pink-tipped finger to the hook switch and pressed it, ending his call.

“I got the signatures from the guys in accounting,” she announced, pulling the papers out to show him. “Have you actually seen them? They are literally the palest people I’ve ever met.”

Rafe sputtered with anger, slamming the phone back in the cradle. “You didn’t have to do that! I was on hold with a stupid robot.”

“I wanted your undivided attention,” she shrugged.

He massaged at his temples. “Whatever. Thank you for the signatures, I suppose. Say, are you having any trouble with the Wifi?”

To his dismay, her face brightened. “Oh, right! I wanted to ask IT if you can change the password for only the router in your office, and the answer is yes,” she giddily explained, pointing to the white box pinned to the ceiling above her.

“Um, okay. What’s the new password?”

“It’s ‘misskerringtonlovesanal420’, no caps, no spaces.”

He sighed. “Are you serious?”

“Well, I’ve never actually tried doing it. But I wanted to see if I could make the IT guy squirm and he totally–”

“I meant, is it seriously the password?” he stopped her, tired of being reminded that every touch-starved man on the premises was at the sheer whim of this girl.

“See for yourself.”

Click click click. “Ugh, really?”

“Tell me you wouldn’t do this shit if you had the freedom to.”

He didn’t respond to that. It seemed he’d have to try a little harder to keep the girl busy and out of trouble. Rafe slipped a hand into his lapel pocket and pulled out a folded $20, extending it out for her. “If I give you this, will you go to the cafeteria downstairs and get us both turkey sandwiches?”

She took the money and slipped it in her bra, already on her way out. “Yes, but we’re getting rotisserie chicken. They’re so much better.”

“Wait, I want turkey!” he called after her.

“Too bad!”

***

Rafe woke up late.

He’d spent the last week working double time to make sure Y/N stayed out of trouble and his normal tasks were fulfilled. It was no wonder that at some point he’d break and the back-up Pinball alarm would fail him. Why the fuck this had to happen the morning of his O’Brien meeting, he’ll never know.

He ran into his building in such a hurry he felt the soles of his shoes wearing down. He didn’t stop for the doorman, the HR intern, and sure as shit not for his father, who all tried to strike up a conversation.

“Dad, please, I can’t talk right now,” Rafe huffed out to the last one, clicking the elevator button over and over. “I’m super late to a meeting with–”

“This is slightly more important,” Ward insisted. “There was a cyber attack. IT is taking care of it, but something got in through our Wifi, and our emails have been a mess all d–”

“Wait,” Rafe interrupted, ignoring the car arriving at the ground floor. “You said the Wifi?”

“Well, yeah. They said there was a leak at our security company, and any routers with passwords that haven’t been reset in the last month were affected. They’re routinely reset four times a year, so we just got unlucky.”

Rafe was so stunned he had to be pulled onto the elevator by his father. “Is everything alright?”

He tossed around what to do here. If he admitted Y/N dicking around had accidentally protected his router, he’d run the risk of exposing not only how he’d been getting her to do his work but also how he really hadn’t been monitoring her too strictly. Hell, she could’ve done the opposite and totally fucked over their security if she wasn’t careful.

“Yes, actually, I was having trouble and changed my own router last week,” he lied, words fumbling out in a jittery string. “Guess I just got lucky. God, how is this elevator so slow?”

Ward raised his eyebrow at his bouncy son. “Is everything alright?”

“O’Brien meeting in negative two minutes,” he shouted, looking at his watch and slipping through the crack between the barely-open doors. “Damn Irish.”

“It’s funny because we’re actually Scottish!” his father called after him, but Rafe really didn’t care.

He threw open the doors to his own office and waved off a dazed Y/N to run behind his desk. “Hey, Bossman,” she greeted him, clearly oblivious to the rush he was in. “I had a great idea for us to do.”

Rafe dug through his desk drawers, sorting through Sharpies and Post-Its looking for the USB drive holding the O’Brien floor plans. “Lemme get back to you on that.”

“Are you sure? It’ll only take a minute.”

“Y/N, I can’t right now. I’ve got a meeting that I’m already late for, and it’s really important that I–”

“Oh, that? I moved it.”

He halted in his tracks, blood colder than ice. “You moved my meeting with the O’Briens?!” he asked, wiping sweat off his forehead.

“Yeah,” she answered bubbly. “I wanted to get a chocolate croissant at that bakery down the street but they close early in the day, so I called and asked those guys if they’d be okay with the same time tomorrow. All I had to do was say it conflicted with Kerrington business, and they were cool with it. Ready to go?”

Rafe was… fucking flabbergasted. Not only did she take it upon herself to move a career-altering meeting without his permission over a fucking baked good, but she’d used her name to persuade the O’Briens into compliance. He thought back to the wifi– she’d just unintentionally saved his ass, twice, in the same fucking day.

“Why are you looking at me like that? I looked at your calendar first. You’re not busy.”

He couldn’t help himself. Rafe lunged forward, taking her face into his hands and planting a big kiss on her lips. She made a surprised squeak before relaxing into his touch and returning the favor.

When he pulled away, her eyes were still shut for two seconds too long. “Yeah, I could go for a Kouign-amann. After you,” he said, waving his hand out to the door.

***

Rafe had just finished the yellow cross on his Rubik’s cube when his father knocked on the door of his office. He waved him in with two fingers but went right back to diligently solving his puzzle.

“Where is Y/N?” Ward asked, taking a seat in front of his son’s desk.

“Out to lunch with her mother.”

“And you didn’t go with her?” he teased.

This got Rafe to look up from the cube, but he still shot his father an exasperated glare. Not only did that sound like a nightmare and a half, he was a little uneasy about being around her.

He’d acted a little rash yesterday when he was pumped full of adrenaline and stress, he’ll admit it– though, if he had made her uncomfortable with the kiss, she didn’t act like it. She went right back to the hellion force of nature she was before (like forcing him to play 20 Questions with her, and when the person was revealed to be Ghandi, going on a long rant about his problematic behavior as if she hadn’t chosen the man herself). Kinda why he was enjoying the rare peace and quiet he just lost.

“Why’d you stop by?” A much more pleasant way of saying why oh why are you in my office and what’s the quickest way I can get you out.

“At some point I want you to complete the follow-up for the Carroll’s. I know they’re a-holes, so feel free to not put this high on your priority list. I could care less if it gets done by the end of the week, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh, so you haven’t been honest before?” Rafe snapped, getting too frustrated and slamming the Rubik’s cube back down on the desk. “And you mean you couldn’t care less,” he tacked on.

Ward pursed his lips together and tried to hold back a snort. “Okay, let’s make a deal. I won’t use either of those phrases anymore, and you quit taking out your annoyance with Y/N on me.”

“Not really fair, since her antagonism in my life is very much your fault.”

“C’mon, you’ve been doing a great job so far! Is she that hard to get along with?” Ward sighed. “She’s a cute girl who could charm birds out of trees and y’know, she reminds me a lot of you.”

Rafe winced. “That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Oh, hush. You’re both hardworking, loyal, and heirs, obviously.”

“How is she hardworking? All she does is traipse around the office and make messes for me to clean up.”

“Really? Because, from what I’ve heard around the office, you’ve turned her into your little administrative assistant. Are you sure that’s what Mrs. Kerrington wants?”

“I don’t know what Mrs. Kerrington wants!” he groaned, rubbing at his forehead. “If you didn’t notice, she kind of dropped a teenager off at my doorstep and made me figure out how to balance watching her and work.”

“She’s an adult,” Ward muttered, sinking down in the chair.

“Those are not mutually exclusive,” Rafe snapped back, then shook his head. He leaned forward and started working on the Rubik’s cube again. “Whatever. I’m over it. Not really, but I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” His eyes darted up to the clock on his wall. “You’ve got a Zoom call with the West Coast in ten minutes, anyways.”

Ward checked his watch and jumped up when he realized his son was correct.

***

“How did you even manage to get into my computer?!” Rafe shouted, slamming his hands on his desk and standing up.

“Your password was literally your last name and birth year, doll,” she explained, far too casual for someone who hadn’t just turned his entire desktop set-up to various shades of pink and purple. He didn’t fail to notice how she was picking up on his mannerisms these last few weeks. “And the password hint was ‘name and year’. Have you ever taken a computer safety class in your life?”

“Stop talking to me like I deserve to have you snooping around my stuff! Change it back!”

“Absolutely not. How could you work with it before? It was so dull and… default settings.”

Rafe scrubbed his face with his hands, realizing it didn't relax him at all. “I am genuinely so tired of your presence,” he admitted, waving a hand and trying not to clench it in a fist when she giggled at him. “I’m serious! You constantly get in the way. I don’t even know why I put up with you.”

“Because my say is the last stop in this agreement, and you’re in charge of keeping me happy.”

He grimaced at the reminder. “Right. You’re the gleaming epitome of nepotism. I get it.”

She all but gasped. “Are you joking? And just what does that make you?”

“Hey, I actually work here. I’ve put in effort to get where I am.”

She barked out a laugh. “Yeah. And I’m sure daddy had nothing to do with it.”

“I’m on the Board of Directors here!”

“Which your father also assembled!” she shouted, then shook her head with a smile. “Actually, y’know what? I get it now. You hate me because I’m you.”

He spat at the assumption. “We are completely different.”

“No, we’re not. We’re both spoiled nepotism babies who overvalue our importance. I just don’t give enough of a fuck to lie about it. Tell me, do you hate seeing yourself when you look at me? Is that it?”

Rafe exhaled heavily through his nose, trying to refrain from storming out and knocking over a vase on his way out. “Is there any particular reason you’re always such a pain to me and an angel around everyone else?”

Y/N raised herself up on her tiptoes to (unsuccessfully) get closer to his height. “Because I like making mean guys suffer. And because you’re so cute when you’re mad.”

“And you’re just cute enough to get my shit done for me.”

Yeah, that was fucking dumb to say. Her jaw dropped the moment the words regretfully tumbled off his tongue and not even slapping his hand over his mouth could save him.

“Wait, that’s what you’ve been doing? You were using me to get your fucking work done?”

“Y/N, no, I–”

“And just when I thought we were kind of getting along for a minute. Do you think I’m just a tool for you to use?”

Kind of. His mouth hung open dumbly for too many moments, because she scoffed in disgust and pushed past him.

He called at her and tried to grab her arm, but she yanked away again. “If you follow me, I’m telling my mom what a chauvinistic louse you are.”

Rafe waited for the mischievous grin to creep on her face, but it didn’t. She was cold. He’d fucked up.

In immaculate timing, a new secretary hire knocked on the barely open door of his office. “Mr. Cameron? Miss Kerrington? The board meeting starts in four minutes,” the intern informed the two, just poking his head in enough to get the words out before disappearing.

She huffed one more time, spinning around and marching out of the room. He was conflicted, since he was mandated to be at the meeting but was terrified of pissing her off. He chased her down the halls, wanting to at least be present for his own damnation.

He only caught up to her just as she joined the groups of execs, far too late for him to attempt to stop her again. He held his breath as he watched her take her seat next to her mother. His face was hot, waiting for her to spill the beans and get his ass in immense trouble.

She… didn’t, though. She just sat down, looked at her phone under the desk, and shifted in the chair to get comfortable.

“Rafe? You alright?” he heard, and he looked down to see his dad waving him towards the table. “Let’s get this started.”

***

“And to recap, these are the outsourcing companies we plan to use. Contracts are already underway…” Mr. Henthorn droned. Or… Hawthorn. Who gives a crap.

“Why isn’t Upwards Lumber on this list anymore?” Josephine asked. “I thought we agreed on them in our earlier phases.”

Ward hesitated, looking around to his team before answering. “Well, last week we were informed Upwards wasn’t able to handle projects of this size anymore.”

Josephine’s eyes narrowed. “I thought they worked with the Ambetter building downtown?”

“They did. But apparently a year and a half ago, they were heavily audited and half their workers were laid off due to failed drug screenings. Upwards is really only able to handle small commercial projects until they rebuild their crew.”

Drug screens are just elitist, targeting bullshit, Rafe thought, and Ward looked over with a stern blink as though he could read his son’s mind. Probably not the time to be making any kind of statement anyways.

Josephine stiffened. “Well. Bullet dodged, I suppose. Kerrington doesn’t tolerate drug use of any kind, at any level.”

Ward agreed with her imperative demand, but Rafe had to hide a smirk behind his fist. It was one thing for Y/N to obnoxiously hit her JUUL in his office, but if mommy saw the dab cart that sometimes stuck out of her bag, it’d be a little harder to explain.

He looked up to Y/N. Sure, she was fuming and likely going to snitch on him any minute now, but she still had a sense of humor, so he expected to share at least a moment of amused, knowing eye contact. To his surprise, though, she was completely slumped down in the chair. Her gaze was down on the table and she picked at her fingernails, hiding from everyone else in the room. Rafe’s eyebrows furrowed, and he looked over to Josephine, who was shooting her daughter a fiery glare.

The daughter who was a bratty, uncontrollable mess. The one who had pretty condemnatory dirt on Rafe and, knowing her character, was being oddly silent about it. The one who’d been dropped off for him to essentially babysit for the last few excruciating weeks.

Babysit.

The pieces assembled themselves in his brain so quickly he nearly got vertigo in the swivel chair. That’s why he’s had to fucking watch her this whole time– because she needed watching. No wonder she didn’t snitch on Rafe for whoring her out for paperwork. She was never there for him to entertain and keep happy; he just had to make sure she wasn’t sneaking off to do drugs. And really, he hadn’t done a great job at it.

He didn’t bother beating himself up, since his directions were incredibly unclear and he’d been expecting to watch a fourth grader to begin with. Regardless, the tension in the room was palpable and the respective girl’s face had already turned a burning pink.

The moment the meeting was over, Y/N did the least annoying thing she’d done since the first day she stepped into the building. She stood up, stormed out of the meeting room, and disappeared for the rest of the day.

***

Showing up to the office in the dark had a much different energy than during the daytime. The area was quite nice, so it wasn’t like she felt particularly unsafe going in, but without the doorman greeting her and pulling open the massive front door, something felt off.

Although, it was nice that no one was there to watch her vomit in the receptionist’s trash can. Helena would be pissed come Monday morning, but Y/N was currently more concerned with how much better she felt after getting that out of her system.

Muscle memory is the only thing that got her in the elevator and pushing the right button. When she reached the desired floor, a wave of his aftershave and cigarette smoke hit her nose. She floated on the scent, lost in the way it wrapped around her, until it carried her right into the office of the man she was looking for.

Of course, she didn’t barge in. Rafe didn’t notice her arrival right away so she remained in the shadows to watch him work. It was outlandish, how attractive he was—he was focused hard on some stack of papers with one hand scrubbing at his temple and the other occasionally taking the cigarette that rested between his lips and ashing it. The smoke escaped his mouth in aggravated sighs, curling around his head before disappearing into the room. He’d cracked open a window in some attempt to hide the smell, but it only breezed its way into the hall. This close, it wasn’t even nauseating, but more like a cologne.

From her spot, she could see that he’d unbuttoned some of his shirt to reveal his lean chest. It was strange, seeing some indicator that he was capable of relaxing. He’d had a stick up his ass since the day she met him, so imagining him exhausted and popping the top few buttons on his shirt was almost… endearing.

Her balance was, as expected, not up to par. She leaned a little too far one way, and before she knew it, she stumbled right into the light as well as Rafe’s eyeline. He called her name confusedly, and when her head snapped up, she caught him stubbing out the cig as he stood.

“It’s cute,” she noted, nodding at the ashtray and trying not to trip over her own feet as she got back up. “You, putting out the cigarette. Like I don’t smoke in your office when you’re not here.”

Rafe waved his hands around and tossed the window open even further. “Lighting a cigarette is more serious than hitting your stupid Brass Knuckles pen. What are you doing here so late?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I work here,” he bit back. His gaze trailed down her body, taking in her immodest party dress and heels. “I see when you go out, you wear even less than you do at work. Astonishing.”

“I can wear even less, if you’d like.”

His eyes narrowed, and he ignored her flirting. She was speaking far too quickly and clearly to be just drunk. Rafe took a step forward and inspected her eyes. Sure enough, her pupils were blown wide to accompany her pink cheeks. “You didn’t only drink, did you?”

Y/N’s lips curled up gently. “Would you be mad if I didn’t?”

“Of course not, sweetheart, but…” he straightened her clothes and made sure she was okay otherwise, “were you planning on going home like this?”

She shook her head. “I was out with my friend Mona and figured I’d crash at her place. Which I was going to do, until I noticed I was near your office and decided to pay a visit.”

He sighed. “Well, I’ve got to get you home safely.”

Her eyes flew to the back of her head. “What’re you, my dad?”

Rafe bristled. “No, but mine is in the building, and so is your ball-gripping mother. We kinda need to get you the fuck out of here.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, they’re not on this floor, though. That’s why you felt comfortable doing this.” Y/N reached into his lapel pocket and pulled out a solid red Bic lighter. She brought her thumb up and spun the dial, sparking it just a little too close to their faces.

He annoyedly snatched the lighter out of her hands. “Why did you come here?”

She bounced up on the tips of her toes and pulled at the back of his neck for a kiss. It felt good, charged, but his rational brain pushed her away immediately. She pouted.

“Y/N, stop. We absolutely cannot do that.” He wasn’t sure how to finish his sentence, but a Rolodex of options cycled through his mind. Because you’re barely 18 and I’m about to be 22. Because I’m basically your babysitter. Because our parents would kill us. Because you look like you’ve taken both cocaine and molly and it seems you’ve forgotten you were quite mad at me eight hours ago. Because the charge I would catch would be astronomical. Take your pick.

“Why not? We’ve kissed before. I thought it was a good kiss. I think about it a lot. Don’t you?” She still had a firm grip on the nape of his neck, so she toyed with the hair that brushed against her fingers.

Rafe weighed his options, quickly doing the math of when she’d probably started partying to when it should wear off and she’d crash. “Of course I do,” he admitted, honestly, because there’s a chance she’d forget half of this night anyways. “But not here. Is it alright if we go to my place?”

She smiled, letting her hand fall around his shoulder and down his chest. “You don’t still live with daddy, huh?”

He let out a soft laugh, reaching behind himself to grab his wallet and keys. “Nope. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

***

By Rafe’s estimation, she only had about five more minutes of hyperactivity before she crashes and the alcohol takes over her system. She’ll lose interest in trying to get in his pants, and want nothing more than a warm bed, which Rafe conveniently had to spare. His apartment was seven minutes away, so the timing should work out perfectly.

But that didn’t mean she was going to make it easy for him.

She was relentless. Playing with his tie in the office elevator, winking at him when he opened the car door for her, reaching to rub his thigh while he pulled out of the garage onto the streets. He couldn’t very well stop her without revealing his plans to dump her off and go right back to work, but holy fuck she was making it really hard to focus on driving.

Getting her inside his apartment was easy enough, like she was trying to remain casual in public. As soon as they were inside, all bets were off and she was back to being the horny brat she was in the car.

He got her in one of the guest rooms, and she seemed oblivious to his attempts to get her asleep. Y/N tried pawing at his clothes, but he stopped her, taking her wrists with a tight grip. “Ah-ah. Listen to me,” he ordered, and she obeyed with an impatient sulk. “I have some questions. Can you answer me, sweetheart?”

Y/N nodded impatiently, and he smiled when she held a long blink. A good sign.

Rafe guided her backwards, switching her wrists into only one of his hands. “Which of your friends does your mom like the best?”

She froze. “I– what?”

His now-free hand came up to stroke her cheek, gently moving back to card through her hair. “Just answer me, pretty girl.”

“Her name is Samantha.”

Rafe nodded, pushing once more until the back of her knees hit the bed. “Good girl. Does she live in town?”

Y/N nodded, eyes big and innocent. “Yeah, uh, she does.”

He finally led her down until she sat on the mattress, and she took the initiative to climb in herself. He carefully joined her, not lying down with her but remaining close to keep her on the line. “Have you seen her in the last month?”

“Yes… why are you aski–?”

He shushed her, having her get comfortable and continuing to pet her hair. “Don’t worry about it. I’m trying to help you.”

Fortunately, she was already shutting her eyes and wiggling down further into the bed. He placed a kiss on her forehead and brought the throw blanket from the foot of the bed to her body. It probably wasn’t comfortable to sleep in that dress, but it did not feel right to undress her in this state.

And now, it was back to the office.

***

The elevator stopped at the third floor, which confused Rafe, since most everyone on that level should be home. His back stiffened when the doors opened to reveal Josephine Kerrington. She looked exactly the same as she did during the day, not a pin out of place. It almost amazed Rafe, how kempt she looked even this late at night.

“Oh, hello, Rafe,” she greeted, a warm yet hollow smile on her lips. “You’re here quite late.”

He hummed, watching the doors shut and ignoring the air between them warming up. “As are you.”

“Well, your father is a busy man. He loses track of time so often you’d think he doesn’t know what it is. I had to use a bathroom on another floor or he’d try to pitch ideas while I pissed.”

His eyes widened, and he didn’t try hiding the chuckle. Damn, Y/N’s mom was pretty funny. “Yeah, working with Y/N has been the least intense job I’ve gotten from him since I was fifteen.”

She looked at him. “How is she doing, by the way?”

Rafe inhaled, thinking back to the last couple of weeks, and to the last hour and a half he’s had. “Y/N… is a delight. She’s fun to be around, but sometimes distracting because of her charm.” Okay, okay, dial it back. “Fortunately, she’s out of my hair for the night so I can get some work done. Said she was at a friend’s house, a… Sarah? Savannah? Samanth–?”

“Samantha?” Josephine asked, turning back with a pleasant nod. “Good to hear. She’s got some terrible influences, like that friend Mina.” Damn, can’t even get the name right, Rafe thought. “You’re a lovely young man, and I hope you’re rubbing off on her.”

He winced at the innuendo, but smiled politely. “Thank you Mrs. Kerrington.”

When the doors shut, he all but clicked his heels together in glee. “Rafe Cameron, CEO. Good ring to it.” The elevator beeped in agreement.

***

Y/N wasn’t in much after that. Josephine made semi-regular appearances, but the deal seemed to be coming to a close and there was little reason for them to be around anymore. He would rather rake hot coals over his body than admit this, but he really missed the chaotic energy she brought. Things almost felt dull without needing to chase her around the building making sure she behaved.

And, y’know, without his unpaid intern.

It was Ward’s idea to have a celebratory closing banquet in the office building, but Rafe was almost certain that it was Y/N’s idea to make it casino night-themed.

Some poor team of interns had been tasked with turning the office into a Vegas-adjacent venue and knocked their job out of the park. Employees were given chips and sent out among the poker, craps, and roulette tables stationed with stiff-standing dealers clad in maroon bow ties. Cocktail waitresses went around taking drink orders and accepting chips as a tip (playing along pointlessly, as the chips were clearly from a children’s game).

He heard her before he saw her– a fake laugh laced with discomfort only he could detect in her voice. His head whipped over to see Y/N, clad in a ridiculously fitted red dress, clutching her clear plastic cup tight enough to force the color out of her knuckles while she spoke with her mother and others.

He grabbed his drink and abandoned the Texas Hold ‘Em table to pull her into the shadows. Josephine was so wrapped in her conversation he didn’t even need to request he borrow her daughter– no wonder she was so out of control.

If she didn’t want to be alone with him, she didn’t make a point of it. She was quiet in the elevator as he observed her and sipped his drink, leaning against the railing in the car, nervously bouncing her toe in her heel. When they arrived at the floor, she skipped out in front of him and beat him to the unlocked door.

Rafe drained the rest of his vodka soda and tossed the cup into his trash, pushing his hands into his coat pockets. “You lied to me,” he started, and she lifted her shoulders. “About why you were here.”

She didn’t waste a moment denying this. “And? You would, too.”

“No, I would not!”

“Really?” she raised an eyebrow. “If you were in my shoes, you’d run right to your caregiver and tell him how your mother won’t allow you to be alone for literally five minutes? That she’d requested a watchful eye on you? Or would you find a way to get them to tolerate your every whim without pushback? Frankly, the idea kinda handed itself to me when you were a misogynistic dick to me the first time we met. That was just dumb luck.”

“Dumb luck, huh?” he asked, stepping towards her. “What would you call having a coked-out teenager stumble into your office and beg you to fuck her? Is that just luck?”

She didn’t respond. He could see in her eyes she was trying not to look away, to show any apprehension, but he’d spent just too much time around her to not notice.

“Had anything to drink tonight?” he asked, taking one more step towards her until they were less than a foot apart.

Her attitude was back in a flash. “With my mom around? Yeah, a Coke Zero.”

He smiled even though he’d just been snapped at. “Good. You don’t need to be using that kind of stuff anyways.”

“Okay, Father Holy,” she rolled her eyes, and he had just about had enough of her shit.

Rafe grabbed her shoulders and pinned her between his body and the wall forcing a gasp from her. “I try to help you, over and over,” he sighed, almost disheartened. “And you’re still a little brat.”

His hands were all over her and she whined, arching into his touch and trying to get a feel of her own. He held her wrists tight and shook his head. “Yeah, right. Try behaving for once in your life and maybe you can touch me.”

Her hands fell down to her sides without fighting, and he ran his hands along her nearly-bare chest. His fingertips slipped under the straps and hem of the fabric as he savored the feeling of her skin under his palms, and he watched as goosebumps erupted over her collarbones. “You want this?” he checked, another chance for her to back out before he began to ruin her.

She nodded fervently, but when he just raised an eyebrow, pleading affirmations spilled out of her lips like a stream.

With the green light, Rafe tugged down the top part of her dress until her breasts were exposed in the cool office air. He played with her tits, switching between sucking on one nipple and using his fingers to toy with the other.

This wasn’t enough for either of them, so his attention and desperate hands went downwards. He got sick of trying to pull down the panties without undressing her fully, and ripped them right off her legs. He stuffed the torn fabric into his coat pocket and she gaped. “You owe me a new pair,” she breathed, moving her legs apart for him anyways.

“If only I could afford it,” he muttered, bringing his fingers to her now-exposed clit. “Do you know why I put up with your shit?”

“‘Cause I’m cute?” she smiled, but it quickly dissolved when his movements sped up.

“Oh, yeah. But also, I got a little promotion this morning,” Rafe said, leaving a fat wet kiss anywhere his lips could reach on the exposed skin of her collarbone. “You inadvertently made me CEO. Everything in this building is mine.”

Rafe used his legs to push hers even further apart, open her up for him even more.

“And in this moment,” he smacked her clit, and she cried out. “That includes you.”

He expected a snarky comment at this point, but he seemed to subdue her enough to continue rambling.

“I’ve dreamed of how I’d handle your ass for weeks,” Rafe admitted. “I think the only solution is to keep you under my desk with my cock down your throat. Put that smart mouth to some good for once, mm?”

She whined, pushing back against him for more friction.

“Fuck, you like that?” he asked incredulously. “It’s one thing for you to let me tame you, but you’re taking enjoyment in this? Kinda makin’ it hard for me. Never would’ve guessed you like being used like a doll so badly.”

“You’re mean,” she pouted, actually pouted at him and he grinned wolfishly.

Rafe shook his head. “No, baby, being mean would be binding your hands together with my tie and forcing you to cum until you cry.” She had no counter to that.

The fingers on his other hand pushed into her mouth, past her teeth, and she involuntarily sucked. “Good girl,” he cooed, not letting up on the strokes to her clit. “That mouth has done nothing but cause me trouble the last few weeks. Show me what good it can do, hmm?”

She nodded softly, obediently, and flicked her tongue over the digits, allowing him to pet at the inside of her cheek. She whimpered when he dipped his other fingers into her cunt, bringing them right back to her clit to keep her on the edge.

He thrusted against her thigh and gave her another little slap right where she was most sensitive. Rafe toyed with her swollen, glistening clit until she was breathing heavily and her legs were losing their stability. Had he not pinned her body tight against the wall, she’d collapse into a shaky pile of pleasure. He noticed her eyes rolling back into her head and pulled his fingers away, watching her gasp and whine at the loss of contact.

“What?”

“Need more,” she sniffled.

Rafe shook his head, almost chastising. “I know what you need.”

He was going to return to what he was doing, he wasn’t that mean. But he must’ve had her closer to orgasm than he’d anticipated because she got shameless.

“Please, please, Rafe, oh my God,” she whined, squirming under him. Her hips bucked up to try and get traction against his hands but he pulled away just in time. “Touch me again, please, I’ll do anything. I need it, please.”

His eyebrows had never been higher. He pushed his tongue along his bottom teeth amusedly. “Sweetheart, I didn’t even have to ask you to beg,” he pointed out, voice light and adoring. “But since you did anyways, I’ll help my girl out.”

She preened again, this time allowed to make contact with him. He placed a hand on her hip and pulled his cock out, already flushed and leaking and really fucking hard. Rafe dragged the precum on the tip along the entire head before bringing it to her cunt, dragging them together slowly. She cried out again at the new contact.

“Doesn’t this feel good, pretty girl?” he asked, angling just right to apply pressure on her clit. Judging by the full-body shudder he got out of her, the answer was yes.

“I want– oh fuck– more, please,” she said. He laughed a little. She knows what she likes.

“Tell me exactly what you want me to do, baby.”

“I want your cock inside me,” she begged, blinking up at him with long, fluttering lashes. “Wanna feel you stretch me open. Don’t you wanna use my cunt however you like? That’s all I want.”

Good fuck, who could resist that? He buried himself to the hilt, sending his brain to a skittering halt and hers into a frenzy. She grabbed at his back, whimpering with every inch, every drag that he stretched her open. He didn’t even register that he was getting scratched by the same nails she’d obnoxiously painted in his office just a couple weeks ago.

“Oh, wow,” he finally groaned, withdrawing and thrusting back in, letting his brain adjust to the feeling of holyfuckI’minsideherwereallyshouldn’tdothis. “I could fuck you forever. You sure you don’t want an administrative job around here?”

Her fingers made their way back up to his shoulder, head thumping against the wall. “Bite me.”

“If you insist.” He leaned in and gently sunk his teeth into the soft flesh of her neck, kissing the skin right after. He led all the way up to her ear until she was shivering and his strokes didn’t miss a beat.

Y/N’s cunt clenched around him, and he saw white. “Goddamn, sweetheart, if we’d been doing this sooner, I would’ve let you do whatever the hell you want,” Rafe groaned, moving her hair out of her face.

She can’t let anything nice stay nice, though. “Slut,” she teased, smirk disappearing with a deep stroke.

His eyes narrowed. “I’m the slut?” he asked, pulling out and forcing a whine from her.

He moved her over to his desk, shoving her over the edge and pinning her there. Rafe pushed her head against the solid wood by the nape of her neck. “I’ve wanted to bend you over like this since I laid eyes on you,” he muttered, removing his hand and sliding it down her back.

She turned back, batting her lashes at him as he lined up his ruddy tip at her core. “Mm, you should’ve. So forbidden, would’ve been so hot.”

Rafe didn’t answer, just pushed his cock into her and a soft cry escaped from her lips. She tried to bite down on them but he laughed and sank all the way in until his hips were flush with hers. “We’re over three floors away from the rest of the office. Be as loud as you want, princess.”

And she did. Honestly, it wasn’t the best advice, because hearing her cries and whimpers for his cock further in her was only making him lose his rhythm and chance of lasting more than five minutes. He felt her reach down and play with her clit, and normally he’d reprimand her for doing this without permission, but it seemed like torture with how close she already was.

Feeling her cum around his cock was un-fucking-real. He finished shortly after, pulling out to paint her inner thigh with his own spend. He amusedly watched it drip down her skin, down the legs she could barely even stand on.

“Job’s still on the table, baby,” he reminded her, tucking himself back into his trousers. “Anything to keep you here and doing that more. Blackjack next?”

#rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe x reader #outer banks #obx #obx4 #obx netflix #outer banks fic #outer banks smut #outer banks netflix #posts at 9 am like a totally normal person lmfao

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days ago

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The Exchange

Warnings: allusions to parental abuse, non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Summary: Your father surprises you for Christmas.

Character: Cole Turner

Day Twenty-Three of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - let me dust the snow off your coat/hat/shoulder

Note: 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.

“What the fuck are you doin’?” Your father’s snarl sends the turkey slipping back into the sink. You spin to face him, holding up your cold hands.

“Daddy, just doin’ up the turkey,” you blink. “It’s thawed now--”

“I don’t care about the fuckin’ turkey,” he retorts. “Should be gettin’ yourself ready.”

You frown and look down at yourself. You wear one of his old shirts, the Ford tee with the hole near the hem and a loose cardigan Shelby from down the way gave you, over loose sweats that were once also his. Nothing you have it really your own, it’s only his scraps, what he doesn’t need anymore.

“Ready for what?”

“You questioning me, girl?” He growls.

You gulp and shake your head. You lower your hand, keeping them away from your clothes as you’re all too aware of the raw poultry all over them. You stare at him.

“Yes, sir, I'll get ready,” you step forward hesitantly, uncertain as you watch him.

He huffs through his nose and curls his lip, “presents on your bed. Figure it out.”

You nod as you come close to him, wary of a lunge as you thank him under your breath. He only shoulders past you and goes to the counter. You’re confused.

Your father doesn’t get you gifts. He doesn’t get anyone gifts. You spent weeks thrifting what you could to give to your aunt and uncles when they got here, altering it all to make it presentable, but he only ever reads his sci-fi books and makes demands.

You go to the bathroom to wash your hands. You look at yourself in the mirror. Anxiety tenses in your cheeks. Every day roils with the same uneasiness. Every day for more than two decades. You should want to get away but complacence is easier. He hates you but for whatever reason he won’t let you go.

You go to your room. There’s a bag on your bed. You don’t know why you expected something wrapped or a bow. Still, your surprised by the contents of the paper bag.

A pink dress with long bloused sleeves and a short skirt. You lift it out and stare in disbelief. You lay it on the bed and take out the shoes with it; little white booties with fur. At the bottom, there’s a box with shiny colours streaked across it; makeup?

Your father’s footsteps have you facing the door and he appears in his stained flannel, slurping his instant coffee. “Well?”

“Thank you, daddy, it’s really nice--”

“Get a move on,” he snaps his fingers at you.

“Oh, uh, yes, sir,” you shrink down and turn to gather up the things.

“Make sure you wash all of ya,” he sneers. “You smell like a dead bird.”

You swallow down your embarrassment. It feels like a trick. Why would he get you such nice things but still be so mean? Where did he get the money? His Christmas bonus always goes to whatever car he’s clanking around on in the garage.

You go to your dresser and fish out a bra and some clean underwear. Everything you have are handmedown. They are all forgotten, like you. It feels so strange to have anything brand new.

You take it all to the bathroom and start the shower. You stick to the golden rule; no more than three minutes to get washed up. Don’t waste the damn water, your father’s voice haunts you.

You dry off and dress. The dress is nice but a bit snug. It’s too short, isn’t it? You tug at it until you can breathe.

You once more face your reflection. You are lost. You do your best to tame your hair then put on the dollar store cream.

You open the box of cosmetics. You read each label and search for any instructions. There’s nothing.

You uncap the liner and examine the tip. You pull your eyelid taut and meticulous draw a thin line over the edge. You let it go. It looks okay. Not tacky or anything. You do the other and do your best to even them out.

Next the mascara. You fear scraping your eyes but coat your lashes without incident. It looks better now. You blink as you take in the effect. The blush... you’re not very sure. You blend a bit into your cheeks but don’t think it makes much difference.

Finally, you gloss your lips with the stick of pink. You like the colour but the sheen feels unnatural and sticky. Your father clears his throat as he prowls outside. You sniff and pack everything up. That’s as good as it gets.

You step out as he grumbles in the kitchen door frame. You glance over and he huffs. “Put the damn shoes on. Whatcha draggin’ your ass for?”

You flit back to your room and grab the boots. You think of grabbing socks or something but you don’t have anything to go with the dress. Your legs will just be cold.

You come back out on the heels, wobbling slightly. Your father storms at you from the front door, moving quicker than you’ve seen. He shoves your coat at you. You pout as you try to unravel his intent.

“Daddy?”

“Go wait outside. He'll be here soon, won’t he?”

“He? Daddy?”

“You’re so fucking mouthy, go.”

He jams his thumb at the door and you flinch. You take the coat and pull it on. It doesn’t go with the dress or boots. What’s going on?

“Are you coming?”

“Fuck off,” he pushes you toward the door and you stumble into it.

You put your chin down as you plant your feet and pull away from the door. You put the coat on before you untwist the lock. You are lost.

He slams the door behind you before you can shut it yourself. You shiver as you step onto the porch and search the wintery country fields. There isn’t much snow, enough to dust the ground, but the air is crisp. Your legs are scalded by the early freeze.

You stare off in the distance. Your heart pumps faster as a thought startles you. Did your daddy just kick you out? Why? On Christmas?

You see the square headlights first. The pale blue truck winds down the hidden dirt road and steers towards the old homestead. You squeeze yourself as another chill sweeps over you as you watch the approach. Hooked to the back of the truck is a long trailer, the contents covered.

You recognise the silver trim of the truck. You squint at Cole through the windshield as he pulls up, the exhaust clouding the frigid air. The door shrieks as he pushes it open and you chatter as you bring your hands to your raw cheeks.

“Hey, you look frozen,” he says. “Merry Christmas.”

“M-merry Christmas, sir,” you call back. You still don’t understand.

“I’ll just unhook the load for your dad, then we can head out,” he grins as he keeps his hand on his open truck door. “Got the heat going, you wanna get in before you freeze your knees off?”

You wince and turn to peek at the windows. Huh? You shrug and come down the steps. You’re so cold, you don’t care. You just want to stop shivering.

Cole closes the driver’s door and leads you around to the passenger’s side. He pauses to dust snow off your shoulder as flakes swirl down lazily. His touch somehow makes you colder. He opens it and holds out his gloved hand to help you up. He’s always polite but you don’t see him very much. Your daddy did a few repairs on his truck and he would help with the garden in the summer. You were always inside, locked up.

You let go of him, your hand thrumming from his warmth. He gently shuts the door and continues towards the rear. The truck jostles as he unhooks the trailer. You peek in the mirror and see the thick ends of the wooden planks poking out from under the tarp. It’s a lot of wood. Expensive, probably.

None of this makes sense. Cole comes up to the driver side and gets in with a ‘brrrr’. You blow into your hands and he reaches to turn the vent up even higher. He smiles at you as you avoid looking at him.

“Ready?” He asks.

You hunch down and rub your hands together, “for what?”

He’s quiet. He peers through the windshield at the house then back at you. You shrink under his gaze.

“Did your dad... what did he tell you?”

You heart thumps. Will you get in trouble if you don’t go along with whatever this is? “He didn’t... he just told me to wait for you.”

“Ah,” he reaches once more to wipe away melted snow from your sleeve. “Well, er...” He stiffens in his seat. “I thought he’d... say something.”

You just nod. Whatever you say or do will get back to your daddy somehow. He’ll be mad if you ruin whatever this is.

“It’s a lot of wood. Your dad says he’s going to add onto the garage,” Cole speaks as he shifts gears and steers away from the trailer, circling back towards his tire tracks. “Not many folks got that kind of money and I don’t really need anything done on the truck.”

Your lashes flutter in furious thought. It feels like this should be obvious but your mind isn’t clicking.

“Did I say you look really nice?” He clears his throat. “Cold, but nice. I shoulda bought some stockings too.”

You look down at the rosy skirt and shake your head. A piece slips into place. Of course it wasn’t your daddy who bought it all.

“Oh, you—thank you, Cole,” you squeak as you smooth the short hem.

“Well, I figured you’d want to look pretty. I mean, you always do, but... it’s Christmas, right?”

He sounds nervous, just as much as you. You wring your hands and look around the white landscape. Your stomach is a storm.

“It was nice of you to bring daddy all that lumber, sir,” you say.

“Please, call me Cole,” he insists. He’s quiet for a moment as he steers, then sucks his teeth. “Or you could call me something nicer. Like... honey?”

“Honey?” You eke out. “Why-- uh... oh?”

You furrow your nose and rub between your brows. That dark feeling crawls up from your stomach as the doubt in your head trickles down to meet it. It’s not making sense but...

“You still look cold,” he reaches over to rest his hand on your knee, “you can get warm...” He tickles along your skirt then bends his arm up and stretches it out to grab your shoulder. “Come here.”

You blanch but make yourself slide over. You tremble as you do. He curls his arm over your shoulders, his other hand on the bottom of the steering wheel.

“See, isn’t this nice?”

Your eyes prick as that rotting sensation in your chest overwhelms that voice in your head. You sniffle and touch your nose. You squirm as the cold seeps away to unbearable heat. Your denial melts under the flames of dread.

“Sir-- Cole,” you twiddle your fingers. “Where are we going?”

He chuckles and slows, turning to plant a kiss on your hair, “you’re going to come meet mom and dad. They are very excited to have you for Christmas.” He squeezes you even tighter, “not as excited as I am though.”

Your chest hollows out as if you’ve been hit directly in the heart. You can’t breathe as it sets in. It’s absurd but there’s no other explanation. Did your daddy really trade you for a cartload of wood?

Well, he always did love his cars more than you. You hope it’s a nice garage, that it’s worth it. Well, it would be worth more than his useless daughter.

#cole turner #dark cole turner #dark!cole turner #what a little freak #cole turner x reader #ghosted #drabble #december daze #navy and roo's sleepover

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yuckiemouth · 24 hours ago

Note

help a girly out here and teach me how to masturbate step by step pls

TMI/OPEN THOUGHTS

Let’s see… I haven’t masturbated in a while because I be busy and my sleep schedule is actually giving me justice, but when I use to stay up, I’ll tell you what I did step by step… man I feel like a teacher 😭

1. PRIVACY

this is obvious, but some idiots get caught, so yeah if you’re able to, LOCK your door, me in a strict house hold, I don’t even have locks, but I never got caught either. So if you don’t have locks on your door or unable to even close it (cuz some parents be doing that), go to the bathroom or better yet, wait til everyone sleep.

If you’re a moaner, pillow rider, vibrator user, dildo user, turn your TV UP!!! Even if you don’t moan, big mama makes SQUELCHING noises, I’m talkin she be wet, so you don’t want no one walking past and be like “WTH?”

2. GET AROUSED.

mindlessly masturbating is such a waste, so I say really set the mood. Turn off the lights or dim them, or better yet LED lights. Optional if you wanna wear sum sexy. To get aroused properly, watch something that you’re attracted to, whether its lesbians, straight sex, BBC, roleplay, etc. whatever that ain’t my business, but if you aren’t able to (say if your parents took your device or your internet is just trash.) USE YOUR IMAGINATION. While imagining whatever you fantasize, caress your inner thighs, knead or suck your own tits, suck your fingers, slowly rub your clit through your underwear, etc.

3. HOW TO MASTURBATE 101 🤓

I ain’t no fingering ass bitch cuz I don’t feel a fuck thing so… As WOMEN, we should know where the clit is (I hope cuz if not where tf have you been?) anyway…. Depending on your anatomy, your clit has a hood (heavy skin) because it’s so fucking sensitive bro. I found out people don’t be feeling nun when they rub big mama is because y’all ain’t pulling the hood up, the mf ain’t cold, take the hood off!! BUT I MUST WARN YOU. Don’t rub yourself too hard because it could be hurtful and could possibly lose feeling on your clitoris, so if you’re rough with your fingers or overly sensitive, keep the hood over it, but if you’re not, PULL IT UP.

Now using your MIDDLE and RING fingers, it’s different strokes people use. The most commonly used one is circulating around it and rubbing side to side. But I’ll tell a little secret.

The way I get off involves 3 techniques.

First, I start off slow, controlled, and even roll my hips with it. Now after some time, I’m aroused, using my arousal as lube y’all hear me out… then i stimulate more by going faster, but soft on the touch. Once I feel like I’m ready, I press harder and go all out, then GOT YA! I’m a edger! I stop when I’m about to cum and slap it a bit to keep her stimulated. Yeah, yeah I know, I get mad TOO when I feel my high go down, but repeating it like 4 times, best nut you’ll experience.

So I circulate, go side to side, and spank her cuz why not. When I’m real horny and feeling rushed, it takes me 10 minutes, but if I have time, 30+.

4. HOW TO CLEAN UP

Now…. Me, this is from experience, I be all over the place. So I go to the bathroom, flush away that water weight, wash my hands and if you’re a squirter (which im not), girl you should already have a towel under you cuz who feel like changing sheets tbh… and NEVER masturbate with underwear, take them off before you even start.

Now people hate talking about it, but YES, masturbating has a smell and you probably won’t smell it because you’re the one doing it, but if another person walk in, they will smell a musky scent SIMPLY because your vagina is an open ORGAN closed with thighs, and you know what creates that? Heat! And you know what heat creates on your body? Sweat. And what SHOULD sweat smell like (since y’all be dirty a lil). MUSK. So to eliminate that smell around the whole room, keep your lower half under covers, use a candle, spray air freshener, keep the air on, inscents or whatever those are called. WHATEVER JUST BLOCK OUT THE SMELL.

And that’s all I got tbh….

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watarfallar · 1 day ago

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Merry Christmas eve! I bring presents

Grian: Can you PLEASE peer pressure me into doing my project? Scar: Do it or you're straight. Grian: I said peer pressure, NOT THREATEN!

Grian: Damn, the power went out. Scar: Don’t worry, I got this. Scar: shakes rapidly and starts to light up Grian: What-? Scar: I swallowed a glow stick! Grian, on the verge of tears: WHY WOULD YOU-

Scar: Don’t worry, I know exactly what I’m doing. Everything is going to be fine! Grian: How can you still say that? Scar: Because sometimes, when things get tough, denial is all we have.

Grian: When was the last time you cried? Scar: Uh 15 minutes ago, why?? Grian: really? That recent? Scar: Yeah voice crack is that a issue? starts crying again

Grian: I am so cool. I am an absolute Chad. I am the epitome of coolness and awesomeness— Scar: Hi. Grian: melts down in a flustered heap of softness

Grian: Look at me straight in the eyes and tell me the truth, Scar! Scar: You can’t expect me to look into your eyes and be straight.

Scar: I want to be with you for the rest of my life. Grian: Damn, that sounds like a marriage proposal. Scar, getting down on one knee: That's 'cause it is.

Grian: Is five a lot of followers? Scar: Depends on the context. Scar: On Instagram? No, not a lot of followers. Scar: In a dark alley? Yes, a lot of followers.

Scar, confused and exasperated: Grian, how do you plan on telling a bear to go vegan? Grian: Politely.

Scar: That's it, I'm cutting off the internet! Grian: No, please don't! I have a family to feed! Scar: Scar: What? Grian: I need to feed my Neopets!

Scar: Do you want to know your gay name? Grian: My… my gay name? Scar: Yeah, it's your first name- Grian: Haha. Very funny Scar- Scar: gets down on one knee And my last name. Grian: Oh- oh my god.

Grian: Hey guys, I’m making french toast sticks in the oven. I’m gonna take a quick nap, so wake me up in 5 minutes to flip them over. 5 minutes later Scar: Grian it’s been 5 minutes, time to flip your sticks. Grian: snnnzzzz… Scar: GRIAN YOUR STICKS!

Grian: Look, Scar, if you can fit your head down the gun’s barrel, you can assume it doesn’t have a non-lethal setting.

Scar, cowering in fear: What do you want from me?! Grian, standing in front of Scar: bites into the whole KitKat bar like a heathen Scar, crying: Please…stop…

Grian, at Scar: Of course you have blood all over you, and pronouns.

Scar: A banker? Me? Grian: Yes, Scar. Scar: But I don’t know anything about running a bank! Grian: Good. No preconceived ideas. Scar: I’ve robbed banks! Grian: Capital! Just reverse your thinking. The money should be on the inside.

Grian: Smart is attractive. Educate me on something I don't know! Scar: The mouth of a jellyfish is also an anus. Grian: Stop.

Cop: What are your names? Grian: Don't tell them, Scar. Cop, writing: Scar… Grian: Crap. Scar: Nice going, Grian. Cop: Scar: Uh oh.

Grian: Give me everything you’ve got! Scar: All your friends secretly hate you. Grian: Wait, what? Scar: I’ve got anxiety.

Scar: The saying “it is better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission” no longer applies to Grian.

Scar: COMPANY IS COMING! I WANT THIS PLACE LOOKING LIKE DISNEY ON ICE IN ONE MINUTE! Scar: GRIAN IF YOU HAVEN'T MADE YOUR BED THROW IT AWAY IT'S TOO LATE TO MAKE IT NOW! Scar: GET RID OF THE COUCHES, WE CAN'T LET PEOPLE KNOW WE S I T !

Scar is cleaning the house and they find an empty bottle of orange juice Scar: Clear orange juice? Scar: Oh, it's empty. Grian, who has been watching the entire time: I live with an idiot. I live with an idiot. I live with an idiot.

Grian: So we're gathered here today for a very special reason and I think you'll all agree with me here. Grian: And if you don't well then fuck you. Grian: I'm looking at you, Scar, you jealous mop.

Scar: Hey, wanna hear a funny joke? Grian: I only like dark humor. Scar, turning the lights off: What do you call a fake noodle? Grian: Scar: An IMPASTA!

Scar: Do you know the best way to respond to disagreement? Grian: With tears? Scar: No. Grian: tears up

#grian #gtws #incorrect quotes #Desert Duo #scarian #enjoy💜💜💜

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hjvi · 2 days ago

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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝘜𝘯𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯, 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘠𝘰𝘶

⚠︎ mdni, heavy smut, eating disorder (anorexia), overall mature subjects, and more

⤷ A gentle reminder: If my content ever feels overwhelming, please take care of yourself and step away. Anorexia is a key theme in this story, and as someone who understands its weight, this fic is deeply personal to me. I want to remind you that you're never alone in your journey.

Sending love and healing to all. 🩷

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 2: 𝙎𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩

The sound of skates carving through ice echoed in the quiet rink, but it barely registered in my mind. I was too focused on the way Chris’s hand felt in mine. The warmth of his fingers, the way they gently squeezed as if trying to anchor me to this moment, to him. I wasn’t sure if it was the silence of the rink or the chaos inside my head, but there was something in the air—something thick with unspoken words.

Chris and I stood side by side, staring out at the empty ice, both lost in the gravity of everything that had been said. He had apologized, confessed his love to me, and promised to help me heal. His words hung in the air between us, fragile and uncertain. I had told him I was willing to give us a chance, to give him a chance. But I wasn’t sure if I believed I deserved any of this.

I glanced down at our hands, our fingers still intertwined. And that’s when I saw it.

His eyes dropped to my bruised hands. The skin was discolored, darkened from the impact of fists, marks left from someone who should have loved me. The edges of his expression tightened for a fraction of a second before he quickly glanced away, like he couldn’t stand looking at them anymore. His jaw clenched briefly before he let out a shaky breath.

“Hey, uh,” Chris started, his voice tight as if he were trying to sound normal. “Do you wanna come over to my house? I have something I want to show you.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t know if I was ready for more of his kindness, for more of his attention. But I nodded slowly, almost instinctively. What else could I do? I wasn’t sure how long I could stand there, the weight of his unspoken questions pulling me under.

We left the rink, and within minutes, Matt—his only triplet brother with a license—pulled up in their old, beat-up car. The ride was silent, the kind of silence that feels louder than anything. Chris, normally so animated, so full of energy, sat beside me, his eyes flicking to me every few seconds as if he were studying my every move, trying to make sense of the distance between us.

I could feel his eyes on me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. The silence stretched on, thick and heavy, pressing down on me with every passing second.

When we finally arrived at Chris’s house, I shuffled behind him up to his room, his footsteps quick and purposeful, as if he wanted to show me something important. My heart thudded painfully in my chest as I took in the walls of his room, decorated with rap posters, old vinyl records, and the familiar scent of his cologne and something else—comfort, maybe. It was all so him, yet I felt so out of place.

“You okay?” he asked, concern in his eyes as he glanced over at me. He had been looking at me like that all day—like I was something precious that he couldn’t bear to break.

I nodded stiffly, offering him a weak smile as I dropped my eyes to the sleeves of my hoodie. They were covered in dried tears, remnants of mascara streaking down my face from the few times I had wiped away my tears, trying to keep it together. I wasn’t even sure why I cared.

Chris noticed, and without hesitation, he moved to his closet, pulling out a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. “Here,” he said, holding them out to me. “You need something clean. You can change in the bathroom, if you want.”

I accepted the clothes reluctantly, feeling an odd wave of guilt rise in my chest. I didn’t want to take anything from him. But his kindness felt almost overwhelming. And when I inhaled the scent of his hoodie, it was like an old memory wrapped around me, one that made me ache for a time I hadn’t realized I had lost. The familiarity of it made me feel both comforted and strangely distant.

“I’ll wait outside,” he said, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him gently.

I walked into the bathroom and shut the door. The room was silent except for the hum of the fluorescent light above me. The mirror reflected a version of myself I didn’t recognize. I stood there for a long time, staring at myself. I unzipped my hoodie and slipped it off, throwing it on the floor, before pulling at the waistband of my low-rise jeans, stepping out of them with shaky hands. I was all too aware of the hollow feeling in my body, the emptiness that came from not eating, not caring.

As I reached for the hoodie Chris had given me, I slid my arms into the sleeves, feeling how much too big it was. The fabric hung off me like a curtain, too large for my frame. I felt the fabric stretch and tug, the empty space inside me made all too clear.

I lifted the hoodie, my fingers grazing the sharp outline of my ribs. I swallowed hard, fighting the rising wave of panic. I could feel the hollow hollowness inside of me, the bruises left by years of self-doubt and the echoes of my father’s words.

I stared at myself in the mirror, not realizing how much time had passed. Minutes slipped by like hours.

I couldn’t take it. I yanked the hoodie off, the fabric crumpling in my hands. My skin prickled with a familiar discomfort—the kind of vulnerability that I hated, the kind of vulnerability I had never been allowed to show.

There was a knock at the door.

“Are you okay in there?” Chris’s voice was muffled but full of concern.

I wanted to answer, but the words wouldn’t come. Before I could say anything, the door creaked open just a fraction. And then Chris stepped inside, his eyes immediately catching on my bare skin, my sweatpants hanging off my frame, and the rawness of my vulnerability.

He froze. “Oh God, I’m sorry,” he stammered, his face flushing in embarrassment. But he didn’t turn away. Instead, he stepped back, his eyes not leaving me.

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came. Instead, I sank down onto the floor, my knees buckling beneath me as my body began to tremble. The sobs came in waves, uncontrollable, and I couldn’t stop them. I just sat there, breaking apart in front of him, unsure how to stop the flood of emotion that had been building for so long.

Chris, to his credit, didn’t try to rush over. He sat down next to me slowly, careful not to overwhelm me. He gave me space, but his presence was steady, like an anchor holding me together when I was slipping away. His hand hovered near me, unsure, but it was enough.

“You don’t like the hoodie color?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood with a joke, but I couldn’t even muster a smile.

“I feel so weak, Chris,” I cried. “I feel so skinny, like I’m fading away, and I can’t stop. I’m just… I’m so broken.”

His hand finally found its way to my back, gently rubbing circles over the fabric of his hoodie. “You’re not weak,” he said softly. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. And you don’t need to feel insecure. I love you. I’ll help you through this. You don’t have to fight this alone anymore.”

His words—gentle, so full of love and compassion—were a balm to the raw wounds inside me. I buried my face in his chest, not caring about how vulnerable I was, how exposed. For the first time in a long time, I let myself cry freely, knowing that someone was here to help me piece myself back together.

When the tears finally started to subside, Chris pulled away gently, his fingers brushing my hair out of my face. “How about a bath?” he suggested quietly. “A vanilla bubble bath. I’ll set it up for you.”

I let out a shaky giggle, feeling a hint of something lighter for the first time that night. “That sounds nice.”

“I’ll get everything ready,” he said, his voice soothing as he helped me stand. “You just… take all the time you need.”

As he went to his brother Matt’s room to give me some privacy, I stood there for a moment, lost in the quiet of the bathroom. I reached up to wipe away the last of my tears, but the weight of everything still hung heavy on my shoulders.

When I walked back into Chris’s room later, towel in hand, I overheard him talking to Matt in hushed tones, the conversation I had been dreading.

“Do you think she’s too thin?” Matt asked, his voice quieter than usual.

“I don’t know,” Chris replied, a tone of sadness in his words. “She’s just… so fragile, Matt. I don’t know how to fix her. I just want to help her.”

The words crushed me. I turned on my heel and fled back to his room, sinking down onto the floor with my back against his bed. It wasn’t about fixing me. I wasn’t some broken thing to be fixed.

I wiped away my tears, quickly swallowing down the rising wave of self-doubt. When Chris entered the room, he froze when he saw me sitting on the floor. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, kneeling down beside me.

“I don’t know, Chris,” I whispered, the weight of it all crashing back down on me. “I don’t know how to wash myself… I hate seeing my body.”

“Hey,” he said, lifting my chin gently, “it’s okay. You don’t have to do it alone.”

He reached under his bed and pulled out a small, weathered box. He opened it slowly, revealing photos of me, my hair ties, old bracelets, small trinkets I had long forgotten about. My breath caught in my throat.

“I kept everything because I can’t live my life without thinking about you,” Chris said softly, his eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite understand. “You are so beautiful. I hate seeing you do this to yourself. But I’ll be here. I’ll always be here, and I won’t leave you.”

I stared at the box, unable to speak for a moment. His words hit me harder than anything. He cared about me, but why did he talk about me like I was something broken, something that needed fixing?

I didn’t know, but I had to find out. And for the first time in so long, I was willing to try.

Chris sat beside me, the silence in his room hanging like a heavy blanket. He’d shown me the box, full of my old trinkets—little pieces of me that I hadn’t even realized mattered to him. But now, staring down at the photos, the bracelets, and the hair ties I had long forgotten about, something inside me was starting to crack.

“I—I didn’t even know you kept these,” I whispered, my voice trembling as I ran my fingers over a photo of me from years ago. It was from a school trip, one where I had laughed so hard my stomach ached, my eyes crinkling with joy. I couldn’t even remember that girl. She felt like a stranger now.

“I couldn’t let go of anything that had you in it,” Chris murmured, his voice low and serious, as if the weight of his words mattered more than anything else. “You’ve always been on my mind. Always. Even when I was… too stupid to realize it.”

I felt a swell of warmth in my chest at his words, but a sharp pang of guilt followed right after. He kept these things because he couldn’t forget me. But I had been so lost, so deep in the dark that I couldn’t remember who I was before all the pain.

“You always knew how to make me laugh,” I said, swallowing hard as I fought against the rush of emotions. “I used to laugh all the time. And now, it feels like I’ve forgotten how.”

Chris didn’t answer at first. His hand, gentle but firm, found mine. His fingers wrapped around my wrist, pulling my gaze back to him. His eyes were so earnest, so full of concern, like he could see right through the walls I had built around myself.

“You haven’t forgotten, though,” he said softly. “You just haven’t had a reason to laugh in a while. But you will again, I promise.”

I looked away, tears gathering in my eyes, and Chris squeezed my hand, the contact grounding me, reminding me that I wasn’t alone in this.

“Chris… I—I’m scared,” I whispered, barely audible. “Scared of what’s happening inside me. I don’t know how to fix it.”

His face softened, and he slowly pulled me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me. I rested my head against his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of him—the cologne, the faint smell of laundry detergent, and something uniquely Chris, something that felt like home. His embrace was warm, enveloping, and for a moment, the world outside his room, outside of everything I had been through, seemed so far away.

“You don’t have to fix anything,” he whispered into my hair. “I’ll help you, step by step. But you don’t have to fix it all on your own. You don’t have to carry this burden alone. Not anymore.”

I nodded, my breath catching as I allowed myself to lean into him, feeling something shift within me. The heaviness that had weighed on my chest for so long was starting to lighten, piece by piece.

There was a long pause, where all we did was hold each other, not saying anything more. And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Chris pulled back slightly, his hand moving to my cheek, lifting my face to meet his eyes.

“You want to take that bath?” he asked softly, his voice coaxing yet gentle.

I hesitated for a moment. I hadn’t planned on doing anything like that. The thought of getting clean, of scrubbing away the remnants of the past, made me feel exposed in ways I wasn’t ready to face. But something in his gaze softened the edges of my fear.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I think I do.”

“Good,” he said, his crooked smile tender as he brushed a lock of hair from my face. “I’ll get it ready for you.”

I stepped into the bathroom a few minutes later, the soft sound of Chris’s footsteps fading into the background as he prepared the bath. The room was bathed in warm light, the kind of soft glow that felt like it could cradle me in its embrace. He had already filled the tub with bubbles, the scent of vanilla wafting through the air.

“Here,” Chris said, handing me a fresh towel and a pair of his old slippers, the kind he wore around the house. “I’ll give you privacy to change. Just… take your time.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice to speak. The thought of washing away the layers of pain that had accumulated over time felt almost foreign. But Chris was right—this was part of healing. I could start small. I could start with something simple, like the warmth of the water surrounding me.

As I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the bath, the water felt like a second skin. It was soothing and gentle, yet the bubbles seemed to bring everything to the surface. I leaned back, letting the warmth seep into my muscles, trying to breathe deeply, trying to calm the storm that raged inside my head.

But it was still there. The emptiness, the ache. The feeling of being too small, too fragile, too broken.

Chris knocked on the door softly a few minutes later, his voice muffled. “You okay in there?”

“I’m… I think so,” I called back, my voice barely above a whisper.

He pushed the door open a crack, just enough for his head to peek through. “Do you want me to come in?” he asked, his eyes soft with concern.

I hesitated. A thousand thoughts swirled in my head. But in that moment, I needed him. Not in the way I had needed someone before, but in the way that felt raw and real.

“Yeah,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Please.”

Chris stepped into the bathroom, his presence so calming it was like I could finally breathe a little easier. He moved with quiet care, making sure not to intrude, not to overwhelm.

He sat on the edge of the tub, his hand brushing lightly against my hair, careful not to disturb the bubbles.

“Do you need help?” he asked, his voice a soft murmur.

I shook my head, feeling a lump rise in my throat. “I don’t know if I can… do this,” I whispered.

Chris took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was unwavering. “I’m here. I’ll help however I can, even if it’s just sitting here with you.”

And so, he did. He sat by the edge of the tub, his hand gently resting on my arm, a grounding presence.

I finally closed my eyes, letting the warmth of the water, the comfort of his touch, and the gentleness of his voice wash over me.

The warm water enveloped me like a second skin. The steam rose in gentle swirls, filling the bathroom with the soft scent of vanilla bubbles, calming me just enough to breathe deeper. But as I sank further into the tub, I couldn’t shake the heavy weight pressing down on my chest. The scars, the bruises, the emptiness inside—it was all still there, lingering like a storm inside me.

The soft clink of a bottle being opened echoed in the quiet, followed by the sound of Chris’s voice, calm and steady, like he was trying to anchor me.

“Is the water warm enough?” he asked, standing just outside the tub, his voice soft and considerate.

I nodded, though my eyes were shut, a futile attempt to block out everything. I hadn’t expected this. I hadn’t expected him to stay close, to offer to help. It was overwhelming in a way I couldn’t explain. But still, I felt the faintest stir of relief in my heart. Maybe this was what I needed. Maybe this was how I could start to heal.

Chris, sensing my hesitance, didn’t rush. He waited, patient and gentle, until I nodded again, finally allowing him into the space I had, until now, kept so tightly guarded.

“I’m right here,” he said, kneeling beside the tub. His hand reached out, his fingers brushing softly against my shoulder as if to reassure me. He was so close, and yet he gave me space, the quiet comfort of his presence enough to settle my nerves. “Do you want me to help you wash?”

The words felt strange on my tongue, and I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. But part of me wanted him to stay close, to be the one to help me through this—this vulnerability that terrified me. So, I swallowed my pride and nodded, unsure of what else to do.

Chris’s voice was low and steady, a constant reassurance as he reached for the body wash, the soft scent of lavender and vanilla wafting through the air. He poured it into his hands, lathering it gently before turning his attention back to me.

“I’m just going to start with your arms, okay?” he asked, his eyes soft but filled with something more—something that felt like a promise.

I swallowed hard, afraid of what I might see if I let him in too much, but I couldn’t find the strength to pull away. There was something about his kindness, his unwavering patience, that made me feel a little less fragile.

His fingers gently cupped my wrist as he began to wash the skin of my arms, his touch tender, careful not to overwhelm me. The sensation of his hands gliding over my skin was almost too much to bear, yet it was strangely soothing, like he was washing away pieces of the hurt that had accumulated for so long.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” Chris murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper, a tenderness in his tone that made my heart ache. His touch was light as he moved down, past my elbows, moving to my forearms, the lather turning into a soft foam as it slid across my skin. His touch was careful, as if he could sense the weight of my past, the scars, both seen and unseen, that I was trying to bury beneath the surface.

I closed my eyes, trying to focus on the feeling of his hands. Trying to let it soothe the growing discomfort in my chest. But with every gentle sweep of his fingers, the floodgates seemed to open, and my chest tightened. The moment felt too intimate, too raw, but still, I stayed.

“You’re doing great,” he whispered, his voice steady like a beacon in the storm. “I’m right here.”

His hands moved to my shoulders, the pads of his fingers tracing over the skin of my upper arms with gentle care. As he reached the back of my neck, his hands hesitated, and I could feel the heat of his gaze, though I refused to meet it. I could feel the weight of his concern pressing against me, like he wanted to do more, wanted to somehow fix what had been broken for so long.

But he didn’t push. He simply washed, quietly, steadily, as if he was trying to reassure me that nothing would change in this moment—he wouldn’t rush, he wouldn’t push me beyond what I could handle.

Slowly, I felt his hands move to the small of my back, washing down the length of my spine. His touch was so gentle, so unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world to make sure I felt cared for. His hands glided over the small curve of my back, and even though I felt exposed, raw, I felt something stir within me—a longing for comfort, for healing. I closed my eyes, biting back the tremors that threatened to overtake me.

“You’re okay,” Chris said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re safe.”

I felt the tears well up in my eyes again, threatening to spill over, but I held them back, clenching my fists in the water, willing them to stay.

His hands moved to my ribs then, slowly, as though he was afraid of hurting me. The touch was so tender that it made my heart ache in a way I wasn’t prepared for. His fingers brushed over the skin of my side, and I stiffened involuntarily, the memories of being touched without care, without kindness, rushing back to me.

Chris noticed instantly. His hands froze for a moment, as though he was waiting for me to pull away. But I didn’t. Instead, I leaned into his touch, trying to let it soothe me, trying to remind myself that I wasn’t broken beyond repair. Not yet.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion. “I just… I just hate how I look. How I feel.”

Chris’s voice softened, filled with an emotion I couldn’t place. “You’re beautiful,” he said simply, the words steady, unwavering. “You’re beautiful just the way you are. Don’t ever forget that.”

I closed my eyes tighter, not sure I could believe him, but the warmth of his hands on my skin, the way his fingers moved carefully over me, told me he wasn’t lying. He saw me. The real me. Not the broken pieces I tried to hide.

His hands moved to my stomach, gently lathering the soap along the curve of my waist. I could feel myself wanting to shrink away, but I stayed, breathing in deeply, trying to let myself relax. I had to remind myself that this was Chris. The same Chris who had made me laugh in ways I had forgotten. The same Chris who had been my friend, my constant, long before everything had gone wrong. And now, he was still here.

“Almost done,” he said, his voice quiet, soothing. His hands moved slowly, methodically, as though trying to memorize the feel of me, as though he needed to make sure I was taken care of.

I nodded again, my throat tight with emotion, but the discomfort started to ease just a little. His hands felt like safety, like protection, and I let the warmth of the water, of him, wash over me.

When he finished, Chris gently pulled his hands away and grabbed the towel from the nearby rack. His fingers worked quickly, drying my skin with soft, deliberate motions. His touch, while gentle, was insistent, as if he was trying to remind me that I was still here, still whole, even if it didn’t feel like it.

“Come on,” he said, his voice soft, a smile tugging at his lips as he helped me out of the tub. “Let’s get you cozy.”

As he helped me into a pair of his old sweatpants and a loose hoodie, I couldn’t help but notice how his hands lingered over the soft fabric. It felt so… normal. The simple act of being cared for, of being seen, was something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in a long time.

When he finished, he tucked me into his bed, the soft covers enveloping me like a cocoon. He sat on the edge, just watching me, his eyes full of something I didn’t know how to name.

“I’m here,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Whenever you’re ready to talk, or not talk, I’m here.”

I nodded, the exhaustion of everything that had happened weighing heavily on me. But for the first time in a long time, I felt like I wasn’t drowning in it all. Chris was here, and I wasn’t alone.

And for now, that was enough.

“Chris,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, “I never meant for any of this to happen. I never meant to let myself get this far.”

“I know,” he replied softly, his fingers brushing through my hair. “But it’s not your fault. You’re not to blame for the things that have happened to you. You’ve been through more than anyone should have to go through.”

I sighed deeply, the weight of his words sinking into me. I closed my eyes, a tear slipping down my cheek despite my best efforts to hold it in. I could feel his hand on my cheek, wiping away the tear.

The room felt heavy, the silence between us thick with unspoken things. I had shared the worst parts of myself with Chris—the parts of me I had been hiding, the parts I hadn’t dared to look at in years. But as the words left my mouth, I realized how much more there was to say, how much I had buried beneath the surface. And now, with Chris here, his steady presence beside me, it felt like the dam inside me had broken open.

Chris didn’t speak immediately, but I could feel his anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. It was there in the way his jaw tightened, in the way his fingers gently squeezed mine, as if he were trying to hold me together while trying to contain the fury building inside him.

“You’re safe now, (Y/N),” he said softly, but there was a strain in his voice. “But I want to know more. I need to know what happened… all of it.”

I looked up at him, the room dim in the evening light, but his eyes were bright with the weight of his emotions. “I don’t know if I can…” My voice wavered, as if speaking the words out loud might make them more real, more permanent. “I don’t know how to tell you.”

He didn’t rush me. He just sat there, steady, waiting. “You don’t have to do it all at once, but I’m here, and I want to hear it. Whatever you’re ready to share.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat like a stone that wouldn’t budge. It was too much, too overwhelming. But his patience, the way he was just there—unwavering—made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I could say it.

I inhaled deeply, trying to steady my shaky breath. “He’s… he’s still hitting me.” The words slipped out like daggers, sharp and jagged, and I couldn’t take them back.

Chris’s face twisted in disgust, his eyes blazing with something darker, something I couldn’t quite place. His grip on my hand tightened to the point of pain, but I didn’t want him to let go. “What do you mean, still?” he spat, his voice trembling with anger. “What the hell do you mean, still hitting you? After everything? After all these years?”

I flinched, the pain of his words stinging more than I expected, but not in a bad way. Chris was angry—for me, for the things I had endured—and I needed that anger. It was the first time someone had ever been angry for me.

“He doesn’t care. He never did. He doesn’t care that I’m his daughter.” I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes again, the tightness in my chest making it hard to breathe. “I don’t know what to do. He’ll always come back. He won’t stop.”

“God, I’m so fucking mad at him right now,” Chris growled, slamming his fist down on the bed between us. “How could anyone do that to you? I don’t care if he’s your dad—no one should ever lay a finger on you. No one.”

I could see the pain in his eyes, the rage that burned there, but it was mixed with something else too—something softer. Concern, protectiveness, the desire to shield me from all of it.

I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips as the tears started to fall. “He just… he can’t stop, Chris. He gets drunk, and then it’s like he doesn’t even see me anymore. He just sees someone to hurt. And I don’t know how to make it stop. I don’t know how to get out.”

I could feel the panic rising in me again, that familiar, overwhelming sense of suffocation creeping in like it always did when I thought about the fear of being stuck, of being trapped in that life. The life where I wasn’t safe, where I wasn’t even allowed to feel like I mattered.

Chris’s voice became softer, almost a whisper, but it was full of resolve. “You don’t have to go back to him, (Y/N). You don’t have to live like that. I won’t let you.” His hands gently cupped my face, as though he were trying to steady me, trying to pull me back from the edge I felt myself teetering on. “You deserve so much more than this, and I swear to you, I’m going to help you get out of this. We’ll figure it out together.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that things could be different, that I didn’t have to go back to the house that had been my prison for so long. But the doubt gnawed at me, a constant voice in the back of my head telling me that it was all just a dream, that things would never change.

“I don’t know how,” I whispered, my breath catching in my throat again. The panic was slowly building inside me, and I couldn’t stop it. My hands began to shake violently, and I felt like I was drowning in the tightness in my chest. The room began to spin, and I couldn’t seem to catch my breath.

“Chris,” I gasped, clutching at his shirt, “I can’t breathe…”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Chris said urgently, his hands moving to my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. “Just focus on me, okay? Focus on me. You’re safe. You’re safe with me.”

But the panic didn’t stop. My chest felt tight, my heartbeat erratic, and I couldn’t seem to calm down. Every breath I took felt shallow, as though the air wasn’t getting into my lungs. I could feel the walls closing in again, just like they did every time I let myself think about what my dad had done to me.

I began to tremble uncontrollably, my hands like ice against his warm skin. My head felt light, and I had to fight the overwhelming urge to collapse.

“Chris, I can’t…” I whispered between gasps, feeling the world slipping away from me. “I’m scared. I’m scared of what will happen if I can’t get away. I’m scared of him coming after me, of never being free.”

Chris’s eyes were frantic now, but he was still holding me steady, his voice unwavering. “You’re not alone in this, (Y/N). I won’t let you go through this alone, okay? You’re safe now. You’re with me. We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

He moved his hands down to my back, rubbing slow circles as he whispered over and over again, “Breathe. Just breathe. In… out… You’re okay. You’re going to be okay. I won’t let him hurt you again. I won’t let him hurt you anymore.”

I tried to focus on his voice, to let the steady rhythm of his words ground me, but my body wouldn’t stop shaking. My breath was still shallow, and I felt like I was drowning in the memories, in the fear of my dad’s hands on me, of his voice shouting at me, of the pain I’d felt when he told me I wasn’t worth anything.

But then, slowly, my breath started to steady. The panic began to recede, and I was left trembling in Chris’s arms, my chest heaving, but the overwhelming tightness starting to fade.

“You’re okay,” Chris said softly, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “You’re here with me. You’re safe. I’m not going anywhere.”

I closed my eyes, clinging to him like he was the only thing that could keep me from falling apart. But as much as I tried to believe it—tried to believe him—there was still a part of me that felt like I was trapped. Still a part of me that didn’t know how to escape the life I’d been born into.

But with Chris’s arms around me, his warmth seeping into me, I felt like maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something different.

The room felt quieter now, the oppressive weight of my panic slowly lifting as Chris’s steady presence calmed the storm inside me. His arms, strong but gentle, still wrapped around me, and for the first time since I’d entered his house, I felt a sense of calm begin to settle deep in my chest. The world outside might still be chaotic, but here, in this space with him, I was allowed to be broken. I didn’t have to hide. And for once, that thought didn’t scare me—it comforted me.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered again, my voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to freak out on you like that.”

Chris shook his head softly, pulling me a little closer. “You don’t ever have to apologize for that,” he said quietly, his voice calm but firm, as if wanting to erase the guilt I felt. “You’re allowed to feel whatever you’re feeling. I’m just glad you’re here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

I leaned into him, feeling his warmth seep through the thin fabric of my hoodie. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my ear was grounding. It was like listening to the sound of something real and tangible, something that wasn’t connected to the chaos that always seemed to follow me. His love, his presence—everything about him was real, and it was one of the only things I felt I could rely on.

The minutes stretched on, and gradually, the shaking in my body slowed. My breath deepened, and though I still felt raw, the sharpness of the panic attack had dulled into a more manageable ache. It was as though, piece by piece, I was learning to breathe again.

“Are you feeling better?” Chris asked after a moment, his voice low and careful, as if afraid to disturb the delicate balance we had found. He pulled back slightly to look at me, his eyes searching mine for any sign of distress.

I nodded, but my voice still trembled. “Yeah… just a little… dizzy. But better. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Chris murmured, wiping a stray tear from my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I’m just glad I could help. You’re not alone, (Y/N). You never will be again.”

I swallowed hard, trying to suppress the lump in my throat. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “You’ve always been there for me, Chris. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

“Stop saying that,” he said firmly, his tone soft but resolute. “You’ve always deserved it. You deserve every bit of love and care in the world, (Y/N). You deserve to feel safe. You deserve to heal.”

His words lingered in the air between us, and for a moment, I felt a wave of gratitude rush over me. It was hard for me to accept that kind of love, to believe I was worthy of it, but I didn’t want to push him away anymore. Not when he was trying so hard to give me something I’d never had before.

We sat there for a while, neither of us saying much, just being in each other’s presence. It felt like time had slowed down in the most comforting way possible. The panic that had felt suffocating now seemed like a distant memory, and I realized, with a twinge of bittersweetness, how much I had missed moments like this. Moments where I didn’t have to pretend to be something I wasn’t.

Chris cleared his throat after a while, breaking the silence. “You know, I’ve missed this,” he said quietly, his fingers gently tracing the back of my hand. “I’ve missed having you around. I missed having you sleep over.”

My heart skipped a beat at his words. The memories of spending nights at his house, hiding away from the world, were so much clearer now. There was comfort in those late-night talks, in the sound of his brothers’ laughter echoing through the house, in the feeling of being part of something that wasn’t broken. Something that made me forget the things I had to escape at home.

“I missed it too,” I replied, the words escaping before I could stop them. “It was the only time I felt like… like I had a family, you know? Like I was safe.”

Chris’s gaze softened, and for a moment, I could see the tenderness in his eyes. “You are family, (Y/N),” he said. “You always have been. You’re just as much a part of us as Matt, Nick, and me. Don’t ever doubt that.”

I felt a lump in my throat at his words. It was hard to accept that kind of care, but somehow, with him, it didn’t feel as impossible. It felt like it might actually be real. “You guys were always the closest thing to family I had,” I said, my voice quieter now. “When I stayed at your house, it was like everything else faded away. Like I could breathe for the first time in so long.”

“I know,” he said, his voice soft, yet tinged with an almost protective edge. “That’s why I want you to come over more. And stay as long as you want, okay?”

I nodded, the idea of having a constant refuge growing more and more appealing. “I really appreciate you, Chris. More than you know.”

He smiled then, a small, soft smile, but it was enough to make my heart flutter. “You don’t need to thank me,” he said, reaching over and squeezing my hand gently. “You’re worth it. You’ve always been worth it.”

The words hung between us, and for a moment, I let myself believe them. I had spent so long thinking I wasn’t worthy of love, of care, but with Chris, it felt like I might just be wrong.

Chris then leaned back, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I was thinking… if you’re comfortable with it, you could sleep over tonight. We have a guest room, but if you want, you can sleep in my room too. Whatever makes you feel more comfortable.”

The thought of sleeping under the same roof as him, of being so close to him, made my heart race in ways I didn’t quite understand yet. But the idea of being in a space where I could truly rest—without the constant tension and fear of home—sounded like a dream.

“I… I’d like that,” I said softly, the words barely leaving my lips before Chris’s face broke into a smile.

“Good,” he said, his voice warmer now. “It’s settled, then. You’re staying.”

I smiled back at him, feeling a surge of appreciation flood through me. “Thank you. Really.”

Chris leaned in to kiss the top of my head, his breath warm against my hair. “You’re welcome. Now, go get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

The night was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioning, the occasional creak of the house settling, and the faint sounds of traffic from outside. The room was dimly lit, soft moonlight streaming through the curtains. I stood by Chris’s door, my fingers tracing the edge of the frame, unsure of what to do next.

Chris had already prepared the guest room for me. The bed was neatly made, the pillows fluffed. But as I stood there, I realized something—something I hadn’t admitted to myself until now: I didn’t want to sleep alone. Not tonight. Not after everything that had happened.

I glanced over at Chris, who was sitting on the edge of his bed. His eyes were soft, yet filled with that familiar protectiveness I had come to rely on. He’d given me the option of sleeping in the guest room, but he didn’t press it. He just watched me, waiting for me to make up my mind. And somehow, that quiet patience made everything feel a little easier.

“Are you sure?” he asked gently, his voice low. “You don’t have to if you’re not ready.”

I nodded slowly, swallowing the knot in my throat. “I want to stay with you,” I whispered. The words felt vulnerable, like I was admitting something I’d been too afraid to admit even to myself. But as I looked at him, something in me softened. I didn’t have to be afraid here. Not with him.

Chris didn’t respond right away. He just smiled a little, that soft, comforting smile of his, the one that always made me feel like maybe everything wasn’t so broken after all. He patted the bed beside him, a simple invitation. “Come on then. Get comfortable.”

I hesitated, standing there in the middle of the room, still holding the hem of my oversized hoodie, feeling a strange mix of relief and anxiety. I had spent so many nights alone in my own bed, trying to sleep through the memories of my father’s anger, the shouts, the pounding fists, the feeling of being trapped in a house that never felt like home. But tonight, I wasn’t alone. Not really.

I crawled into the bed, my body feeling stiff, not quite sure what to do next. Chris kept his distance at first, settling in on his side of the bed, turning on his side to face away from me. His back was to me, but I could feel the space between us. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t the closeness I longed for either. I needed something more than distance, more than just his presence across the room.

I reached out tentatively, my hand brushing the edge of his shirt, and in a soft whisper, I said, “Chris?”

His body tensed for a split second, but he didn’t turn around. Instead, his voice was low, a little rough. “Yeah?”

“I… I don’t want to be alone tonight,” I said, barely able to form the words. The truth was, I was scared. Scared of the nightmares that might come, scared of the darkness and what it might bring. But more than that, I was scared of being vulnerable, of needing someone and not knowing how to ask for it.

Chris’s response was immediate. He turned around slowly, facing me, his expression soft, understanding. He didn’t say anything right away, but instead, he reached out, gently guiding me toward him. “You’re not alone, (Y/N). Not anymore,” he whispered, his voice full of conviction.

It wasn’t like I was scared—no, that wasn’t it—but there was a strange sense of comfort in being this close to someone who truly cared. Still, the distance between us remained for a moment, and I couldn’t help but feel a little unsure of myself.

Chris didn’t press, though. He just stayed where he was, pulling the covers up around him. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but I found myself inching closer, seeking the warmth of his body, the connection I had been craving but too scared to ask for.

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him moving toward the small dresser by the bed. He started to unbutton his shirt, unaware that I was watching.

The suddenness of it made my heart skip a beat. My gaze followed his every movement, captivated by the way his body moved as he shed his shirt. He wasn’t being flashy or deliberate; it was just natural for him, the way he carried himself with a quiet confidence that made my stomach twist in the best way. I could see the muscles in his back shift as he pulled the shirt over his head, his toned body now exposed to the dim light of the room.

I hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected the moment of stillness where I could appreciate him in his simplest form. He wasn’t trying to impress me, wasn’t posing or playing it up. It was just him.

And for the first time, I truly saw him. The sculpted shoulders, the defined muscles along his arms, the way his skin seemed to glow under the soft light, the gentle curve of his back. Everything about him was perfect. So perfectly human, so real, that it almost overwhelmed me.

Chris turned toward me then, his chest now bare, and I quickly looked away, my face flushing as I realized I had been staring. But before I could feel embarrassed, I caught him looking at me, that mischievous smile curling up at the corners of his lips.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice teasing but with an underlying softness. He knew exactly what I was thinking.

I swallowed, trying to find words. “I, uh… you look perfect,” I mumbled, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

He chuckled, not at all fazed by my awkwardness. “You’re the only one who thinks so.” He reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling them down with ease and slipping into a fresh pair before sliding back into bed beside me.

But there was a softness in his movements now, a tenderness that came with his willingness to let me see him—let me in. He wasn’t just showing me his body, but his trust. And that meant more than anything.

As he settled back into bed, he turned toward me, the space between us finally closing as he reached out a hand. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his voice so gentle that it made my heart ache.

I nodded, this time more certain. “I’m okay. I just… I missed being close to someone. To you.”

And then, he opened his arms.

I didn’t hesitate this time. My heart pounded in my chest, and with a mix of relief and hesitance, I scooted closer, curling up against his chest. The warmth of his body was comforting, a quiet reassurance that I wasn’t in this fight alone. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me in, his embrace tight but not suffocating. I felt his breath on the top of my head, steady and rhythmic, like a heartbeat.

For a moment, everything felt safe. The chaos of my mind, the pain of my past, all of it seemed to fade away as I listened to the sound of Chris’s heartbeat, the steady thrum of life that was so different from the anger and fear I’d been accustomed to. He was here, and for tonight, that was enough.

I let out a long, shaky breath, feeling my body relax in his arms. But I still couldn’t help the thoughts that crept into my mind—the way I felt so small in his arms, how much I had lost, and how little I had ever felt cared for. But then, as if sensing my discomfort, Chris moved slightly, adjusting his position so that we were closer, my head resting on his chest. His hand gently began to stroke my hair, his fingers threading through the strands in a slow, comforting rhythm.

His fingers continued to gently play with my hair, and I could feel the soft, steady rhythm of his hand. It was so soothing, the motion familiar in a way I couldn’t explain. It felt like home, like something I’d been searching for without even knowing it. His scent, that familiar cologne mixed with the clean scent of soap, enveloped me, and for the first time in so long, I felt like I could breathe.

His hand reached for mine then, his fingers lacing with mine in the quiet dark of the room. The simple connection was grounding, and as he pulled me closer, I felt something shift. I had been running from the past for so long, so afraid of what was behind me that I hadn’t realized how desperate I was for the present. For someone who cared.

“Your hair smells so good,” I said quietly, a small smile tugging at my lips. I had never noticed how comforting his scent was before. It was like a reassurance I hadn’t realized I needed.

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine. “It’s just shampoo,” he teased, but I could tell he was pleased by my words. He continued to play with my hair, the action so tender that it almost made me feel like I was someone worth caring for.

“It’s not just shampoo,” I said softly, lifting my head a little to look at him. “It’s you. You’re… comforting, Chris. It’s like… I feel safe when I’m with you.”

I leaned my head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath me calming the frantic pulse of my own. His arm wrapped around me as I settled more fully against him. I could feel his breath on the top of my head as he shifted, pulling me just a little closer.

“You know, I could get used to this,” I said, the words slipping out before I could fully process them. “I missed sleeping over at your house… when I could just escape home for a bit.”

Chris stiffened for a moment, as if processing my words. Then, he ran his fingers through my hair gently, his touch so soft that it almost felt like he was tracing the contours of my soul.

“I know,” he said quietly. “You’re welcome here anytime, (Y/N). Don’t ever feel like you can’t come over. It was never about just ‘hanging out,’ you know? I care about you. I always have.”

My chest tightened at his words, the weight of them sinking deep inside me. I closed my eyes, trying to take in the comfort of his embrace, trying to let myself believe him. I could feel the warmth of his body against mine, the quiet strength that emanated from him, and it made me feel safe in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.

The words settled in my heart like a balm, soothing the wounds that had never quite healed. I felt his fingers moving slowly through my hair again, and this time, there was no rush. Just us, wrapped in the quiet security of knowing that we didn’t have to face the world alone.

As the night stretched on, I felt myself relax more, his steady breath and gentle touch lulling me into a peaceful stillness. He kept playing with my hair, his hand brushing over my forehead, smoothing out any lingering tension. The rhythm of his movements was comforting, and I found myself drifting, my eyelids growing heavier as I rested against his chest.

“I don’t ever want to leave,” I murmured, my voice barely a whisper now, sleep creeping in.

“You don’t have to,” Chris replied softly, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “Stay as long as you need.”

And with that, I let myself fall into the warmth of his embrace, the first true rest I’d had in what felt like a lifetime.

“I don’t deserve you,” I whispered, the words barely escaping my lips, but somehow, they felt true.

Chris pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt my chin up so I could see his face. “You deserve everything, (Y/N). More than you know. Don’t ever forget that.”

I felt a lump form in my throat, but instead of pushing it down, I let it rise. Tears welled in my eyes as I looked at him, my heart aching with the need to express how much his words meant to me.

“You’re too good to me,” I said, voice breaking. “I don’t know how to repay you for all of this.”

He smiled softly, brushing a stray tear away from my cheek. “You don’t need to repay me. Just… let me be here for you. That’s all.”

His voice was so steady, so comforting, and as he pulled me back into his chest, I felt everything fall into place. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel so alone.

With Chris by my side, I had everything I needed.

A/N: Hey, loves! 💖 First off, thank you so much for making it this far. Your support honestly means the world to me, and I can't thank you enough. I know this chapter feels a little more low-key and maybe even rushed—life’s been a bit chaotic on my end—but I really wanted to take the time to dig deeper into the characters and their emotions. A special thanks to @bernardsbendystraws for being such an inspiration to this fic. You’ve truly helped shape the direction of this story!

This chapter touches on some really heavy topics, especially around eating disorders, and I hope it gets recognition! It's a difficult subject to navigate, but it's so important to shed light on it. I appreciate all of you who stick with me and support these moments in the story. You all keep me going!

If you or someone you care about is struggling with anorexia, please reach out to the helpline at [National Eating Disorders Association Helpline: 1-800-931-2237 or text "NEDA" to 741741]. You are not alone, and there is always support available when you need it.

taglist: @swagalicious260 @watercolorskyy @coquettechris @lovesturni0l0s @christmastreecake @ellbowmacaroni @blog-luvdance @sophand4n4 @meg4-matt44

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