#and i remember her sounded so irritated about it
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Rise : Chapter Fourteen
A Rafe Cameron Series
[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]
WC: 5.7k
Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics
CHAPTER THIRTEEN | MASTERLIST | CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The door opened with a moan, & you rose to a sitting position, preparing for Adrianna to bring you your breakfast. You were glad you were given a couple days to recoup after the latest move. Everything was a blur. All you remembered was being sick, completely out of it, & never fully aware of your surroundings. But thanks to Adrianna, you managed to get better again. And now you could finally pull your own weight at the mill.
But when you looked up to greet Adrianna, it wasn’t her dark brown eyes you met.
Rafe stood in front of the closed door, his arms crossed as he peered at you. You felt like a fish out of water, like you were a strange sight to see. Adrianna insisted on you being separated from the others for some time in case your sickness was caused by the virus, but once you had improved she let you mingle with the others. But you had never seen Rafe in that time. He must’ve been busy running the place as best as he could in the end of world times.
You brought your knees closer to your chest, resting your chin on them before you finally spoke.
“Hey.” Your voice was hoarse, not having used it much, but you hoped the timid smile on your face revealed your welcomeness to his presence.
Rafe frowned, his brows creasing & causing the skin there to crinkle. He stared at you longer, making you shift under his gaze.
“Are you okay?” You questioned. He did look tired.
“Are you?” He returned.
You shrugged, rubbing your arms, “Better, at least.”
Rafe moved further into the room until he was standing across from you. Your bed was a mattress on a pallet, so he towered over you with his staggering height. But you didn’t mind. You just wanted to stop looking at you with that worrisome look on his face.
“I’m okay, Rafe.”
His lips parted, as if he was trying to understand something that couldn’t be deciphered.
“Are you?” You asked again, concerned about his unchanging gaze.
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, repeating himself to sound more stabilized.
You nodded, but said nothing more. Was he here to bring you to the mess hall? You knew your way around enough, you didn’t need someone to hold your hand anymore. However, you couldn’t deny being somewhat relieved to see him, to have him here.
“You didn’t bring food. Are we going there?” You asked, changing topic. Your stomach was growling with hunger.
Rafe inhaled sharply, finally snapping out whatever funk he was in upon seeing you.
“In a bit, yeah. I wanted to talk to you first.”
Rafe moved closer then. You scooted over to make room on your full size mattress so he could sit with you. As he did, his eyes never left yours, & yours never left his. This was someone you were comfortable with. Rafe always looked out for you.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked again, & you felt mildly irritated at that, like he was coddling you. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head, “Will you quit asking me that, please? I’m okay.”
Silence filled the small room for a moment as Rafe seemed to think quietly to himself. You hoped he would hurry up with what he wanted to talk about so you could go eat before everyone else got the majority of it.
“Do you remember anything?” Now it was your turn to be confused. Remember anything?
Frowning, you stared at him, “Like what?”
Rafe swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving swiftly under the skin of his throat, “Before coming here.”
You paused to think. You remembered the lakehouse. Millie. The group separating. And then your head started to hurt. You winced, like you felt a headache coming on. Why was Rafe asking you this?
“Adrianna said I’ve been sick for a while. It’s hard to remember.”
Rafe looked like he wanted to say something, but stopped himself from doing so.
“Why, Rafe?”
He sniffled, pressing his lips together as he fell into deep thought. When he finally looked at you again, you were concerned about the look in his eyes.
“Sayyed?”
You felt your heart stop for a moment at the sound of your boyfriend’s name. Adrianna had told you what happened. That the virus came for him & Nuha too fast, that there was nothing to be done. You had a vague memory of Sayyed telling you he loved you, but you couldn’t be sure. It felt more like a dream than anything.
“Adrianna reminded me.” Your voice softened, almost to a whisper. You wished you could cry over his death, over not being able to say goodbye, or at least remember it.
“She…reminded you?”
You looked away to stare at your feet, “The virus. I don’t remember a lot, Rafe. My memory is kind of foggy. She said that would be normal for a while.”
He inhaled sharply again, drawing your eyes back to him. He looked conflicted.
“What is it?” You asked.
Rafe forced a smile then, shaking his head,, “Nothing. I’m just glad you’re better,”
You returned the smile, though it was small, “Me too.”
“Let’s, uh, let’s get some food, alright?” Rafe stood up, offering you his hand, & you took it, letting him help you raise yourself to your feet.
In that moment, Rafe took a moment to look you over from head to toe. You felt like he was still studying you. But when his eyes fell to your legs, an amused smirk appeared on his face, “I can’t believe you packed these.”
You looked down, addressing the clothes you wore. You gave a small laugh yourself, “I’d never get rid of these.”
Rafe nodded, “I think that’s good. A reminder of happier times, huh?”
You met his eyes, nodding, “Something like that.”
Rafe left you at a table with Kai, Vic, & Maddy as he sought Anna out. He didn’t get far before she entered the mess hall herself at the farther end. Anna took in Rafe’s subtle look of rage as he grabbed her elbow & moved her to the hallway.
“What the fuck is wrong with her?” He hissed, making sure his voice was low & voices carried far & quickly in the spacious room.
Anna pulled her arm from his grip, rubbing the spot that he grabbed so harshly before answering him, “What? She’s fine.”
“You know what the fuck I’m talking about. She doesn’t remember anything!”
“So?” Anna bit back, glaring up at him, “Isn’t that a good thing?”
Rafe was angry, but he stopped in his verbal assault to reflect.
“Or would you rather she remember that you made her kill Sayyed?”
His nostrils flared still as his anger began to simmer down.
“I thought you’d be jumping with joy.” Anna added in a sarcastic tone, “But if you want her to know the truth then be my guest.”
“No.” Rafe shook his head, “She said that you told her she would remember in time about everything.”
Anna sighed, shrugging, “I don’t know. Like I said before, I’m not a psychologist. I took a class or two, so I know what she’s experiencing right now, kind of, but as far as if she’ll her memory of everything will return, I don’t know.”
“What she’s experiencing?”
Anna nodded, “Amnesia, obviously. Dissociative or selective, doesn’t really matter which, they both do the same thing.”
“Which is?”
She sighed heavily, clearly bothered that she had to explain the basics to Rafe, “After a traumatic event the brain will shut down, protect its host from the memories that caused the trauma. She doesn’t remember anything because her brain won’t let her. And I think that’s for the best, at least for you, isn’t it?”
Rafe stared at Anna, “But only for some time?”
“I. Don’t. Know.” She enunciated, “Could return tomorrow, next week, or never again. There’s no saying.”
“If she remembers…” Rafe didn’t want to think about it.
“Then you’re a dead man.” Anna said jokingly, but Rafe didn’t view it as a joke.
If you remembered what he’s done, he would lose you all over again, & he was positive there would be no containing you then.
It felt nice to be part of the group again. You had blurred memories of the time when the group was split, but you had an inkling that it wasn’t an enjoyable time. When you had seen Bear for the first time two days prior, you gave him a hug that would rival his nickname. He returned it with fervor, claiming he was glad you were okay.
Now, he was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Bear?” You asked Kai, who jumped slightly at the sound of your voice as he cleared his plate of food.
“Um, I think out scavenging.” One thing that bothered you though since rejoining the group was that Kai never looked you in the eye. He kept his head down often & avoided a lot of talk with the others.
“Hmm.” You hummed. At the far end of the mess hall, Rafe appeared, Adrianna right behind him. You left your food behind on the table & approached him.
“Everything okay?” He asked, his tone full of worry. You were grateful for his older brother like attitude, but you hoped he knew you could take care of yourself again.
“I want to be a part of the scavenging group.” Your eyes flashed between his & Adrianna’s.
Rafe inhaled sharply at that. He gestured for Adrianna to leave the two of you & she did. You frowned, looking back at him, “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He admitted.
“What? Why? I was the best back at the lake house. We both were.” You reminded him.
“I know, but ya know, things change. Micah is in charge of scavenging now.”
“So, I’ll join him.” Little did you know how much Rafe pitied you. So innocently unaware of Micah’s hatred towards you. If Rafe allowed you to go out with Micah, there was no guarantee you’d come back.
“No, _____. We need you here. You’re good in the garden with Maddy.”
You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest, “Bullshit. I was never good at that. That was Millie’s thing.” At the mention of your deceased best friend’s name, you felt your defiance lower.
“I want to scavenge.”
“No.” Rafe replied with finality. “If you don’t want to garden, fine. We’ll find something else for you.”
“I’ll be fine, Rafe. I know you’re always looking out for me, but I can take care of myself.”
He looked troubled, almost…sad.
Stepping closer, he kept his voice low. He brought the palms of his hands to your upper arms, not quite touching you, but grazing the skin there, “I can’t lose you again.”
You peered up at him, your heart beating faster. Why was he looking at you like that?
“You won’t.” Your voice was barely audible. But Rafe shook his head anyway, “I won’t risk it, I’m sorry.”
With that, Rafe stepped back, his voice at normal level again, “Work with Maddy today, we’ll find something new for you tomorrow.”
Then he left you standing there. Begrudgingly, you returned to the table. Maddy, one of the new people, grinned up at you.
“I’m with you today.” Your tone wasn’t a happy one but that didn’t deter her bashful attitude.
“At least you’ll get more sun.”
Yeah, you thought to yourself, at least.
It was nighttime, & you were helping one of the other new people, Barry, clean up the mess hall from dinner. You were about finished & ready to head back to your room when Rafe appeared.
“You got the rest covered, Barry?” He asked & Barry nodded.
“Great.” Rafe looked to you then, offering his hand, “Let’s get you to bed.”
There it was again, the coddling. Sighing annoyingly, uncaring if it was obvious, you bypassed his hand & stalked towards the hallway. Once in the hallway, Rafe caught up to you, “What’s wrong?”
“You’re babying me. I hate it. I wish you would stop.”
“I’m not babying you.” He argued, his voice defensive.
“No?” You stopped in your tracks to glare at him, “Keeping me from what I do best? Putting me to bed, Rafe? I mean, god, come on.”
“I just don’t want you to push yourself.”
Though you understood the sentiment, you wished he would let it go. You were stronger & better than that.
“I’ll be fine. You’d know that if you’d let me do my own thing.”
“Doing your own thing is what got you sick in the first place.” Rafe finally seethed, “I won’t apologize for looking out for you. And I won’t stop either, so get used to it.”
Then he walked ahead of you. You stood there for a second longer, watching as he grew further away from you. You felt conflicted. You knew he only meant well, but you couldn’t help your need for independence. But you had to admit to yourself if roles were reversed, you would look out for him in the same way.
“Rafe, wait.” You jogged up to him, gently touching his elbow with the tips of your fingers, “I’m sorry, okay? You’re right. I wouldn’t have survived if not for you. I guess I just want to do more for the group than just have my hands buried in dirt all day.”
Rafe’s gaze softened at that, but he nodded, “I know. Like I said, we’ll find something else for you. I promise.”
The two of you traded a smile before you started walking again. You were following blindly alongside him, not really paying attention to where he was leading you until the two of you stopped just outside a door you didn’t recognize.
“I thought you were taking me to my room.”
Rafe looked between you & the door, “I am.”
Then he opened the door wide enough for you to enter. You peered inside first, taking in the larger size than your own bedroom. There was a bed against the left wall—a real one with a frame & everything—& a window straight ahead. It was dusty & musty but clean for the most part. But you couldn’t help the frown on your face, “I don’t understand.”
“It’s our room.” He revealed.
Your eyes rounded, staring at him appallingly, “Our room?”
Rafe let out a shaky breath as he looked you over, “You don’t remember a lot…”
You felt your brows cinch together, concerned about the tone in his voice.
“You weren’t with Sayyed at the end. Not, ya know, with him, like before.”
You felt your mouth fall open to ask but closed it. What was Rafe getting at?
“You were with me.”
What?
An awkward, forced breath of air, that somewhat sounded like a startled laugh, left your mouth.
“We’re together, _____. We have been for a while.”
“No, what? That’s not…” Your head was beginning to hurt again as you struggled to comprehend what he was saying. Out of instinct, you backed away, but Rafe was quick to catch your hand, holding it desperately as if he was scared of you slipping away.
“Anna’s not here to confirm for you, to help you ease into it. But I am.”
You stared at him, distrustful. No. There was no way. You would never leave Sayyed, let alone for Rafe. Rafe was like a brother to you, you couldn’t…wouldn’t…
“It’s why the group split.” Rafe told you, “Because Sayyed found out about us.”
A shocked gasp left you, “No, no. I didn’t—”
“You did, _____.” Rafe’s voice was soft but his grip on your hand firm, “In the woods. After Millie.”
Tears kissed your eyes as you vaguely recalled something happening in the woods after Millie’s death. But the images were still blurred.
“I’m sorry.” Rafe’s thumb rubbed the skin on your hand, “But it’s true. We’re together.”
You stared past him, your eyes falling to the bed. You had slept with Rafe? Been sleeping with Rafe? It didn’t sound like you, it couldn’t be.
A sob finally erupted from your throat as you felt deep down that what Rafe was telling you was true. You had cheated on Sayyed. With one of his best friends no less, with one of your own.
“Oh, my god.” You covered your mouth with both your hands. You couldn’t fully remember the events happening, but you could remember the heartache of hurting the person you loved most.
Rafe swallowed, stepping closer to you. As you cried into your hands, he wrapped you into a hug, his chin resting near the top of your head. He ran his hands in circles along your back, hoping to soothe you.
“I swore I would protect you & I meant it. You may not remember but you know it’s true.” And you did. But still. This was the reality you were coming back to?
Rafe pulled away just enough to grab your hands, to look you in the eye, “You’re my girl, _____. Mine. And I’ll be damned if I ever let another thing happen to you again.”
It’d been a little over a week since you re-assimilated to the group. Bear, Micah, & the others were still gone in that time. But when they returned, you would be the first to find out. Rafe secured you a new position in the group. Sayyed’s old one.
In an office on the ground floor that overlooked the gravel parking lot was a comm set-up. The computers were useless of course but there was a working satellite radio, & a few walkie talkies. It would be how you communicated with the scavenging group once they were within range & announcing their arrival. But while you waited for that call, you were constantly calling out to other survivors on the shortwave radio. In the week you had been doing that, there was nothing but white noise that responded. One time you heard a dead announcement about the end of times nearing, but it was on repeat. No one ever responded.
It was about midday, & you were preparing to head upstairs to get lunch, when the sound of the walkie talkie crackled with a muffled voice.
“Base, this is scavenger. We’re five miles out.”
A grin ripped across your face at the sound of Micah’s voice. They would be here soon. You hadn’t seen Micah since rejoining the group, but with Rafe busy doing his other duties, this would be an opportune moment to talk to Micah about joining the scavengers. It wasn’t that you were ungrateful for Rafe getting you out of the garden, but you wanted more. Micah could give it to you. He was Rafe’s right hand after all.
You responded over the walkie, “We hear you scavenger. Look forward to seeing you.”
“Who is this?” Micah’s voice sounded, & it sounded displeased. He had always been so moody.
“_____, Micah. It’s me.”
There was no response. But you didn’t care. You were just happy to see two of your friends again.
But the moment was ruined when the door behind you opened. You spun in your chair, finding Rafe standing in the doorway. There was a malicious look in his eyes.
“What’s up?” You asked, suddenly feeling like you had been caught doing something you knew you weren’t supposed to be doing.
“They’re almost here.”
“Uh, yeah.” You glanced down at the walkie in your hand, “How’d you know?’
Rafe reached into the backside of his jeans, revealing his own walkie.
Of course, you thought to yourself.
“But I can take care of it from here. I’ll help them unload & whatnot.”
“No.” Rafe was quick to respond, shutting the offer down, “You’ll stay in here. I’ll help them.”
“What? Why?” You felt yourself growing frustrated. Ever since he told you that you two were together, something you still struggled to get used to, he hadn’t let off of his protective side. In fact, it felt more heightened at points.
“You get lunch, I’ll cover for you.”
“No, Rafe.” You had had enough. It was one thing to get used to him against you at night, his body molding to yours as you fought to sleep at night, but it was an entirely other thing to boss you around like he owned you. “I can help. I will help.”
“_____.” Rafe sighed, equally as frustrated as you.
“Stop babying me, Rafe! Goddamnit!” You raised your voice, “Why don’t you trust me?”
“It’s not that.” He groveled, his voice hard & low as he narrowed his eyes, “I just want you to eat.”
“Bullshit.” You argued, standing up, “You promised me that you would help me. This isn’t helping & I’m not buying what you’re saying.”
He stared at you silently, his lips rubbing against one another.
“Do you trust me?” You asked.
“Of course.” He replied without pause.
“So, let me do this. Okay?”
He looked past you, staring out into the gravel lot, contemplating your plea.
“Fine.” He shook his head, “But we’re doing it together.”
It wasn’t ideal, but you had learned quickly that Rafe wouldn’t compromise often. You had to get what you could.
“Fine.”
The two of you stared at one another momentarily before he stepped forward, his hand reaching for your face. You flinched just a little, but enough for him to notice. He frowned at that.
“You still won’t let me touch you.”
It was true. It was strange sharing a room, let alone a bed, with him. You loathed that you couldn’t recall your own memories, that losing Millie, Sayyed, & Nuha had fucked you up beyond repair. But the reality of you being with Rafe? It was still surreal to you. It didn’t sound right, feel right. But Rafe always looked at you with longing, like he missed you. You couldn’t feel the same. You still saw him as Rafe Cameron, coke fiend & BFF. It was hard to grasp that he was your boyfriend.
“I just need time.” You told him, looking away to sit down. Rafe followed suit, dragging out a nearby chair by its legs before sitting beside you.
“I know, I just…” His words fell short as he eyed you warily.
“I know.” You reassured him that he didn’t need to voice it. You saw it clear as day in his eyes.
“Any luck with the comms?” He questioned, nodding towards the radio.
You shrugged, “No. Nothing. We might be the last of us.”
“I wouldn’t mind that.” He said, but he was smiling in a joking manner. You didn’t share the sentiment.
“As long as we’re together, right?” He asked, gripping your jean clad knee. Your muscles tensed beneath his touch, but you forced a smile anyway.
“All of us, yeah.”
Rafe was about to say something, his mouth opening, but the sound of gravel crunching caught both your ears. You turned in your chair to see Rafe’s truck pull into the lot.
“They’re back!” You leaped from your seat, ready to race outside to greet Bear & Micah.
Rafe beat you to the door though, & you noticed that he was purposefully walking slowly & using the width of his body to block you from surpassing him. You were forced to walk behind him. Like his dog. The thought made you cringe.
Outside, you watched as Micah hopped out of the driver’s side. Matt & Robbie, you guessed, were in the bed of the truck & leaping over the sides. The passenger side opened then & Bear stepped out. You didn’t care about what Rafe wanted then. Pushing past him, you launched yourself towards Bear, enveloping his larger frame into a hug.
�� “I’m so glad you’re back.” You spoke into his chest. He pulled you back then, looking you in the eye. You frowned when you saw his face. He had a black eye & split lip.
“What happened?” Your voice rose with worry.
Bear’s eyes flashed briefly to Micah who was rounding the front side of the truck. You followed his line of sight.
“Micah, hey.” You offered a small smile.
But Micah didn’t return it. He paused, staring at you bewildered. Then his expression changed to one of deep anger. It made your skin go cold. What was his problem?
Without a greeting or smile back at you, Micah stomped towards Rafe. Rafe tossed you a concerned glance before he & Micah stepped inside.
Turning back to Bear, you inspected his face, “What happened?”
But Bear was looking at you that same way Micah had. He looked confused.
“Are you okay?”
You stepped back, surprised by his question. Why would he be asking you that?
“I’m fine…” Your voice faded, “Why?”
His eyes flashed over your head to the mill behind, likely looking for Rafe & Micah.
“Why are you talking to him?”
“Who? Micah?”
Bear frowned.
“Why wouldn’t I?” You questioned, but you felt hurt by the inclination. Had something happened between you & Micah?
Before Bear could respond, you heard the sound of your name being called.
“Go get lunch.” Rafe ordered, his voice hard as he walked towards you & Bear.
“But—”
“Just go. I got it from here.” Rafe wasn’t looking at you though, his eyes solely placed on Bear.
You felt like you were caught in the middle of an unspoken battle between the two of them. What the hell happened?
“It’s okay.” Bear voiced, making you look back at him. He nodded, faking a smile, but you saw right through it.
“Make sure you see Adrianna.” You told him, to which he nodded in agreement.
Backing away from the two, you glanced over your shoulder in curiosity as Rafe blocked Bear from your view to speak with him.
Inside, Micah was nowhere to be found. You began making your way to the second floor to get yourself some food. But as you did, you felt your stomach swimming & your head growing dizzy.
Something was wrong. You had felt it when you first came to a week or so ago, but as the days passed, you felt the inkling growing stronger. Rafe was lying to you, or at least keeping some truth from you. There was too much negative tension, too many bad feelings in the air for you to be fully in the loop. That would come to an end. You’d make sure of it. If Rafe wouldn’t tell you the truth, you’d find someone who would.
It was shortly after dusk when you found yourself crawling into bed. Rafe had yet to return to the room, & you saw little of him since lunch. Same with Micah. Bear.
You felt like they were being kept from you, or you them. Either way, you’d confront Rafe about it.
For the next twenty minutes, you read a book: a collection of Irish literature that someone had found & stored away on a bookshelf in the mess hall. But as you read, the words weren’t registering. Your mind was too busy trying to fill in the holes of your memory. But the more you tried the more your head hurt.
You were mindlessly reading the final paragraph of a short story when the door to the bedroom opened. Rafe stepped inside, spying you on the bed before smiling. You didn’t return it. Dog-earing the page you were on, you placed the book on the floor, pulling your knees to your chest as you watched Rafe get undressed. His back was to you as he slipped out of his flannel, t-shirt, & jeans before he finally made his way towards you.
“Watcha’ reading?” He asked, peering over you to see if he could spot the book. You shook your head, “Nothing.”
He hummed in response, groaning quietly to himself as he slid under the covers shirtless & in his boxers. Once he was comfortable, his read resting against a pillow against the wall, he smirked up at you.
“You alright?”
You narrowed your eyes, “You tell me.”
Rafe crinkled his brows at that, “What’s wrong?”
“Something.” You blatantly pointed out, “I don’t know what, but something.”
He was silent, staring at you unblinkingly.
“But you do.” You added, “And don’t deny it.”
Rafe sighed, sitting forward, “Okay, what’s this about?”
You glared at him, frustrated that he was playing dumb, “Don’t. Don’t fucking do that. Don’t respond like you don’t know what I’m talking about, you know exactly what I’m talking about, Rafe!”
Rafe returned your glare then as he studied your face, “And what exactly is it do you think I know?”
“Everything!” You exclaimed, your voice cracking. No, you pleaded with yourself, don’t start crying now.
“Everything, Rafe. Do you think I’m blind? Stupid?” You asked incredulously. “Micah looked at me like he hated me. Bear has his walls up. You’re keeping me from them. What the fuck is going on? And don’t feed me some bullshit about it all being in my head. It’s not!”
“Okay, okay, calm down, will ya?” Rafe sighed, looking away in contemplation. You stared at him, willing him to look you in the eye & tell you the truth.
“You & Micah aren’t friends.” Rafe finally looked at you, but revelation shocked you.
“What? Why?” Your voice shook.
“Because he…” Rafe fluttered his eyes closed in frustration, “blames you for Millie’s death.”
What? You blinked away tears as the words repeated in your head.
“Why would he…?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I do, but it still doesn’t make sense. He’s angry, wants someone to blame. He picked you.” Rafe licked his lips, shaking his head, “And as far as Bear goes, he uh, he doesn’t agree with my method of doing things.”
Though you were still stuck on Micah’s hatred toward you, especially the reasoning, you were concerned about what Rafe had just revealed about Bear.
“Your method?”
Rafe inhaled sharply, “I’ve done some shitty things, _____. But they were necessary. For our survival.”
“What’d you do?” You were beginning to regret learning the truth.
“I’ve hurt people.” Rafe responded flatly, as if he was removing himself emotionally from the conversation, “Killed them.”
“The men in the woods?” You asked, suddenly recalling a vague memory.
“Yes.” Rafe nodded, “And others.”
“Others?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.
“It doesn’t matter.” Rafe shook his head, “I did what was needed for us to get this far. I did what no one else could or would do.”
You frowned, your mind running wild with the possibilities.
“And the only reason I’m keeping a close eye on you is because not everyone here can be trusted.” The final piece of information unsettled you.
“They know what you mean to me, & they know your condition. If anyone here wants to get rid of me, they know to go through you to get that done.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” Your head was throbbing, “If you don’t trust some of them, why are they here?”
Rafe met your eyes, his gaze unwavering. “Because we need them.”
Your head was still spinning but your heart softened. Your distrust faded.
“I told you I wouldn’t risk losing you again. I need the others to keep that from happening.” It surprised you to see his eyes begin to wet, redden, like he was holding back his own tears.
“This is the new world now, _____.” Rafe began, “Our enemies become our resources to survive, whether we like it or not.”
“I understand.” You commented. But you didn’t. Something was still off. But you couldn’t pinpoint it.
Rafe smiled but it wasn’t happy or real. You scooted closer to him on the bed. Hesitantly, you placed your hand on his shoulder. You felt him shudder beneath your touch. Feeling braver, you maneuvered him so he was in a position where he lied with his head on your chest. Rafe was quick to wrap his arms around your middle, tugging himself closer to you.
“Thank you.” You whispered, your fingers running through his hair.
He turned onto his back then, looking up at you. There he was, your best friend staring up at you with that look of longing. Before you could say anything or stop it, he placed his hand on the back of your neck & pushed himself up.
Rafe kissed you, his lips soft yet firm. You resisted at first, but found you had nowhere to go with his hand keeping you in place. And then before you knew it, you were kissing him back. It wasn’t because you necessarily wanted to, or because you had a sudden epiphany about being attracted to him, but because it was the first honest thing you had gotten in the last week. So you welcomed it. If only for a moment.
Rafe rolled onto his front, never letting his lips separate from yours. He easily found himself between your legs, but the second you felt his prominent arousal pressed against your center, you gasped, shoving him back.
“I’m sorry.” You covered your mouth, your hands shaking, “I can’t. I’m not, I don’t know. I just, I’m not ready.” You admitted.
Rafe sighed, & you could tell he was mildly irritated, but he nodded once, “Okay.”
He rolled over to his side of the bed then, looking at the wall. A pang of guilt shot you in the chest. Ignoring your nerves, you eased toward him, situating his arm over your shoulders as you rested your head on his chest. You felt relieved when you felt Rafe relax into it.
“I’ll get there, okay? But I have to go slow.” You craned your neck to look up at him. Rafe’s face was expressionless but he nodded, leaning forward to kiss you on the forehead. Your skin burned where his lips touched.
“I know you will.” He replied, “I’m just impatient to have you back.”
The two of you settled into bed in that position, & soon enough Rafe was breathing evenly as he slept. But you lied there wide awake, reflecting on everything he had just revealed to you; more so on your relationship with him. You were genuinely worried that he would never get you back, & if that was the case, you worried about your status among the group. You felt that if you didn’t fall back in love with Rafe Cameron then you would cease to exist. And as much as you hated to admit it, you needed him to survive. It’s like what he said: our enemies are our resources to survive. Rafe Cameron was yours.
quite a bigger chapter for you all! i apologize in advance for the last half of this as i wrote while being drunk (teehee). anyway! just a filler chapter to ground reader's suspicions & her struggles with amnesia.
as always, please share your thoughts w me via commenting, reblogging w reviews, or dropping an ask.
thank you for reading!
beau<3
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#dark!rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron#dark!rafe cameron x reader#dark!fic#dark!fanfiction#rafe cameron fanfiction#outer banks fanfiction#non con fic#dark!outer banks#rise chapter fourteen
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Crush Culture˖ ࣪⊹
II. Spill my guts
sum: tsukishima finding himself thinking a bit more of the nekoma manager, maybe looking a bit more into her wont be to bad..
Warnings: Tsukishima being a Cutsie little stalker, cursing, teasing, not really proffered! Mention of past relationship.
(III.)
.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.
He hated it he hated this feeling, it didn’t help how his teammates would talk about ‘Nekomas pretty manger’ it irritated him how Tanaka and Noya practically drooled over her when they brought her up. What made it worse is when yamaguchi let it slip that he had ran into her in the hallway. The two second years going crazy that he had gotten that close to her.
“Common you don’t even know her name!” Noya groaned.
“Why would I even ask she ran into me.” He said.
Tanaka punched him in the arm “you didn’t even say sorry just walked away, how could you she’s gorgeous.” He complained.
Tsukishimas rubbed his arm rolling his eyes, oh he apologized. Not that he wanted to, remembering the moment making him frown. “Ask Kiyoko, they hugged after the game.” Kageyama spoke up.
The three snapping their heads towards the first year. “You’re so smart!” Noya and Tanaka cried pushing off of Tsukishima.
He found it sad how desperate they were to find out her name, why did they even need it? He thought she’s not even around her it’s not like they’d go out with her. To them she was just a pretty face and that pissed tsukishima off, at lest have the decency to ask her name in person. What made this more dreadful is the he wanted to know her name to, to be truthful he’d looked up their roster and coaching staff but didn’t find a name that would fit her. God maybe he was worse than them for doing that.
“SHE HAS AN INSTAGRAM!” Tanaka yelled.
Tsukishima groaned standing up, walking by his two upper class men he glanced at the phone they looked at scrolling through her feed.
It wasn’t stalking if her account is public right? Tsukishima opening up his phone as he began to walk home only for him to close it and shove the phone back in his pocket. He groaned closing his eyes, “Everything alright Tsukii?” The sound of his best friends voice was heard from beside him.
Tsukishimas eyes met his, “I’m fine.”
Lie. And yamaguchi could tell, “don’t bs me what’s up. I get if you don’t wanna tell me but I’m here to listen.” He shrugged.
He wanted to tell him, he wanted that Nekomas manager had an attitude, how he haters her bratty tone pissed him off. How she was stuck in his head how she barely touched him but her body spray lingerd on him after, how she smelled of coco butter and vanilla. How stupid he felt. How she pulled an apology out of him and it wasn’t even a real one! God she pissed him off. Especially how nervous he got.
He wanted to throw up.
“Tsukii?”
“Why are they so obsessed with her?”
“Nekomas manager?”
“Yeah”
Yamaguchi paused for a moment “It’s Tanaka and Nishinoya, it’s just the way they are. Plus she is pretty.”
“Is that really all? Over them being a bit girl crazy.” Yamaguchi spoke rubbing the back of his neck.
No. Was he jealous! No that’s stupid. “Just don’t get it I guess, I mean don’t you get tired if it? Them always asking you if you have a girlfriend? If you have a crush.” Tsukishima asked.
“Not really, it’s never bothered me. I mean I do like girls but it’s not my whole personality nor do they like me back at times. Just keep to myself.” Yamaguchi spoke thinking about as he talked.
Tsukishima always disliked the concept of crushes, how one shared feelings for another but can’t tell them. The feeling of falling in love yet waiting just to perhaps be rejected? The obsession that came with it always wanting to talk to said person or being with them. How you can ever get them out of your mind. It was lame, it made him feel sick.
“You like someone don’t you.”
Tsukishimas head Turing to look at his friend. “No, I’m not interested in all of that.” He spoke. Truthfully he wasn’t, he no intention of getting a girlfriend or even talking to someone romantically.
Maybe it was the comfort of his bed, how he laid on his back as he opened Instagram again. Typing in the name tag, pressing on the first profile. Yeah she was known that for sure. Scrolling through her feed, learning she’s social, loves her family, and all around loves taking photos of herself, but how could she not she’s pretty. Her face was made for the lens of a camera.
“Really like putting yourself out there huh..?” He spoke to himself, the moment he said that his finger slipped a pink heart popping up on the screen.
“No.”
“Oh shit!” He sat up quickly. It was a photo of her on the beach sitting up on her knees her hands up blocking the sun from her face. He liked a fucking Bikini post from 6 months ago.
“Are you fucking kidding me!” He groaned. What if he unliked it? She still see it. No that was stupid.
The sound of his door opening made if head turn. “Everything alright Kei!” His mother asked.
“Yeah. Im great just people,” he spoke taking a deep breath before talking to him mom again “I’m alright sorry for worrying you.” He spoke. She nodded closing the door.
“No fucking way!”
“What a little stalker.” She spoke softly her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth.
“Who’s a stalker?”
“Nobody. Some kid I met a little over a week ago.” Yn spoke to her older brother.
He groaned pushing off the doorway. She laughed lightly pressing on his profile. Not a very out there guy hmm.. he had a few post. Her thumb lingered over the follow button, “fuck it.” Pressing it setting her phone down.
The little buzz of her phone making her smirk, peeking at her phone ‘keitsukiishima_07’ followed you back.
She picked up her phone a giddy grin on her face, opening the messages. Oh she was about to give this kid so much shit.
She couldn’t help but laugh, lord he was dry tho.
Tsukishima on the other hand threw his phone on his bed the blonde now standing up, “so stupid.”
Yet when he found himself back in his bed he opened the chat once more, only to close it. No. He’s going to bed. Forgetting about what just happened and going to sleep. If only it was that easy, tossing and turning but he couldn’t sleep, he’d being lying if he wasn’t waiting for another text.
Didn’t matter what it was. But he’d be damned if he text her.
She wasn’t much different, but she waited till the next day.
“Kuroo are we inviting Karasuno to the summer camp?” She asked standing infront of his desk.
He looked up at her his face scrunching “I think.”
“Why-“
“Thank you!” She spoke leaving his classroom.
Maybe she didn’t have to wait as long as she thought to see him. Her summer break go free labored babysitting wouldn’t be to bad. She’d have a first year to pick on.
It was wierd how she found herself back looking at those three post, one of him reading a book somthing his friends probably took, the two other of him on a hike. A taller women, blonde, standing next to him, his mom she guessed how he held her just as close as she did him a half smile on his face. One most would think is fake and forced but it was genuine Tsukishima Kei was a mamas boy.
Her eyes scanned the phone as she continued to look, a notification popping up.
‘Tetsu(hater)😒’
‘Your ex is gonna be at the camp wanted to give you heads up!’
Her once smile dropping. Gross. Common, I mean sure he’s part of a team that’s friends but common. She was thankful for the heads up but she felt sick. He was gonna be there at that camp for 2 almost 3 weeks. God damn it. She could feel tears weld up in her eyes, she hated it. They’ve been apart for over 5 months. And now she had to see his stupid fucking face. It made her sick.
Felt as if she would spill her guts.
#haikyuu scenarios#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu tsukki#hq kei tsukishima#tsukishima kei x you#kei tsukishima x reader#tsukishima kei x reader#tsukishima kei#tsukishima x you#tsukishima x y/n#tsukishima fluff#tsukishima imagine#tsukishima x reader#haikyuu tsukishima#haikyuu!!#haikyuu#haikyuu x reader
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well I just spent an hour digging through my own dnd notes and social media and also almost cried because I mentioned, in passing, something justin had said about one of his NPCs and he, completely lightheartedly, was like '?? I don't remember that at all. [I mean I'm not making it up?] I think you might be making it up 😏'
#me-- instantly stressed and near tears: I know you're joking and it's not even important but. that isn't funny. to me.#I really wish there was a term for 'gaslighting but they're not doing it on purpose'#this is distinct from simply 'being wrong' because 'that's definitely not what happened 🤨' is a key part of it#the other person trying to convince me that I'm wrong and I must be crazy-- not for manipulation purposes but because THEY forgot#and are MUCH more confident in the possibility that I'm completely full of shit than that they maybe can't remember exactly#this is an extraordinarily specific thing that nonetheless happens to me ASTONISHINGLY OFTEN.#I mean clearly often enough that I'm now hair-trigger sensitive upset about it#AND TO CLARIFY QUICKLY-- that's not what justin even did (this time) but 'well I don't remember that' is still...#OKAY WELL I DO. WHY DOESN'T ANYONE EVER BELIEVE ME.#trembling and crying searching for Receipts while explaining to my husband that it's not even that I don't think he believes me (this time)#I just. I just. I just. I'm not fucking crazy. I know you don't think I'm crazy. but I still feel like I Have to prove it.#my mom sending a package to the wrong address and then saying-- confidently and irritably-- 'you never GAVE me a unit number'#when I can scroll back up through texts to where I sent her our new address when we moved and it was complete and correct#my friend during our big stupid fight saying 'no one actually AGREED to that [dnd] plan except you and justin 😒'#going back into my audio recording to that conversation where everyone BUT him agreed#including his fucking pick-me 'yeah jay's being shitty right now' brother whose character said 'this sounds like a good plan' verbatim#like. I KNOW it's not just 'my memory vs theirs and we both assume we're right'#because SO OFTEN when this happens I have FUCKING RECEIPTS. that I'M NOT WRONG OR CRAZY.#no one ever wants to entertain the notion that I might know what I'm talking about.#I can't stress enough that I'm not mad at justin right now he was very much 'no I believe you! it's weird that I don't remember though'#which is fair! honestly! but I'm a LITTLE. sensitive. of the fact that everyone always ALWAYS automatically assumes I'm incorrect#and very often in a way that's a mark against my competence or character.#'well *I* couldn't *possibly* have gotten the address wrong so YOU must have fucked it up'#you know. it's like that. it's like that a lot.#maybe this only happens to me so much because I happen to be cursed with remembering things better than most people#or maybe I'm uniquely viewed as incompetent. who can say.#about me
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that one coworker that's been giving us all issues might be getting fired soon which sucks for her but I'm honestly relieved because I just don't like her on a personal level bc she was depressing to talk to and creeped us all out with how she always wanted to talk abt her sexlife I hated working w her bc of how she was as a person
#I really hope she gets fired and it's not just a rumor#apparently shes been accused of being racist to customers too??#she needs to leave fr!!!!!#I really don't know why she sought out this job bc she physically cant do everything that the job requires and w the stuff she could do she#would often refuse and just stare at customers and would turn off her hearing aid and refuse to acknowledge ppl even tho they were obviousl#talking to her idk wtf was her deal w that#she would also compulsively lie?? for some reason??#I remember she lied about making origami w solar powered lights in it or smth#I told my dad (electrician) Abt it and he said that it sounds like bullshit#this girl irritated me so much that I had a nightmare that I was stuck in a Convo w her I woke up thrashing and yelling#but yeah <3 hope she leaves xoxoxo
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How to Write REALISTIC and SMOOTH Dialogue
In a story, dialogue is quite important, it helps the readers paint a picture of what's happening and the characters themselves. However, it can be difficult to avoid the unnaturalness and choppiness that comes with a lack of experience. But luckily, I have put together A LOT of advice on how you can get over that rockiness and improve!
*** KEEPING YOUR DIALOGUE REALISTIC, AND PACING ***
>> Keep your characters in character:
Dialogue is a remarkably quick way for readers to determine your character's personality. Thus, you want their speech patterns to remain fairly consistent so the audience won't get confused. If your character is more serious, then they will use less slang and perhaps a more impressive vocabulary. If your character is more relaxed, they will use more slang and compress the words. (such as "dunno," "kay," "y'know," etc.)
Basically, you want their tone to match their traits so the way that they talk is more realistic and personlized to themselves. If the way all your characters speak is the same, there's something wrong. A strong tip is to put yourself in your character's shoes and imagine how they would respond!
>> Take the situation into consideration:
This is another part of keeping your characters in, well, character. Different emotional situations will have a different effect on separate people, so make sure that you have an idea of how your character will act during stressful, irritating, and sad times.
If your character is normally cold, they will struggle if it comes to comforting other people because they have less experience in that field.
>> Don't take too long with their words:
Unlike when narrating something, most people talk just to get the idea across. They will be more specific and quicker with what they say. (This excludes any character who likes to talk a lot.) Unless it's on purpose, they won't dance around the topic. Think of when you casually chat with your friends; you're pretty unlikely to use certain words and/or phrases that might be common to use while narrating.
If you want to explain something complicated, instead of writing out a paragraph of just one person talking, use a question-and-answer prompt! This is where another character continuously asks related questions that get answered by another person, so you can indirectly reveal your explanation.
*** HOW TO WRITE A SMOOTHER CONVERSATION AND DIALOGUE TAGS***
>> Having a variety of dialogue tags:
This is a pretty basic thing to look out for if you're new to writing conversations. Using words like "said," every other sentence can easily make it feel choppy and robotic. Instead, use words like "murmured," "smirked," etc. to paint some emotion into their words. Additionally, vary the location of the dialogue tags! They don't all have to go after the statement, you can include something in the beginning or even the middle, too!
Examples:
Beginning - She tilted her head, "What are you talking about?"
Middle - "Oh," he blinked, "I actually never thought about that."
End - "Wait up!" She exclaimed loudly, waving her hands around.
>> Using no dialogue tags to create a smooth conversation:
Having too many tags can also overwhelm your reader--remember, sentence variety is a crucial part of writing--so you can always drop them if they're unneeded. This applies when your characters (two is the suggested amount) are talking back and forth in a pattern straightforward enough for the reader to understand who's talking without it having to be labeled.
Dropping dialogue tags in these moments can create a smoother atmosphere during the conversation because the reader only has to focus on the talking present.
*** USING SLANG, STUTTERS, FILLER WORDS, AND PAUSES ***
Human speech is often not perfect; when talking, we often make mistakes such as filler words, grammatically incorrect phrases, etc. Hence, for more natural-sounding dialogue, it's important to incorporate some of these.
>> Pauses and stutters:
When reading dialogue, we read it at a steady pace unless it's written otherwise. However, that steady pace can soon get too robotic and too smooth. Luckily, there are several ways to change this! You can use dialogue tags, (ex: she quickly spoke) commas, and ellipsis (...). These are often integrated when the character is hesitant, nervous, answering something, or when they need to admit something. The same idea applies to stutters--they're mainly used to demonstrate anxiousness, which can be found in varying situations.
>> Filler words and slang:
Filler words can really just be used where you see fit. They may be used in the situations I previously mentioned (because it shows someone stumbling over their words) but it's ultimately up to you!
Slang, just like everything else, should not be used too often, or it will seem forced and exaggerated. The point is to sound natural, and increasing amounts of repetitiveness can ruin it. It's also important to remember that in real life, our conversations move slower; when someone speaks, another person usually doesn't respond quite literally, right after. However, in writing, dialogue can actually often seem that way, which is why using tags and these imperfections of speech is pivotal for building a realistic conversation!
*** CONCLUSION ***
Lastly, a key point when writing dialogue is to ALWAYS read the conversations! Whether it be in your head or out loud, it can often help you catch anything that seems off! Additionally, like I mentioned at the very beginning, write dialogue from your character's perspective! Imagine yourself as them and how they/you would talk. Try to keep your dialogue tags, sentences, and word use varied to create a natural conversation!
If you were struggling before, I hope that this (extra) long guide was able to really offer you some insight and useful tips! If you read this far, thank you!
Happy writing~
3hks <3
#writing#writeblr#writerscommunity#writing tips#creative writing#writing advice#writing inspo#dialogue#writing dialogue#writing dialogue tips#dialogue tips#how to write dialogue#how to write smooth dialogue#how to write natural dialogue#tips on writing dialogue#tips on writing smooth dialogue#tips on writing realistic dialogue#how to write realistic dialogue
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Remember Me?
Pairing: ExNerd!Miguel O’Hara X AFAB!civillainreader
Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Plot, Praise, Unprotected Penetrative Sex (wrap it before you tap it), , Oral, Cowgirl, Missionary. You and Miguel make a mess...
Summary: Miguel has changed a lot since high school, but one thing remains the same...how he feels about you.
A/N: I have been trying to write about Miguel for weeks now! Every time I get close to finishing something for him I reread it and hate it! So I am posting this before I can change my mind! I hope you all enjoy I tried my best!
Word Count: 6,823
“Pfft…I can't believe this is real; this can’t be real!” Gwen keeps repeating to herself, trying to stifle back her laughter.
“I know! I couldn’t believe my eyes when Peter showed me but here it is!” Miles agrees; Pav quickly slings his arm around Miles for a better look.
“Take a look at the specks on him. Did you know he needed glasses?”
“Flip to the club photo. Now, that will shock you all.”
At Hobies request the teens quickly start flipping through pages. The sound of flipping pages and then the sudden bursting of laughter from the small huddle was something Miguel could no longer ignore. Miguel wasn’t sure why the teens and Peter were in his office. But since the events with the spot and some well-deserved apologies, Miguel, in the teen's words, “Chilled out,” and now they seem to hang out around him more. Meaning they are often now in his office… Miguel, of course, tried to appear as indifferent as possible to this change of pace, though He had to admit it was somewhat nice to have the cheerful ambiance that came with them... Hell, sometimes they could make him chuckle; Miles was actually pretty funny. But, of course, he keeps these things to himself.
Miguel makes his way to the huddle to see what could possibly be so enthralling. When he sees what's causing their uproar, his blood runs cold, freezing him dead in his tracks.
Is….that…his….yearbook…
It was turned to his picture and plan as the day under his unrecognizable photo was his name. So there was no getting out of this saying it wasn’t him…
“Miguel, is this really you?” Miles questions pointing to the picture.
“Must be his name right there,” Pav teases, making Miguel groan. This was an actual nightmare.
Looking over them, Miguel sees the picture they are all questioning; the difference is pretty night and day. A young 17-year-old Miguel was way scrawnier compared to his now bulking physique. His dark brown eyes were hidden behind his thick black-rimmed glasses, the only ones his mother could afford at the time. Miguel's thick, wavy brown hair looks untamed as it hangs down his forehead, threatening to cover his eyes if not for his glasses, the rest hanging loosely down to the nape of his neck. Poor kid was desperate for a haircut. Their cheekbones and jaw were still chiseled, and his face was not yet littered with lines of stress, sleepless nights, and age.
Hobie quickly grabs the yearbook, vigorously flipping through the pages until he stops on a picture of a young Miguel holding up a mathlete trophy, awkward smile and all. “This is my favorite picture. Do you still smile like that, bruv?”
“How did you all get this?” Miguel asks in irritation, pinching the bridge of his nose as if that will somehow stop his building anger and embarrassment.
Very aware of the sight of Miguel about to rage out, the young spiders quickly part, pointing the blame to a laughing Peter. Who finally quits his laughing fit as now he is staring into the eyes of a very irritated Miguel, waiting for an explanation.
Peter nervously clears his throat before speaking, “Wel, uh…do you remember a couple of days ago when you told me to drop off that equipment at your apartment? Well…I happened to see this on your living room bookshelf and thought I would look at it. Then I saw how much you had changed… I figured the kiddos would get a kick out of it…”
Miguel's eyes narrow, and his talons pop out, ready to bounce, but that is quickly escalated by Gwen taking back the yearbook, prepared to negotiate peace.
“Okay, okay, no need to rip his head off; we will return your book.” Miguel's body relaxes as he sighs of relief, holding out his hand for the book, but Gwen smirks, holding the book back out of his reach, “But, you have to show us your old crush first.”
Miguel’s eyes nearly pop out of his head, freezing at the terms of the agreement, and everyone else, including Layla, starts oohing. Making Miguel pitch the bridge of his nose again, muttering under his breath, “Esto tiene que ser una pesadilla…” (this has to be a nightmare…)
Then, to make things worse, they start chanting, “Show us….Show us…Show us! Show us!!”
The chatting became too much, and he snapped, holding out his hand irritatedly for the book. “Fine! I will show you; just shut up!”
A yay fills the room as Miguel starts irritatedly flipping through the book as soon as it’s laid in his hand. Everyone waits in bated breath until finally landing on the correct page. It's the page he spent the summer before college staring at, the picture he had agonized over. Miguel pauses, taking in the picture, and he feels those familiar feelings rushing up and swelling in his chest…Those high school crushes do hit you hard…
Even after all these years, he still remembers you so vividly; seeing the picture always solidifies for himself as confirmation as to why he had liked you so much. Beautiful and popular, everyone would only have positive things to say, even if your friend group wasn’t as nice. Miguel remembers that sweetness fondly. Though, behind that sweet smile, there was a mischievous side of you; he recalls hearing it hidden in your cooing voice when you would say that pet name during chemistry class…
“Miggy~”
The memory warms Miguel's cheeks, but he quickly dismisses the feeling. “There, that's her.”
The teens quickly grab the book back, climbing over each other to marvel at the picture of the girl the oh-so-scary Spider-Man 2099 had a crush on when he was their age.
“Wow, she's stunning!” Gwen complements
Miguel hums in agreement, “Yeah… the prettiest girl in my grade…prom queen, part of the student council, incredibly sweet…, and we took chemistry together…”
Pav and Hobie shoot Miguel a smirk, and he quickly huffs, folding his arms over his chest.
“Ever work up the nerve to confess?” Pav questions, ever the romantic.
The group watches as Miguel closes his eyes, thinking that the blush from earlier is slowly rising to his tan cheeks, making them all gasp in excitement.
“You did!” They all scream, but Miguel is quick to correct them.
“Well…technically…I didn’t”
“What do you mean technically?” Miles prys
Miguel can’t believe he admitted this much, but since he's already down the rabbit hole, he might as well give some more context: “At graduation…I kinda did, then I…ran away…”
A look of shock and confusion fills the teenager's face, but Peter is all grins and is going to give Miguel a high five: “Ah, the mysterious type. Nice.”
Gwen quickly swats him on the shoulder, earning a whine from the man.
“Not nice! That is so confusing! You just ran? Did you ever talk to her again?”
Miguel takes a second to avoid eye contact, stoically starting to the side, before letting out a quiet, “No…”
There is a collective groan, and Miguel rolls his eyes, trying to contain his high school embarrassment.
“Can we stop talking about this and return to work now?”
“Have you seen her since?” Miles questions,
“No,” Miguel answers sharply, irritation coming back up.
“Wha-what! How will you ever win her love if you don’t clear up the misunderstanding and confess your true feelings!” Pav laments, making everyone look at him with a raised brow.
“Pav, mate…you know how long it's been since he's seen her?” Hobie chides
Pav shrugs slightly, muttering, “Maybe it could be like a romantic thing…”
“So wait, You have all the resources and never thought to at least search her out? Aren't you curious?” Gwen prods
“No, I never thought about stalking my old crush. Now, can we please-”
“She lives in the city!” Miles' voice calls out, making Miguel whip around.
Miles and Layla stand on Miguel's platform with your picture, info, and social media pulled up on his halo screens. Everyone is quick to web over, including Miguel. Miguel quickly pushes away a beaming Miles as he takes in all your information. He sees where you went to college, where you work, and…
“Ooohhh! She's still single!” Pav beams, looking at Miguel expectancy.
Miguel rolls his eyes as he keeps looking at you, still as perfect as he remembered. Somehow, you seem more confident in yourself, you seem…sexier…
Feelings start rising back to Miguel's chest. He hasn’t seen you in so long, and even your pictures still stir something within him.
“Wow! This is awesome!” Miles beams, pointing to one of the screens
Miguel, being too lost in your pictures, hasn’t realized what the teens are yammering about until they all start shaking him back and forth in excitement. Then he finally hears it.
“You can see her at your High School reunion! It's coming up in a couple of weeks!”
Miguel turns his head to the invitation Layla had pulled up. “You got this a month ago but didn’t think you would be interested…. It looks like you will be attending now, though!”
Before he can protest, she is RSVPing, and all the teens are hollering in laughter and giving high-fives. Everything is happening so fast that all Miguel can do is stand there in something akin to a trance. That's until Pav comes up to him with a giddy smile,
“It’s like density!”
Miguel groans…he wants everyone to get back to work…
They really got him here….How the hell did he let them convince him to come here? They even managed to get him to dress up…
Hair in its usually slick back style, slate gray button down that did little to hide his bulk, and black trousers that he thought appeared too tight but Layla had insisted upon.
Miguel stands uncomfortably off to the side as people he used to know all gather together, chit-chatting about their lives and reminiscing on the good old days… All while Miguel stays sulking in the corner…Maybe things from high school haven’t changed that much. Well, despite the whole genetic splicing that made him a superhero… Instead of still being the captain of the Mathletes team, he's now the CEO of Aleamax. However, one thing remains the same: When he is in a room filled with all these people from school, his eyes still roam around, trying to find you…
High school had not been kind to a nerd like him. He was 9 inches shorter, and the most important things to him were keeping all A’s, getting into his dream college, keeping up with his favorite comic series, avoiding bullying, and wanting so badly to kiss his crush.
Miguel vividly recalls all those times in chemistry when you two worked so closely together. Miguel shyly mutters the mixing process while you lean in with stars in your eyes, taking it all in. Miguel never knew if you were interested in what he was saying or if you were trying to get a good grade, but he didn’t care. You still made his cheeks flush and heart race all the same.
“Then…When-when you add fluid B to A, you will get a fizzing reaction…”
A shaking Younger Miguel tries to steadily pour in the fluids while you watch, leaning in so close he could smell your sweet perfume and look at your glittery glossed lips.
“Wow! Miggy, you’re so smart.” Your voice would be like sweet honey praising him, and the mere closeness of you to him would make his body feel like it was going to melt.
“I keep telling my friends I have the best lab partner…” Miguel feels his throat dry as your hand slowly curls over his forearm. Then the bell rings, and Miguel is flustered, packing his things as you smile sweetly and wave goodbye.
God, you must have been just messing with him, toying with him, knowing he was like a love-sick puppy for you. The worst part, if this was the case, he would have let you…Miguel would have let you toy and bat away at his heart until you felt content with it fully unraveling to you. Pathic…is that what you thought? Well, if it wasn’t what you thought of him before, it must be what you thought after his pitiful confession…
Miguel thinks back to that night when he last saw you…that all too familiar warmth threatens to take him over, so as he stares down at his drink, he slips back to that moment…
The ceremony had ended, everyone had exited the stadium, and Miguel was taking a second to calm himself in the dark hallway. High school was over, and his life was beginning. He was thinking back on all his decisions for this new chapter. Miguel fidgets with his graduation cap and feels about what awaits him. Then he thinks about the things he missed out on…
Then your face comes to mind…he had vowed to confess; even if you laughed and rejected him, he wanted to get his feelings off his chest. But when it came down to it, he let his shyness get the better of him and let you slip through his fingers without telling you. This was high school? He was sure to like other girls…but why was this eating away at him so much? Why did he feel so sick to his stomach for not doing this…
The sound of clicking heels fills the corridor, and like fate, you are walking through the hallway back toward him. Miguel adjusts his glasses, unsure if this is some kind of halustion brought on by self-pity, but no… it was you…
As soon as your eyes locked to his, your lips curled to that all too familiar smile, the one that was so sweet. Then your voice rang that teasing nickname you graciously bestowed upon him.
“Miggy, what are you doing, silly? Hanging out in the dark…Don’t you want to go celebrate?”
“Oh…... I didn’t plan to go to any parties… just going to go home and get started on some summer reading…”
The smile that curled on your lips was additive as you stepped closer to his slouching form, “hm…Miggy…always so prepared… I’m going to miss seeing you around so much. I’m sure you're the only reason I passed chem!”
“No…I am sure you will have more interesting people to talk to than a nerd like me…”
“Maybe I like talking to nerds like you.”
The statement made Miguel look up to see you so close to him mischive filling your eyes. Leaning in so close to him, he feels like he can’t breathe when he looks at you so close like this…
“You don’t mean that…” he chuckles softly.
Then your index finger lifts his chin, and you look at him with sweet eyes, but your tone is stern, “Don’t tell me what I mean…”
Miguel feels his heartbeat quicken, and his palms begin to sweat. Before he can return to rational thought, he leans into you.
He so gently cups your cheek with his nervous hands. Brushing his nose against yours, his shaky breath fanning over your sparkly glossed lips. Then, when your lips finally meet, he isn’t sure who fills the gap.
The kiss was so sweet, and he held you so gently, but he knew you could feel the shaking of his hands and the heat rushing to his face. Everything around you two seemed to fade.
Eyes shut tightly from falling into the depths of the kiss, he pulls away to breathe. Peeking open his eyes, Miguels sees you are breathless, and your face is burning with a deep blush. You look so surprised... and he doesn't know what to say or how to explain.
“I’m sorry…I just had to do that once…”
Then he ran off… leaving you alone in that dark hallway, scared of what you would say next…
“Miggy!”
“Miggy!”
“Miguel?”
Lost in his thoughts, Miguel failed to notice that one of his ex-classmates had been trying to get his attention. One of them must have finally recognized him. Looking up from his cup, Miguel expects to see one of his old mathlete teammates, but as he finally meets their eyes, he feels his heart stop at the sight.
Looking up at him with that same sweet smile, you look just like he remembers: completely radiant. Your pictures showed you were still beautiful, but in person, you are the thing he remembers most about you: breathtaking.
“Miguel, that's gotta be you… Do you remember me?” -How could he not remember you?
Miguel feels himself staring at his thoughts, running everywhere; what does he say? What does he do?
“I…I, of course, remember m-my lab partner.” -Okay, a little shaky…But with your face seeming to light up when he says he remembers and your eyes roaming over him, he can’t chastise himself too much for stuttering now. Miguel feels his hands starting to become clammy, and his stomach feels full of butterflies…shit…this feels like high school all over again.
“I can not believe how different you look!”
“Yeah, late growth spurt and I uh… I started going…to the gym a lot….You though! You still look so beati- uh nice…good you look outstanding…” His mind is running a mile a minute, and he can’t believe how he is acting right now! He's Spider-Man, and he’s acting so nervous?
Smirking, you look as if you could read his mind about how nervous he is, though to anyone with working eyes, it was obvious.
“You think I look good?” you ask, playful, making Miguel's eyes take in just how tight your dress is. “I was hoping for beautiful…” you smile, giving him a wink. His blood rushes in his veins, and he swallows his suddenly dry throat.
You could eat him alive…and he would let you…
“Beautiful then, you - uh… you have always looked beautiful…”
“Thank you, Miguel, you look very handsome.” Miguel feels his heart racing as you step closer. Your eyes stay on his confident smile on your glossy lips. It teeters on cocky, and Miguel can’t bring himself to hate it…he loves it…
“Though Miguel, I do have to say…I miss the glasses; they were really cute.”
“I still have some that I wear sometimes,” he says a bit too eagerly.
Your smirk widens, “Really? Does your girlfriend like them?”
“Oh, I don’t have a girlfriend.”
The smirk on your lips borders on sinful “Good…” You purr
Miguel feels a wave of electricity shakes through him. Are you flirting? Miguel can’t help the smile and blush that's now reached to the tips of his ears. Miguel came here thinking that you wouldn’t be here, and if you were, you would be avoiding him, but he didn’t expect this. Do you even remember it? Well, of course, you would! Who forgets getting kissed, and then the person runs? He needs to apologize before he never sees you again.
“So Umm…I am glad I got to see you, well other than it’s just nice seeing you…but I want to apologize…”
“You’re talking about graduation.” Your cheerful voice cuts him off and utterly confuses him. Furrowing his brow, he’s lost and hoping you can explain.
“Miguel, I like the kiss…I wish you wouldn’t have run away…”
Miguel is sure he’s died, and there is no possible way you're saying this to him. Sweet, perfect you, like when he kissed you. Nerdy awkward him? Gently, Miguel feels your hands touching his chest, slowly dancing your fingertips over his muscles. Miguel hopes you can’t feel the way his heartbeat is racing right now.
“You know, now that I really think about it…you owe me an apology or something. It was very rude of you to kiss me suddenly and then run away like that, teasing me. Then, when I went to reach out to you, you didn't have any socials. That's not very nice to do, you know…”
Your hand slightly grazes his jaw, and he feels like he could melt. Rising to your tiptoes, you try to whisper in his ear as you lean into his chest, your chest rubbing against him. Miguel can feel himself starting to break a sweat.
“I thought you were sweet…”
Miguel feels you start to pull away, and in a moment of bravery or desperation, he carefully places his hands on your waist. Leaning down, he whispers back to you.
“Could I make it up to you somehow?”
“I have an idea…if you're up for it?”
Gathering his confidence, when he sees your smile, he squeezes your sides slightly, “Anything you want.”
Without any hesitation, you grab his large hand from your waist and pull him along with you to slip out of the reception room into a dark hallway. The irony is not lost on either of you as you grin and pull each other close. Your lips are so close to his as you lean into his chest.
“You're not going to run away this time. I want you to do this properly this time…”
Part of Miguel feels like he could be dreaming; your arms are wrapped around his neck, your fingers tangled in his hair, smiling at him so sweetly. Your eyes are one of pure hunger, and your voice is so transparent with your want. It’s perfect.
Miguel brushes his thumb over your tempting lips, slightly dragging the bottom down while he tries to archer himself back to reality. Moving his hand to your neck as he leans in and kisses you. Your lips are soft and perfectly guiding against his. Miguel's hands fall to your hips; he digs his fingers into the plush of your skin, making you gasp into his mouth with a moan. It’s been a long time since he’s kissed you, and he wants to make sure you know how much he wants you… trying his hardest to impress you.
The fingers in his hair tighten to a fist as you guide him to part his plush lips, then slip in your tongue to get a taste of him. It’s gentle at first but quickly heats up from your eager influence. Then you start straddling his thick thighs, grinding slightly against him. Both your bodies feel like you’ve been set on fire in a blazing flame of want.
“Miggy, I always like you…just-”
Before you can finish your words, Miguel drives his tongue back into your mouth, eager to taste those words he had always wanted to hear. His hands cup your ass as he drives his knee deeper between your legs, letting you use him more. Breaking the kiss, you let out the most perfect moans as your body tingles and shivers. Miguel hasn’t had enough of you yet as he keeps his mouth kissing against your flushed skin. His tongue rolls over your rapid pulse as you keep grinding and mewing for more.
“Fuck, miggy~”
Miguel licks a long strip up your neck before grunting in your ear, “I… I only came here… to see you…t-talk to you…”
His rough words make you grind against him more, and right as Miguel starts to feel your slick soaking through his pants, you pull his hair, successfully pulling a whimper from him, which is quickly cut off by your soft lips to his again. Then, as you pull away, you bite his bottom lip, which makes him shiver.
“Can…can I take you home…” Miguel asks breathlessly, his hands still squeezing your ass.
A small giggle leaves your kiss-bitten lips as you take a second to fix his now-disheveled hair, thanks to you.
“Take me to your place, Miggy; you still owe me…”
Miguel feels a rush of excitement run through him, making his length throb at your words. You really are going to eat him alive…
It's the perfect sight he’s only ever dreamed of seeing, you sitting on his large bed completely naked, a sweet smile on your face, soft legs crossed over each other, waiting patiently for him. Miguel adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose…you had insisted, and he’s finding he can’t deny you…
Miguel slips off his underwear, kicking them away. Your eyes widen as you see his massive length slap against his abdomen, then hanging heavily. Your eyes rake over his immaculate form; the sight of you licking your licks isn’t lost on him.
“Strip for me, Miggy,” you taunted as you dropped your dress with little effort, waiting for him to follow. Of course, he did. He would follow anything your sweet voice commands. Just please…let him touch you…
Running his hand through his hair, Miguel approaches you, but your sweet voice turns to him in disapproval, and he pauses.
“No walking, I want you to crawl on your hands and knees…please? Miggy~”
Every time you use that old nickname, he feels his cock twitch. Keeping his now blazing eyes on you as he slowly sinks to his knees and begins to crawl to you obediently. The action is meant to make him look submissive, but you find that even now, he looks like a predator getting ready to devour its prey… The shiver that shoots down your spine goes right to your sex, making you drip down on his sheets.
As Miguel crawls closer, you unfold your legs, stretching one out slowly toward him. His large hand immediately catches your ankle. Hungry eyes look up at you, blazing with want, as his hand slowly creases up your leg. Miguel's lips kiss softly against your calf while he whispers faint words under his breath after every kiss. His eyes watch you as he slowly raises your legs, the back of your thighs being pressed against his broad shoulders.
Miguel's hands grab your hips, making you slip a moan. His eyes turn softer as he hears you moan, his lips coming away from the fresh mark he's left on your inner thigh. Miguel's lips part to apologize, but you're quick to interrupt before he can.
Leaning forward, you push his glasses back into their proper place and crease his cheek. “You're doing so well for me, Miguel…though…It does feel like you're trying to make me beg… Are you trying to tease me?”
Miguel's lips curl into a smile as he lowers his face to lick his tongue against your clit. You throw your head back at the hot contact, Miguel groaning at the sweet taste of your cyprine.
“I wouldn’t dream of teasing you…” Miguel's lips lower down to your clit before he gives it a quick lick.
Unable to help yourself, you grab a fist full of his hair, making him let out a soft groan, “Then devore me, Miggy; you still owe me, remember? And I-Ah!~”
Before you can finish your taunting, Miguel is driving his face into your wet sex to selfishly devore more of you. Long slow licks of his warm tongue send waves of pleasure to flood your body as your toes curl from every push of his nose to your clit.
His breaths for air huffing against your quivering sex, the tip of his tongue darting back to lick against your soft folds, making you whine. Looking down at him, his glasses crooked and hazy and his groans continue to vibrate through your pussy. Then the sensation of his tongue probing you open makes you close your thighs against his head and grab this thick hair, pulling hard enough for a grunt to slip through his chest. Getting the message, Miguel moves his tongue to lick your sensitive clit as his finger slips into you. Your grip on his hair gets tighter as you squirm, grinding your hips against his face, mouth hanging open as your chest heaves moan after moan. Your body starts shaking at the addition of another finger, making you feel jolts of pleasure that make you need to roll your hips onto his face more.
Miguel could carless at the apparent use of his face for your pleasure; it's all he craves right now, your cum to dip all over his eager tongue. For your hips grind onto his face for hours. He would stay on his knees worshiping you like this until you're calling out from too much pleasure, and even then, he doesn’t know how he could pull himself away from your delicious taste.
You feel him groan into you, the vibrations rushing through you to cause you to gasp and shiver as his tongue keeps sliding in and out of you, desperate for your sweetness. You want more, need more, you crave it with every roll of your hips; you want him in you deeply. Unclenching your thighs from his head, you pull his hair, forcing his face from you with a wet pop.
Miguel's eyes are blown as he keeps them steady on yours, his full lips parted and panting. The sight of his face glistening with a mix of his saliva and your arousal is sinful and complete perfection. His poor glasses are resting on his face, still lopsided from his ravenous pursuit to taste your cunt. Leaving forward, you keep a smile as you hold his cheek; he immediately melts into it. Grabbing his glasses from his head, you toss them to his nightstand; before he can say anything to you, you're leaning forward to bring him into a kiss. His lips and tongue are laced with you, and you can’t help but want to giggle as he groans and leans his whole body onto you, so needy for more.
With a gentle push to his massive chest, you can change the positions as you now straddle his hips effortlessly. You are slowly running your hands up and down his chest and abdomen, feeling his hair decorating his skin, making your mouth water. As you shift yourself up, you feel his swollen length hanging heavily as you nudge against it. The tip is hot and already pebbling with glistening pre-cum, straining for you to envelope around him. Reaching down, you flick your eyes from his eyes to his length.
Miguel sure has changed over the years, but his face is so breathless and furrowing with every strained pleasure as you slide your thumb over his cocks slit. Whining so softly, sounding like the sweet nerd you remember. On the other hand, Miguel is witnessing you in a way only his mind had fantasized about. Your smile is no longer so sweet but devious; He wants to push his cock into you so deeply and have you shudder and scream while you gush all over him, But this teasing and taunting… it's mouth-watering.
Touching his length, you feel the sheer heat of it as you carefully trace over the soft skin, feeling every vein. Tracing over the red weeping tip, you feel him shudder and mumble something under his breath as you grasp him to hold against you, seeing that he measures to your stomach. You can't help but bite your lip in anticipation of the stretch.
Your eyes flick back to Miguels, “Think it will fit?” you tease.
“I will make it fit…” his rough voice sends a shiver down your spine.
Lifting to your knees, you line up his tip to brush on your clit, making you gasp as you slip him through your folds. Then finally, you slip him in slowly, feeling his cock stretch your fluttering hole; the stretch is intense and makes you roll your eyes as your back arches. Miguel grabs your ass tightly, bucking his hips to sink in a bit faster; he pants a sorry as you let out a moan and squeeze your hands on his chest for support. Looking down at his beautifully blushing face, you only smile as you sink deeper.
“So eager, Miggy~”
All Miguel can manage is a smile as he works hard to keep himself from bottoming out immediately. He so badly just wants to shove it in deeply and rut into you like a damn animal. A groan builds in his throat as he tries to keep himself from whimpering as you continue to sink so slowly. His cock throbbing and stretching your walls as it heats your insides. Before he can manage a whine, you sink all the way down, taking every inch; before either of you can moan, you lean down to catch his lips in a needy kiss, taking control you guide him, your tongue pushes past his lips to taste his groans. While his tongue eagerly does the same. Pulling away from the kiss, you grind against him, relishing in the feeling of his cock pushing in deeper and his trimmed hairs tickling your sensitive skin; you can’t help but bite his bottom lip to compensate for the mind-numbing feeling.
Miguel's hands squeeze harder, making you release his lip as your cunt to clenchs on him, the moan of his name dropping from your lips as your hips start to grind on him at a slow pace. Using your hands, you slightly push yourself up and rock your hips back and forth, letting his cock slide to bully your gummy insides, brushing your cervix with every nudge. Miguels is mesmerized as he roams his hands over your body, worshiping every inch of your skin with his careful fingertips brushing and rubbing you so tenderly. His hands come to your breast, where he takes a minute to squeeze and pinch your nipples, your whimper in response, and grind harder against his cock, pushing him to rub harder against your cervix.
“You look s-so fucking beautiful…your body, your…tatse…I’ve never stopped thi-thinking of you…” Miguel mutters through pants of hot breaths.
The words spur you on, and you start to pick up your pace, making him moan out and guide your hips to rock back and forth faster, “Always so sweet…” you coo to him…the words are less taunting but just true; he has always been sweet to you…
“Only for you…” he muses, and you can’t help but smile,
“Good…”
You feel yourself starting to sip from having a clear head that's now blurring in a haze of lust as you continue to pursue your pleasure on his girth. Pushing in and out on him quicker. Your hands grab onto him tighter as you ravish your tight pussy with his throbbing cock. Begging for both his and your release. Fucking so deep in you, now your jaw falls slack as his cock keeps pushing against your velvety sweet spot, making jolts of pleasure pulse through your body with every bounce.
The sweat that has built on your bodies works hard to try and cool your fevered states, but with every push into your cunt and with every clench around his length rousing him to go deeper makes it all in vain. There is no cooling as you two approach your white hot release, bodies only growing more hot and sensitive with every whine and every mind-numbing push. So close to tipping the other to ecstasy…
With a couple of aided thrust from Miguel fucking up into you, your muscles tenase and your mouth falls open in a pitched scream of his name as your danm burst making you clench and shudder on his cock, coming undone on top of him. You're quivering on his length as he carefully grinds you through your drenching pleasure, the feeling of his cock slipping deeper as you eagerly ride him through your high.
With the way you clench so tightly and grind faster, Miguel couldn't help but feel himself throb and spurt right into your cervix. The feeling of it spurting so thickly, his cock pulsing inside of you, feeling so heavy in you with each twitch. This cum is hot and fills you so that it's leaking down mixing with your arousal, creating a sticky mess. You can't help yourself when you side on more and more feeling your cunt want to stick to his skin.
Haze starting to clear you fall forward on him, you try to catch your breath in between placing frantic kisses to Miguel's chest and neck. Your orgasm leaves you utterly satisfied, but Miguels is not done…
With a quick turning over your body, you're lying on your back now as Miguel situates himself between your legs. He takes time to look over your flushed form, his massive hands dragging over your sensitive body, and you shiver and buck your hips up. Miguel takes your legs, pushing them up to your chest, making your mew from his touch, your pussy completely exposed to him. Miguel feels his breath catch as his cum leaks out of your trembling puffy cunt in milky drops. Miguel releases one of your legs to fall to his shoulder so he can plam his cock, still erect and ready for more. His red eyes flick back to your blisted-out face, and though you're at the point of overstimulation, you still ache for more.
“M-Miggy…” you're the one to tremble shyly for him now, and the switch of the roles makes him fold. He’s helpless for you…
Leaning down carefully, Miguel cages you between his massive arms as he places a gentle, sweet kiss on your begging lips. Breaking the kiss, he whispers in your ear so softly, “More? Can you give me more? Perfect girl…let me feel you again…please…”
Wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling his damp skin, you buck your hips up in your whine of, “More, Please, Miggy ah—I need more of you, always. You are so good to me.”
He catches your hips in a quick grip as he lifts them up, smiling; it's everything he has ever wanted to hear from your sweet lips. And he is always eager to satisfy you.
Miguel slips his cock into you with a groan; you're already so sensitive as he pushes down to the base, filling you so quickly that your body already starts quivering around him. Pressing soft kisses to your sweaty skin, he rolls his hips slow and deep. He is taking his time with you. Every thrust is hot and tingling, and you feel that familiar tense starting to build up again from the consistent pace he's set. Managing to open your eyes through moans and rolls, you see Miguel with beautifully flushed cheeks, eyes filled with want as he softly pants and whimpers with each clench of your wet cunt.
As his pace quickens, you feel him throb, giving you new resolve to meet your hips with each thrust, and your core starts to burn deliciously. Your nails find their place, digging into his broad back. Every slap of his balls to your overly sensitive skin makes you moan and throw your head back. Miguel takes the opportunity to kiss and lick against your neck, his hot breath rushing over you. With a final clench and strained moan, you feel that white-hot wave of pleasure burn through you; his body shudders at the feeling of your cunt, so desperate to cum against him to milk him dry again. His groan borders on a whine as his hips are still, and you feel that familiar throbbing against your cervix as his thick cum fills you up. Looking up at him, you watch his face contort to be in complete pleasure; the sight of it is completely addicting.
Staying in you till you are both down from your highs, he slowly pulls out his softening cock. The pooling of both of your cum completely ruins the sheets underneath you, but Miguel doesn’t worry about that. He brushes stray hairs from your face and whispers he will be right back. You're too exhausted to move, and you can only twitch slightly as you feel a cool cloth cleaning you up so gently.
After cleaning you up, you feel the bed sink beside you and the feeling of an arm around you, bringing you closer to his warm body, his other hand brushing through your hair so carefully. You gather your energy to curl into Miguel with a broad smile. You two lay there, slowly drifting away in each other's comfort.
Clearing his throat, Miguel tries to be as unawkward as possible, and it only manages to make you smile more; you two just had amazing sex, and he’s still nervous; some things die hard, you guess. Looking up at him, you see he’s trying to gather up the best way to approach his next words; this night has been everything he hoped, and he doesn’t want to blow it now, but he needs to know the answer to his question,
“Can-can I…take you out on a date?”
His face is completely sincere and flushed; you have to bite back your giggle before you answer.
“Miggy, about time you asked…”
You two set the date up for the next night; Miguel, of course, wore his glasses…
#across the spiderverse#atsv miguel#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara#spiderman 2099#miguel o'hara fanfiction#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara x fem!reader#miguel 2099#miguel smut#miguel ohara smut#miguel x reader#miguel spiderverse#miguel fanfic#miguel ohara#miguel o hara#miguel spiderman#atsv smut#miguel atsv#atsv#atsv fanfiction#spiderman atsv#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel ohara x reader#miguel x you#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara x afab!reader#spiderman across the verse
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Hey could you write a Finnick odair / reader where snow forces them to pretend to date like he did with katniss and peeta? The whole convince him and get married as a distraction thing? Thanks :)
the pretender
finnick odair x reader
synopsis: being reaped from the victor’s pool changed your life in more ways than you imagined
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you were his favorite girl.
girl. you were a girl when you had been reaped, a girl when your feet stepped off the platform, more shocked that you didn’t immediately blow up into bits. a girl when you had committed your first kill. you remembered the sound of your knife slicing into human flesh for the first time. the ringing in your ears had become permanent after you had been too close to the explosion that had killed half of the tributes. an explosion that you had accidentally caused.
your rebellious spirit was fun at first, for the capital to laugh and delight in, until you stopped using the scripts that they had written for you, and tried to destroy the idea of the girl in their minds.
snow subdued you, tried to barter your family’s life with cooperation. unbeknownst to him, you hadn’t seen your family in years since they had abandoned you, for fighting against your father’s abuse.
“kill them. do whatever you want to them. just leave me alone.” your own words haunted you since the day snow had presented evidence of their murders. you didn’t dare flinch in his presence, holding a strong facade that you didn’t care, that they were beneath you.
as he left, irritated at your refusal to comply, letting ideas stir in his head with what to do with you, you broke down. tears shed as you realized that they were gone because of you, because you couldn’t let your anger go.
but snow liked you, he must’ve had a reason to keep you around for so long, and until just a few days ago, you hadn’t known why.
you breathed deeply as you heard your name called. it was deja vu, and suddenly you were back to the thirteen year old girl, who was so emaciated and starved that when her name was called, she believed she was hallucinating.
you looked crudely into the screen, not offering any smiles or sign of pride that you had been reaped, all over again.
“y/n l/n.” hearing your full name made you turn around immediately. you were slightly blinded by his blonde hair and pearly white smile.
“finnick odair.” you realized who the man was, quicker than you’d admit. the last time you had seen him was at a ridiculous capital party that snow had forced you to attend. finnick had been leaned against a wall, with two capital sluts hanging onto his shoulders, whispering in his ears simultaneously.
he smiled, not surprised that you didn’t say anything else besides his name. you had that tendency about you, to shoot down any attempt at conversation. even going as far to avoid it all together. “i’m glad you haven’t tried to run away, not after i had caught you eyes and you dashed off at that party. how long ago was that? three,” his speech hung onto the words, “four?”
“five months. it’s been five months, finnick.” you remembered his gaze, and remembered how your feet made you run at the sight. you had heard stories about finnick, and you weren’t exactly planning on ever talking to him.
“that’s right.” he smiled, “i hope you’ve been well since then. it was nice seeing you in something other than a bloody shirt.” his gaze suddenly seemed very far away, as if he was remembering exactly what you wore that night.
you shrugged, deciding to change topics, “everyone else is polishing their weapons,” you heard a guttural war cry, and saw another tribute lunge at a partner, “and methods.” finnick turned to the source of the cry and laughed slightly, “oh yeah? what’s your choice of weapon, again?”
“knives. anything long and sharp.” you always had an affinity for knives. it was second nature to you, an art of your district. your mind drifted away slightly to the array of knives that you had collected during your games. every tribute that you had slaughtered had a knife, and you collected them as a token. by the end, you had 23 knives, all representing a kill.
it had been upsetting when you went on your victory tour, to see the look on their family’s faces, but you had blurred out their emotions, and at the height of your submission to snow, had given out the same apathetic speech to every district.
finnick watched as your mind drifted back to reality. wherever you had gone for the better half of a minute, was a place finnick spent every waking moment, running away from.
he grabbed your shoulder, squeezing it slightly as he looked into your eyes, whispering your name, “hey, hey.” you focused on his eyes, gaze shifting to his mouth as they shaped the syllables of your name. you swallowed thickly, “im sorry-i…” you pulled away, his hand falling free of your shoulder. finnick watched as you exited the training room, your hands balled up into fists as you disappeared through the doorway.
“absolutely not.” you had spent your childhood under the thumb of one man, and you had barely made it out from under snow’s. this was only another way to get you under it once more.
finnick had his head bowed, having listened to snow’s pitch to make the two of you a couple. he needed something to distract the capital citizens from peeta and katniss, who everyone knew, was just a thorn in snow’s side.
“my dear, i really don’t think you have a choice in the matter.” snow’s eyes narrowed at you and you sighed, “what else is there left for you to do? im already being marched to my death, again, just speed the process up. poison me like you do the rest.” you took a good jab at one of the many secrets you had obtained, living in his cage.
snow laughed, “i would’ve done that a long time ago, y/n.”
just as you were beginning to argue again, finnick looked up, eyes catching yours. he held your gaze for a minute, blinking his wet eyes at you. there was something that was telling you that this wasn’t just about you.
finnick.
oh how could you forget finnick.
there was something clearly at stake for him too, otherwise why had he remained silent this entire time?
compliance was something he had to get used to, also under snow’s control.
“okay, fine.” you felt yourself swallow bile, “i’ll do it.” you looked at finnick, your future husband, and the reason why you were even agreeing.
“why did you do it?” his voice cracked, a raw noise as he looked over at you. you had been silent the whole time since leaving the meeting with snow. you shuddered with the strong winds, having been sat out on the stoop of the building, housing all the reaped former victors.
you looked at finnick, having caught his gaze, holding it for a moment, “my entire life i’ve been selfish, and i guess i realized that it isn’t always about putting myself first.” you knew the stories, heard the rumors. snow had barely played with the idea, making you like finnick, but you had always refused. there was nothing left for him to leverage, and so it never went anywhere.
but this, pairing the two of you was nothing short of cruel. finnick who has everything to lose, with you, who he probably didn’t expect to agree.
finnick hitched a breath, understanding what you weren’t saying. “thank you.” he breathed, “and im sorry.”
you stood up suddenly, nodding as you turned towards the entrance, “just-“ you cut yourself off, waving a hand as you continued inside.
he made the announcement. finnick had decided that with the pull he has on the capital, that he would be the one to do it. especially since he was so beloved, the attention from it was to challenge katniss and peeta’s.
you had agreed to play the part, and now you had to act like it.
there was loud cheering and applause from the crowd, and you were pushed out onto the stage, more cheers erupting as finnick stood up to meet you halfway. you kissed his cheek, grabbing his hand tightly as you two fluttered across the stage.
caesar flickerman was already standing there with a bright, capitol smile. “this is your lovely bride. we hear the honeymoon is the arena?” he looked at finnick who tipped his head back for a laugh, but didn’t answer outright.
you gave a soft laugh, “we just loved each other so much, we couldn’t wait.”
caesar looked at you, as if remembering who you were exactly, “wow.” he seemed truly amazed, perhaps even shocked.
finnick noticed the heaviness in the interview and turned his head at caesar, trying to keep the attention on the union rather than the individuals.
he grabbed your hand suddenly, clutching it tightly. as he held it for the rest of the interview, you staring at the faces in the crowd, more love struck than you, you wondered if he was trying to comfort you or himself.
“finnick.” you looked around behind you, only seeing peeta in front of you. the first few days in the arena had been a blur. you had stuck by close with finnick, who made it his mission to stay close to katniss. there was something he wasn’t telling you, but you didn’t once doubt him.
“finnick?” you whipped your head around and couldn’t find him. you were always in front of him, so he could remain in his eye line at all times. except you had failed to make sure he was in yours.
your ears started ringing as the panic set in. you scanned the trees and couldn’t find any sign of him or katniss, realizing this as peeta shared your same panicked look. your throat felt tight as you screamed his name, “finnick!” peeta suddenly took off, feet blazing towards more greenery. you had no choice but to follow, knowing finnick would’ve had you stick with peeta.
as you barely caught up to peeta, you saw him hit the floor as you ran up. whatever he had bounced off of was holding katniss and finnick back.
you looked at finnick, unable to catch his eyes as he looked up frantically. there was something you were missing, there were just bir-
“jabberjays.” peeta groaned out, “they can’t hear us, but they hear our screams.” he swallowed thickly, resting near the force field. katniss was knelt down at the edge, eyes tightly shut. you stared at finnick, at a loss for words. the panic in his face looked so real, you wondered who he was hearing.
you tore your eyes away, watching him suffer was not something you had signed up for. you felt defeated, unable to do anything as you and peeta sat like sitting ducks, waiting this torture out.
you hadn’t talked to him since the jabberjays. peeta had comforted katniss, in any way she’d let him. but they were different, you and finnick were different.
yes, you were married, he was your husband. but the issue was, you hadn’t much time to even begin to share intimate details, let alone have a good conversation. this was what snow wanted, an empty marriage to stir up all the attention.
except you knew your performance was failing. the audience could see right through you.
“hey.” finnick had snuck up on you. you had stayed a few feet away from him and the others, unsure how to handle it all. but it seems like finnick was trying to make it work. but it should be the other way around.
“finnick.” you breathed a sigh of relief unintentionally, hoping he didn’t catch on, you watched as he sat down on the sand beside you. he grabbed your hand, and for a moment you thought it to be genuine, until he raised an eyebrow.
right.
“i’m so sorry.” your voice hitched, and finnick steadied his gaze, “seeing you like that-“ you faked a choked sob, “i just couldn’t do it. i couldn’t look at you and see-“ you cut yourself off, throwing your head in your hands.
snow had to be happy that you were selling yourself off to protect finnick. but beside that heart to heart you had with him in the beginning, you had nothing else to go off of.
“i heard you.” finnick’s voice cracked, “you were screaming, these terrible, horrible screams.” he shook his head, as if he were hearing them all over again, making you realize that he was telling the truth. “and it wouldn’t stop.” he breathed. his breathing got harder and you found yourself kissing him to make him stop. finnick panted into the kiss, as if you had grounded him. you pulled back, catching his eye as you looked away.
your hand that he had been holding gripped his harder. you looked out into the water, watching as it’s dangerous waters moved, unsure on how you would survive this.
with or without him.
#finnick odair fluff#finnick x you#finnick odair oneshots#finnick odair angst#finnick x reader#finnick odair x reader#finnick odair smut#thg finnick#thg#thg angst#thg x reader#finnick imagine#hunger games finnick#finnick odair#finnick x y/n#finnick odair x you#thg imagine#thg smut#thg fanfiction
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A nice character with a yandere split persona. The Yandere persona was born out of the abandonment of the character by a loved one, maybe mom. Did he kill her just so she could stay? Maybe. Only the Yandere persona knows, the character is oblivious, he just knows his mom left him. But he oddly feels ok about it as though the situation has been reconciled... which is weird to him.
Now he meets and falls in love with yn. She must not leave. It's f around and find out
Btw I love you ❤️❤️❤️ The Yokai series is my fave
Oooh, I’ve been thinking of a context for your idea and I somehow got stuck on a serial killer who is unaware of it most of the time. Since you mentioned abandonment and obsession, my mind wandered to some of the typical habits, such as collecting trophies. I’ve also been wanting to try my hand at writing a serial killer, so hopefully it turns out to your liking. (Sending back the love, always a pleasure to see your comments ❤)
Although let me include a little disclaimer, because I am aware many things in the sphere of true crime are problematic: this in no way glorifies or romanticizes serial killers. Just a reminder that this is a work of fiction and all behaviors displayed are for the sake of an interesting story, not to be admired in real life.
Yandere! Serial Killer x Reader
You're temporarily staying with a kind, quiet man renting out a room in the house he inherited. It's just the two of you, and a locked bedroom he claims to be vacant. Yet as night falls, you hear the whispered arguing of a voice you don't recognize. Is anyone else there?
Content/TW: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror
You must break the pattern today, or the loop with repeat tomorrow
He stares at the locked drawer of the bureau. The clock ticking in the background fades into an irritating buzz, drumming against his ears at irregular intervals like a swarm of insects. Once again, he cannot remember where the key is. Yet he does not feel compelled to search for it. It cannot be anything of significance, he tells himself. Forgotten knick-knacks, perhaps. Despite the apparent lack of curiosity, he is drawn here every morning. He wakes up, carefully folds the sheets, and goes to sit in the office. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Until, at last, the noon hour strikes, and the hallways are flooded with ghastly chimes.
Lately, however, other sounds have taken over the usual silence that envelops the house. The main door rattles faintly before opening with a creak.
“They were out of our bread rolls. I got a baguette instead.”
It’s you.
He stands up, as if startled from deep slumber, and hurries downstairs to greet you. He takes the grocery bags from your hands, flashing a smile of gratitude. Somehow, the idea of another person living here is still foreign to him. He’s gotten so used to the solitude, the quietness of the house. Time stands still when there’s no one else to remind you of it.
You glance up at the tall man, noticing his slight frown.
“Another brain fog?” You ask, worried.
“Don’t mind me. It’s a morning routine at this point”, he jokes. “More importantly, what would you like for breakfast?”
He always cooks for both of you. Initially, you were rather hesitant to go for his offer. You’d been looking for temporary accommodation and stumbled upon his advertisement. A cozy, vintage house the man had inherited from his lamentably departed mother, with one too many spare rooms. He had no need for all the space, he said in his description. You paid him a visit and were taken aback by his appearance. A massive, muscular frame that did not fit the rest of his mannerisms and features. He was soft-spoken, polite, and terribly shy. His eyes reflected the kind of gloom to be expected from anyone in his situation.
A sweet, gentle soul looking for company. On top of that, if you are to be technical, he’s a housemate difficult to compete against. Well-kept, mannered, organized, and thoughtful. He keeps to himself. You’d learned, soon after moving in, that he suffers from the occasional brain fog and memory loss. He goes for walks at odd hours to clear his mind. Enjoys reading in his office, although you’ve caught him just staring into space many times. Terribly inconvenient for the poor lad, you imagine.
The house itself is also not a bad deal by any means. Old fashioned, littered with trinkets and paintings. “My mother liked to collect many things”, he’d told you. It certainly has personality, to put it mildly. Some belongings are more bizarre than others: portraits of faceless people, with features smudged or distorted, doll heads in pompous, feathered collars hanging in clusters across the musty walls. Peculiar, but manageable.
Only at night does it become unsettling.
“Going for a walk?”
You’re curled in one of the armchairs, flipping through a magazine you found. It’s been hours since your little breakfast together and now the sun is beginning to set. The man is buttoning up his coat, standing in the doorframe and gazing at you with a smile.
“Yeah. I’m starting to detach a little. Maybe some fresh air will help.”
It’s nice, he thinks, having you here. He didn’t expect much when he ventured to rent out a room. He just wanted to hear the murmur of life again. Ever since his mother has passed…when did it happen, again? Better yet, how did it happen? Christ, he can’t remember. The last memory he has of her is not something to cherish. She was angrily shoving him out of the way, visibly annoyed by his cries and pleading. “Please don’t leave me”, he kept croaking in a pathetic tone, dragging his knees like a beggar. Then it’s all black. Black, like the cover they kept over her body at the morgue, to hide the mutilated remains. Black, like the tie he struggled to knot before her funeral. At that time, the sheets of her bed were still scattered, as if she never left. He could almost see her there, reflected onto the mirror’s surface – rather dirty as a matter of fact, he should wipe it soon – sitting melancholically on the edge of the mattress.
To think he’d be hearing footsteps again. A soothing voice. Even if it’s temporary, your presence in the house has been a blessing. Even if you must leave eventually. His lips purse involuntarily.
You hear the door close, followed by the key twisting inside the lock. You’re alone now.
With haste, you get up and sprint upstairs. You pull out a hairpin from your pocket and discreetly insert it in the cylinder. Today you find out if the spare bedroom truly is as vacant as your housemate claims.
When you first viewed the house, he mentioned that only this room will remain locked. It was his mother’s and he’d rather not look at it, he said. Let it gather dust, for all he cares.
Only at night, you’ve been hearing someone else’s voice. It didn’t happen immediately. Weeks after you’d moved in, you woke up thirsty and tiptoed on your way to the kitchen for a glass of water. On your return, you were surprised to see dim light coming from underneath the door of the forbidden bedroom. Visitors of your housemate? You hurried back into your bed, not wanting to intrude. But the following night you jolted up from the same mumbled voice. Strange that he’d invite someone over this late - twice in a row! - without saying a word to you. Even more, they were arguing like this. Curiosity got the better of you, so you snuck out and placed your cupped ear against the wall.
“No, no, no, no. I’m telling you, it’s different. She’s different from the others.” A deep, ragged voice retorted angrily.
Suddenly, there was a loud thud, a fist smashing against something, then glass shattering over exasperated, shouted curses. You ran back to your room, baffled. Who on Earth was there? You could feel your heart throbbing inside your chest.
Morning couldn’t come quick enough. You marched over to your housemate, demanding to know who this stranger was. He stared at you, wide eyed and incredulous. “There’s no one else here, dear. Just you and me.” Nonsense. You knew what you heard. You’d been wide awake! He gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead. “Could it be that you’re sick? Weather has been dreadful lately.” You scanned his face with hitched breath. Was he mocking you? Yet his features betrayed no such intent. The man seemed genuinely worried; face twisted in a caring frown.
Then what? A ghost? An intruder that fancied having a chat in a dead woman’s bedroom?
You fiddle with the pin until you hear the click. Finally. Surely whoever has been frequenting the place must’ve left some clues behind. You carefully open the door and peek inside. A broken mirror and some furniture covered in webs. There’s a lingering rusty smell that tickles your nostrils, and soon enough you find the source. Next to the old bed lays a cloth splattered red. On top of it, a leather folder from which scalpels and other surgical tools fell out haphazardly. Blood? Your mouth curls in disgust. You crouch to the floor to inspect the odd items and notice a jar glistening from underneath the bed. You pull it towards you and give it a rattle. Nothing heavy. You lift the jar into the light for a better look and gasp.
Fingernails.
“Oh, I forgot to put those away.”
It’s the same deep voice you’ve been hearing at night. Your stomach drops and you turn, slowly, towards the entrance. Horror is swiftly replaced by confusion once you realize it’s none other than your housemate.
“Y-you’re back from your walk?” You blurt out.
“Walk?” He inquires. “Ah, that’s what he told you.” He steps towards you and lowers himself to your level with a grin.
“Have you come to say hello?” He points towards the tall, shattered mirror. “This is (Y/N), mother. See, I told you she’s stunning. You didn’t believe me.”
He ruffles your hair with a boldness completely unfamiliar.
Nausea overwhelms you and your ears ring in panic. Whatever is happening right now is beyond your understanding.
“I’d like to go to my room now.”
“I recognize that speech all too well. You want to run away.”
Within seconds, he grabs one of the scalpels and points it towards your throat, poking your skin with its cold tip.
“Now, don’t embarrass me in front of her like that. Do you know how hard it is to convince this bitch of anything? I told her you’re not like them, (Y/N). Don’t prove me wrong.”
“Them?” You whisper, lungs devoid of air.
“Come, let’s put this with the others first.” He pockets the scalpel and lifts you up by the hand, tenderly kissing your fingers in the process. “Then we can talk.”
You follow him into the office, and he unlocks one of the desk drawers. Against your better judgment, you stretch over his shoulder and glance inside. ID cards of various women, jewelry, lipsticks. Teeth. Fingernails.
You want to cry.
He nonchalantly dumps the contents of the jar into the drawer and slams it back shut, then throws himself in the chair and pats his thigh, eyeing you. With a sob, you clumsily climb onto his lap.
“Back to our matters. What were you planning on doing?”
“I just wanted to lay in bed.”
He takes out the scalpel and draws a line across your cheek. It stings.
“Don’t lie, (Y/N). You have nothing to gain from being naughty with me.” He coos, placing a kiss over the fresh wound.
“I wanted to run away.” You confess, petrified.
“Good. Do you now understand what happens if you try to run away?”
You briefly look at the drawer and nod.
“I knew you would. You’re so smart.” He strokes your hair fondly. “Not an easy decision to make, mind you. I love you more than anything in this world. Who’d enjoy killing their one and only?”
The man ponders his next words with a hum.
“Don’t count on getting away while he’s awake, either.” He taps his temple and chuckles. “He has no idea and won’t stop you, but I can easily find you again.”
The eggs sizzle in the pan as you stare at your plate, background sounds melting into shapeless static. After a couple more minutes, the man turns off the stove and places the food on the table with a cheerful whistle.
“Eat up!” He encourages you.
You hold onto your fork with faintly trembling hands.
“This might be the last breakfast I cook for you, after all. You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” His last sentence trails off and he smiles, dejected.
“Actually, I was wondering if I could…stay here instead.”
He gazes at you in disbelief.
“Truly? I-…That’d be fantastic.” He laughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his head, a deep red blush spreading over his cheeks. “Do excuse my rudeness. To be honest with you, I’ve grown quite fond of our arrangement. I really do like having you here.”
You return the smile without responding.
“Most exciting news. I’ll get the documents from the office after we eat, so we can draft a new lease.”
“That’d be lovely”, you answer curtly.
“Say, have you by any chance stumbled upon a small key around the house? I wanted to finally unlock the drawer upstairs, but I can’t remember where I could’ve left it.”
The knot in your stomach tightens.
“Not at all.”
“Don’t sweat it. I’m sure it’s nothing important, anyways. Old memorabilia, most likely.”
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#yandere x you#yandere fic#yandere imagines#yandere imagine#yandere scenarios#yandere male#yandere killer#yandere male x reader#yandere oc#yandere oc x reader#yandere serial killer#yandere original character#horror#split personality#tw yandere
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Can you do like pastor gets jealous over y/n before a demon guy friend approached her and when they get to the hotel he fucks her hard but with a lovely aftercare?? Tysm🙏❤️
hehehe Alastor would definitely not like some other male around his darling. Friend or not.
themes: jealous Alastor, rough sex, possessive, darling just being nice, aftercare, slight fluff
You and Alastor were out on an outing doing a little shopping and whatnot, when an old friend approached you. You smiled “Oh! Its been a age my friend how have you been?” The two of you chatted, completely unaware of the red demon approaching.
Alastor had noticed that you were no longer by his side and turned his head to see a demon fellow talking to you. He felt his eye twitch when the male wrapped his arm around you and let out a laugh at whatever you had said.
it was when the demon grabbed your hand and kissed it, when Alastor made his presence known.
”Darling who is this?”
You turned to him smiling “Ah Alastor you remember f/n? i was just telling him about the hotel”
Alastor’s smile turned sharp “Aaaaah yeeesss pleasure to see you again”
the demon gulped and gave a nervous laugh.
Alastor wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you against him, sneering at the sinner as the poor soul told you of his latest ventures.
”Dear we should head back. Now” Alastor said motioning gently for you to get a move on.
you nodded and bidded your friend a goodbye, hugging him and telling him you hoped to see him again soon.
As you walked way, you failed to notice Alastor turn his head around and morph slightly into his demon form scaring the poor demon to death.
Back at the hotel, Alastor swiftly led you to your shared bedroom.
Once inside, you were just chatting away happily about your friend while taking your shoes off; completely unaware of Alastor’s growing irritation.
”Oh how nice it was to see him! It has been so long. I do hope he come by so I can show him around, he seemed intrigued about our work here”
You were halfway undressed when sharp claws dug into your shoulder, turning you around to see a very fed up Alastor.
his eyes were glowing dials and his antlers had grew.
”Alastor?” You tilted your head in question, wondering what could have set off the lanky demon.
”no more talk of that riff raft dear. It is quite irritating”
you blinked surprised “Alastor don’t tell me youre jealous?”
he let out a laugh as he twirled a piece of your hair
”ooh no dear but…” you were tossed on the bed and with a bounce he caught your ankle, snatching you to be under him.
he made quick work of you panties and inserted a finger inside of you.
You let out a soft moan and gagged when a claw pressed on your tongue.
Alastor’s smile widened “ it seems my little darling need a reminder that she is mine”
With a sound of his zipper, you let out a whine as he thrusted into you.
bottoming out immediately.
”A-Alastor!” He didn’t give you anytime to adjust as he set a hard pace.
you panted as he rutted into your heat.
Pushing your thighs to your chest, he leaned his weight onto you and grunted as he continued to punish your insides.
”tu es à moi, ma chérie. ce misérable ne pourra jamais vous faire ressentir cela ! est-ce que tu comprends? hmmm?
cette chatte n'est qu'à moi et ne l'oublie pas.”
~you are mine dearest. that wretch will never be able to make you feel this way! do you understand? hmmm?
this cunt is only mine and dont you forget it.~
You nodded moaning loudly as you felt your orgasm rip through you.
”I’m yours alastor, no one else can have me, only you OOH Fuck!”
his thrusts turned erratic and with a growl he emptied his cum into you.
you whined as he gave a few soft thrusts and finally pulled out, smile returning as he watched his cum leak out of you.
Trying to catch your breathe you watch Alastor compose himself and hum and he snapped his fingers and a tub appeared with bubbles.
He lifted you off and bed and placed you in the soothing water.
You sighed as he gently washed you off and smiled softly as he peppered kissed up your exposed shoulders in apology.
”Mmm Al I’m sleepy” you sighed sinking into the tub relaxing.
he finished cleaning you up and dried you off.
bring you back into bed he purred as you cuddled into him, wrapping your limbs around him.
Letting the soft music he played lull you to sleep, you felt him tighten his hold around you.
Alastor mumbled begrudgingly “I might have been a tad jealous”
you giggled in his chest
”knew it”
#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel#alastor#alastor the radio demon#alastor x reader#alastor smut#alastor x y/n#hazbin hotel fanfiction#hazbin hotel x reader smut
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i can't talk to you when i'm like this
steve harrington x fem!reader
word count: [2.1K]
warnings: warnings: no use of y/n, established relationship, reader has a history of shitty ex's, steve accidentally makes reader cry, a lot of angst regarding past relationships (feelings wise), steve's shitty childhood & terrible dad (brief), fluff at the end (yes because i am a softie)
summary: steve never raises his voice at you, but the first time he does, you can’t find it in yourself to tell him what's really bothering you when you’re seconds away from breaking down.
You hate how the tears coming springing to your eyes the second Steve raises his voice a little too loudly beneath his already apparent annoyance.
Your brain blanks out the second it bellows against the walls and comes hurtling down to your eardrums. It feels like glass shattering in a million different ways, cutting you open and killing you with a thousand cuts.
He’s frozen in front of you, blinking with a look of oblivion on his face because he’s waiting. His arms still held wide open after he asked a question: one that was posed with a tone too sharp for your liking.
“Why are you making it such a big deal?”
His usually sweet and gentle tone was long gone, or at least that’s how you heard it. Instead, it dribbled with irritation and resentment meshed all in one. The kind that sounded like he was fed up and wanted nothing to do with you anymore.
He was just trying to do a sweet thing by picking you both up some coffee and yet here you were starting an argument — you always had to ruin a good thing.
Your teeth dig into your gums, trying to find any way to hold off on the waterworks that you know are about to pour any second now. Cloudy orbs shoot down to your bare feet, trembling against the floorboards while you excuse yourself from the kitchen.
“I’m g-going to the bathroom.”
Your voice is delicate yet not the kind that Steve knows like the back of his hand — the one where you keep it so quiet like an oath when you whisper you love him when you think he’s asleep and no one else is around to hear it.
This time the oath is broken, cracked, just like your voice, torn at the seams between fear and panic. Its edges are frayed and tattered, and its tenderness that is usually formed out of affection is long gone as it cuts through your chest and causes your back to heave as you walk away.
He knows he messed up.
It’s stupid. You shouldn’t be so worked up over the barista leaving her number on Steve’s cup. But you are. You’re worked the hell up and you want him to understand why it is such a big deal to you.
It’s upsetting because you shouldn’t be this wound up and insecure. You know Steve would never even dare to dial the numbers left on the cup, let alone remember the name she left on there. He’s head over heels in love with you the same way you are with him — yet you just don’t get it.
You don’t get the way this makes your insides turn and the thoughts to start whirlwind in your head. At first you were just upset about the number, maybe even just mildly irked — but then the second Steve’s voice came to you like that… that’s when you entirely forgot how to even tell him how you felt.
Now you just felt stupid for making it such a big deal and turning it into this.
“Breathe….” you murmur to yourself jaw trembling as you try not to tense.
The tears finally roll when your back collides with the bathroom door and your shaky fingers lock it shut. Your heart feels like it’s on fire, one that consumes your entire being and engulfs you in the bluest blue instead of the blazing red.
The only thing keeping you from collapsing is the door that’s holding up your weight and it’s not long after that the person you love yet are avoiding is on the other side making it more difficult for you to attempt to make it seem like it’s not a big deal.
“B-baby… I’m so sorry.”
The apology comes in an instant, and you could almost feel his breath hitting your neck from behind the wood. You know it’s genuine…Steve has never ever made you cry. You feel now like you’ve taken everything out of proportion — you should’ve just giggled and said ‘oh that’s cute! too bad you’re my boyfriend!’
All of the things you wished you would have said play in your mind like punishment for the way you’ve acted. How you know you’ve turned the tables on him and made him look like the bad guy when he was far from that.
He was just shocked to come home and hand you your favorite drink only to be asked about the barista he barely gave his attention to. Your accusing voice after he did something nice wasn’t something he was expecting.
Your throat tightened, eyes squeezing shut as you tried to cover it up and make it seem like you weren’t upset. You shuffled from the door, towards the sink, turning it on yet making no move to put your hands under the water.
“I’m fine! I—I just had to wash my face!” You lie, trying to cover your tracks as if Steve doesn’t already know it.
There’s been times when things have upset you, not things that Steve has done, but things that life throws at you and most of the times you hate how wound up you get. Without failure, you sneak away, just wanting a moment by yourself to cry without anyone feeling bad for you or asking questions because they’ll never get it. They don’t understand that the littlest things can trigger something inside of you to completely shut down from the rest of the world.
No one gets it… but Steve does.
“Baby,” His voice is stronger this time, yet tender, “please, can I come in? I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean…”
Your fingers finally come in contact with the frigid water, dabbing the droplets over your eyes attempting to get them to settle instead of looking like you were just crying. There’s a sniffle that comes from you as you clear your airways and a pathetic smile that you press onto your face to try to hide how you’re really feeling.
The water shuts off and you’re opening the door, cutting his apology off altogether.
“I’m fine, Steve!”
Your voice isn’t swaying even with the volume it carries and neither with the faint laugh you give him when you meet face to face. Your lashes still bear the droplets of salt and your cheeks tinted red with the path they’ve traveled down.
He can feel the pain in your voice and see the wobble of your chin as you hold back everything inside. He hates that you feel like you have to mask how you’re really feeling when, in actuality, you should be furious at him for what he did.
“Baby,”
Sadness joins his concern, and he doesn’t bother to hide it — he’s not sure he can when his eyes leak the same emotion, “Baby, you’re not fine…I know you’re not fine.”
You scoff, rolling your eyes unconvincingly. “I literally am, babe… it’s cool. Everything is fine.”
He knows that now you’re trying to reassure yourself rather than him. Trying to play it off and make it seem like everything was okay. Like he’s just supposed to accept it and let you hold everything inside like torture when that’s far from what he wants.
Your attempts to brush past him are futile when his hands come out to hold your shoulders, his fingertips kneading your tense skin. He can feel the blood rushing from under your clothes and it’s not the kind of warmth you usually carry — you are blistering and if he looks hard enough, he can see the way your chest is trying to level itself out as you hold back.
It takes everything in you to not draw your eyes away from his because you don’t want him to know that you’re still feeling it. Feeling stupid and at the same time nothing at all because you don’t know what to feel anymore. There’s a whirlwind of emotions and none of them you can put a finger on because you’re just lost.
You just don’t want him to think you’re crazy… like you reacting to him raising his voice like that was something that would daunt him away.
One of his hands stops its movement on your skin, raising up to your cheek and cradling you gently. There’s a crease between his brows and his eyes seep with regret and guilt. His lips part and the words that leave them come in whispers and fragility — croaks and cracks guiding them.
“Everything isn’t fine… I acted like an idiot and raised my voice at you. I’m sorry baby, I—I never meant to do that on purpose. It just came out, but that isn’t an excuse.” He shakes his head at himself disappointingly because he knows better.
Steve was far from perfect in his own eyes, but he knew better because all his life if there was one person he didn’t want to be like, it was his dad. The dad that used to scream at his mother, and scream at him, and scream at the world when everything went wrong, and didn’t know how to talk if it wasn’t screaming.
He’d never forgive himself if he made you feel that way or even became a smidge of what his father was. But it wasn’t him who he was blaming for this — this was all Steve himself, and he knew that. Accountability needed to be taken from himself because the only person he was hurting was you and it was going to be okay.
Not in the heat of the moment, not ever.
You hadn’t even noticed you had tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, the faint taste of iron trickling onto your tongue when you realized you were biting down on the skin too hard trying to stop yourself from crying.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry baby, please just—just tell me how to make it better.” His voice pleads and reasons, wanting to make it right with you anyway he could.
You close your eyes, letting the tears fall as you feel his thumbs wipe them away. He’s done this times before, wiping away your tears that had spewed from another’s doing. Never did he ever think he would be the cause.
“I-it’s nothing… it’s stupid, I’m stupid and dramatic.” You swallow thickly, sniffling and twisting your fingers in your hand to fight off the lingering feelings.
He shakes his head. The obvious look of disapproval for your words covers his face because this was far from your fault. Sure, he was bewildered about the whole incident, considering he didn’t even know the number was left there until you brought it up, but for him to not know how to convey his frustration better was the real issue at hand.
Not the accusation, not the stupid number, not the oblivious girl who left her number: it was him, Steve’s idiotic actions that got you both here.
“Stop, don’t talk to yourself like that.” He insists, staring deeply into your eyes, searching for a reason why you were blaming yourself,
Your jaw shakes roughly before a sob rips through your mouth. Tightening your eyes to try to get the tears to stop, yet they don’t cease no matter how hard you try. Frustration builds inside of you because you should be over it by now. The fact that he apologized and was here trying to comfort you should be enough.
But something inside of you won’t let it die. The silence is filled with the memory of his voice shouting at you and the face that he stared back with.
“I—I don’t want you to think there’s something wrong with me.” You croak, covering your face and turning away from him to save you the embarrassment.
But he strays to where you are, sticking beside you with a comforting hand resting on your back, “Sweetheart, nothing is—”
You sob one more, this time with a grunt that is direct to yourself. Stomping your foot against the cold tiles, your hands come down to grip the edges of the counter tightly. Your reflection in the mirror is only half of what you feel, and when Steve steps behind you, all you can see is guilt, but at the same time patience knowing he’s ready when you are.
You try your very best to at least keep your sobs at bay just enough for you to speak through them and for him to understand.
“You’re not gonna wanna be with me anymore knowing I can’t—I can’t talk to you when I’m like this! I don’t know why, but I can’t… it makes me feel stupid, like I’m crying over something so tiny and now I’ve totally forgotten why we were even arguing in the first place.”
He clicks his tongue, shaking his head and reaching in front of you to bring your hair back and away from your face. His eyes keep yours in the mirror, watching at you with such a gentleness that even now doesn’t falter.
“We weren’t arguing. I was just dumb and raised my voice when you were asking me about it.”
You move your sights from his to the bottom of the sink, shaking your head, “No, b-but I shouldn’t have reacted like that and made you look like the bad guy when yo—”
Your voice is traveling faster than you can think, spewing out words so hastily like you have to make him understand that it’s not his fault, but yours. It takes your breath away, hiccuping and coughing between a sob that leaves your mouth and bobbles in your chest.
Steve’s instantaneously rubbing your back, shushing you and trying to get you to calm down knowing you going on and on like this wouldn’t do you any good. He understands that you feel a lot of things very deeply and sometimes it isn’t an easy task to get them all out at once: he knows it and he’ll spend forever with you until you got it all out.
“Hey, hey, baby, c’mon… breathe,” He coos, his palm never stilling on your back feeling the deep breaths in and out, watching the tears fall down your cheeks and drip onto the counter.
It’s a kind of scene he hates to see, the one he wishes he could take from you and shoulder instead because watching you in such a state breaks his heart more than he could imagine. And this time it stings a little more knowing that he not only cannot shoulder your pain, but was the one creating it this time.
“Talk to me, please. What’s going on? Why’re so you upset at yourself and not at me?” He begs, trying to get a glimpse of what you’re feeling so he knows where the root is.
“B-because… I made it such a b-big deal.” You hiccup.
When you swipe angrily at your eyes with a ferociousness, that’s enough to make Steve step in and take it from here now that he knows where you’re coming from. A warm hand comes down onto your shoulder, pulling at you just enough for you to face him completely, weakly hanging your head low not knowing if you were strong enough to see him just yet.
“You didn’t make anything a big deal. I promise, we’re okay.” He whispers quietly, cupping your face in his hands, and bringing you face to face, “You’re not stupid and I could never think that you were. You’re human honey. It’s normal for you to be upset by things.”
“B-but I…I don’t want you to think you did something wrong—“
He stops you with a shake of his head. “But I did. I did something so wrong. I yelled when I shouldn’t have, and I made you feel like shit.”
Steve desperately needs you to know it. That this was his fault and no one else’s. That him making you feel like crap was the worst thing he could have ever done, but he was willing to man up to it and try to make things better, and at the same time he would understand if you wanted nothing to do with him after this.
Still, even after his words, you’re somehow even angrier at yourself, mind blaring at you for being such a dramatic person for making him go out of this way with all of this. That this was surely your fault and yours only, and if you didn’t take it off his plate, it was just something he would use against you one day to realize that he didn’t want to be with you anymore.
It’s what they all did — held it over your head and made you feel like you were wrong for feeling how you felt, so instead it was best not to feel anything at all. To hide it away and hope that being noncombative meant that everything was going to be okay and it wouldn’t give them a reason to run.
“I-it’s my fault—” You pinch your eyes, gulping back a cry as you shake your head in his hands.
His brows pull together, eyes squinting at you, not completely understanding why you’re doing this.
“Hey, stop, it’s not your fault. Don’t do that. Don’t take the fall for me,” Steve assures you with a sternness to his soft voice, continuing to wipe the seeping tears.
Somehow you can’t let it go, “But—”
“But nothing.” He starts, his voice composed yet unyielding in his tone.
He can’t stand it, clutching your face a little firmer, hoping that you would peek your eyes open to see him because he desperately needs you to. The second you do, your face twists again with heartache, praying that he would just let you go and walk out already, because by now, he probably thinks you’re insane — there’s no way he’s not thinking it.
His lips part, trying to find the right words to say, needing the perfect ones to get through you because he hates how you won’t let him take the fall, the one he so rightfully deserves to come crashing down on. You are everything to him and in some ways the feelings that you feel hit him right in the heart, and right now is no different, but there’s a wall between you both and his only goal is to knock it down completely.
“I—I don’t know why you feel like you have to protect me, but I promise you don’t.” He whispers, watching as you try to calm yourself, little sniffles going in and out and broken cries leaving your mouth.
His thumbs rub back and forth across your cheeks, soothing your withering skin. Slowly but surely your cries die little by little, eyes fixed on his, trusting that he means everything that he says, because Steve isn’t like the others — something that you should’ve known judging from his character alone.
“If I do something that makes you upset or sad, you should be able to voice that, not keep it in. I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t tell me when I’ve done something wrong. I—I want you to feel safe and okay around me, enough to know that my love for you isn’t gonna change, just because you bring something up. You have every right to be upset, and angry, and disappointed, everything.”
He says it like he means it and you know it’s because he does. He lets every word hang from the stars as if he put them up there, and points them out just for you to know that they are there and true, because that’s all he ever wanted. For you to know that every word he speaks comes from his heart, and no matter how many times he needs to repeat it, he’ll do it over and over again, just so you know it’s real and until you believe them and know he won’t ever break them.
“Don’t ever blame yourself for me, please? I-I don’t want you to do that to yourself because I’m here and…and every time I fuck up or make a mistake, I swear I’m gonna own up to it and try to fix it. But I’m not gonna let you take the blame, okay?”
Being with Steve for so long still feels so new, especially when you know he isn’t like the rest of the boys from your past. He’s patient and kind with a big heap of understanding. Like everyone else in the world, he’s guilty of his own poor moments, but he’ll be damned if he takes that out on you or makes you feel like it’s your responsibility.
“I’m so sorry, baby.” He murmurs, letting his hands fall away from your face, letting you decide what the next move is.
The tears that escape are more so in between the remains of the sadness being washed away with tears of love and gratitude. Your arms wrap around his torso, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his chest where the tears soak through his chest. Without a second thought, his arms envelop you, rocking you both back and forth as he presses kisses on the top of your head.
It mends your heart not merely because he’s just sorry, but because you didn’t get plenty of sorries before. Left only with sweeping things under the rug and pretending like nothing ever happened — it never solved anything and never gave you much.
But Steve gives you everything and so much more.
A big chunk of you feels like you don’t deserve him because he seriously is the best person with an even better soul wrapped up into one and yet he chooses you — every day. He sees you through all the good and the bad and never makes you feel like you’re alone even when you could be a distance away when you’re right beside him.
When you talk too much, say too little, or sometimes say nothing at all — he’s there giving you a listening ear and comforting shoulder to lean on whoever you need it. And on the days when you can’t talk to him when you’re like this… he’ll wait until you’re ready and show you that he’s always going to be there every step of the way.
He’s everything you could have asked for and more.
You pull your face away from hiding, resting your chin up on his chest as you stared up at him.
“I’m sorry too. I—I shouldn’t have been so indifferent earlier and just told you what I was feeling from the get-go.” You sniffled, rubbing your hands over his back, smiling faintly when he nodded understandingly.
He knows that sometimes he might not quite get it, might not see things in the same light as you, but he would never try to dismiss your feelings. He would sit beside you through the storms and sunshines, knowing that he was learning more about himself and you with you in his life.
That because of you, the younger version of himself got to heal his deepest wounds and open himself up to a love he only through he could dream up. You were here making him a better version of himself, all while he was doing the same for you. Showing you that the scars and fears of your past didn’t have to live in the next person you met — that you could let it go and open yourself up to the love you deserved.
His love.
“I forgive you only if you forgive me,” Steve grinned, swiping away at the dampness on your cheeks.
You grinned, nodding up at him. “Of course, I forgive you.”
“I love you so much… nothings ever gonna change that.” He hummed, cupping your face, taking you all in for the person he loved so dearly.
You closed your eyes blissfully before a kiss was placed on your lips.
“I know, I love you too.”
💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌
a/n: hi all, I hoped you like this little one-shot/imagine... i had this one sitting in my wips for awhile and it was nearly finished but I didn't have the inspiration to finish it until now. I don't usually write angst bcs i am a fluff girl, but this concept just came to me bcs like a lot of people when someone raises their voice at me...i just freeze and i don't know what to make of it and i just start crying. i think steve would be super apologetic and i wanted to write this bcs i needed some stevie!comfort so yeah... i hope you all enjoyed!!!
taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @keerysfolklore @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss @bakugouswh0r3
#munsonsreputation#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington angst#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington fic#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington stranger things#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington comfort#steve harrington#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n fluff#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x fem!reader#stranger things#stranger things imagine#steve stranger things#steve x y/n#steve x reader#stranger things imagines#stranger things x reader
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[13.2k] the chalet was your home away from home in the festive season. but this year it may become the place you fall in love with the last person you expected. ft my very limited knowledge on how skiing works. (very lazy smut included)
.
Your family had always gone to The Chalet with the Montgomery’s for as long as you could remember.
One spontaneous ski trip decades ago led your parents to start a tradition that would last through the generations. Every year, both families would fly out to the mountains of France to enjoy the festive season in the homely ski resort called The Chalet. Owned and ran by an elderly couple, it was the kind of place you would see in hallmark movies, or maybe even in a snowglobe. It was a place beyond your greatest winter wonderland dreams and imagination. The Chalet didn’t feel like a real place, and that was why the getaway every Christmas made the holiday so magical.
It was your home away from home, a safe haven. It was the one place in the world where you could disappear from reality and embrace the isolation from society.
At least, that was what the three weeks in the ski resort usually felt like.
And after a year of moving away from home, starting a new job at the bottom of the food chain and dealing with more social circle drama than you ever intended to deal with, you craved nothing more than the simplicity and enjoyment The Chalet had to offer. You needed the break away from your life, a break away from the life you weren’t totally sure you had under control.
You just wanted your home away from home, and instead when the families arrived at the resort, you were met with crowds of strangers swarming the place like a colony of buzzing, irritating bees.
“What the hell?” You muttered once you had stepped out of the car, looking at the throng of people lingering outside the main entrance to the resort.
“Apparently the place is booked out,” your mother noted from somewhere behind you as they began to unpack the bags from the boot of the car. “Madame Blanchet reserved our usual rooms when she started getting more and more bookings.”
“Since when was this place overbooked?” You commented, a little blunter than intended. But it was hard to mask your surprise. A part of The Chalet’s charm was that it was a small, unknown ski resort hidden amongst the many that were established in the French Mountains. For as long as you could remember—hell, even before that—there hadn’t been more than ten or so families staying at the resort over the Christmas period.
“Maybe Madame Blanchet finally learnt how to make a website,” a voice remarked from beside you, sounding quite amused by the mass of people, which shouldn’t have really surprised you.
And just like you expected, you turned your head to find Harper Montgomery grinning widely at the crazy crowd like she was expecting it. She stood beside you with her hands on her hips, something about the bright ski suit looking so out of place, not that she acted as much. Every year, you swore The Chalet wasn’t ready for her and every year you were proven correct.
“Considering the woman still has a dial phone, I am going to doubt the sudden online advertisement,” you snorted, shaking your head.
“Maybe this will be the Christmas we make new friends,” Harper noted, her head tilted to the side and her dark eyes scanning the crowd. “I am pretty sick of Mrs Hartford beating me at scrabble.”
Your lips twitched upwards. “Maybe you should stop challenging her then.”
Harper’s eyes narrowed. “Never.”
“I still don’t get why so many people are waiting outside,” you grumbled as your eyes fell back to the crowd, noticing the way they were buzzing with some sort of excitement. “I don’t even think the lodge has enough rooms for this many people.”
Harper hummed. “Maybe—”
“OH MY GOD!”
Your eyes widened in alarm as you turned your head, seeing Evan standing a few feet away from you and Harper. The older Montgomery was gripping his phone, eyes full of adoration and awe as he grinned at his screen like a madman. He let out a high-pitched squeak, catching the attention of both families as they looked at him with varying looks of concern.
The blond finally lifted his head, oblivious to the worried looks as his grin seemingly widened. He thrusted a phone towards you and Harper, almost buzzing in his spot. “He’s here!”
Your brows furrowed together. “What?”
“He’s here!” Evan repeated, just as enthusiastic as the first time. “He is in our ski lodge! He’s here!”
You still looked equally confused. “Who?”
“His little man-crush,” Harper noted as she glanced down at his screen.
“Charles Leclerc!” Evan sighed, almost dreamily as he hugged his phone to his chest. “We are spending Christmas with Charles Leclerc!”
You rolled your eyes and shook your head, pushing past the boy to grab your suitcase so you could finally go check in. “For fuck’s sake, not your little driving guy.”
“Hey,” Evan frowned. “He’s more than that.”
“I have to listen to you talk about him for nine months of the year,” you remarked, though even that felt like an understatement. “Christmas is meant to be my free time from your little obsession. We made a deal.”
Evan blanched. “That was before I knew he was here!”
“And now he’s ruining Christmas,” you grumbled bitterly, letting out a wince when you felt a pinch to your side.
“Don’t be such a grinch,” Harper teased. “Let him be a fanboy and spend his days on the slopes hunting the guy down. Don’t let it ruin your holiday.”
You snorted. “That will be hard when he is talking our ears off about Charles’ pretty green eyes or the way his hair looks after a race.”
“It’s fluffy!” Evan defended. “It’s unreal after a two hour race in a helmet!”
“Whatever,” you muttered as you patted the boy on the chest as you moved past him. “You have him all to yourself, you won’t see me complaining about it.”
Evan puffed his chest out. “You just can’t appreciate greatness.”
“Blah, blah, blah,” you waved him off. “I’m here to ski and relax. As long as this Charles guy keeps you and his little fanbase far away from me, I don’t care what he does.” There was a pause and Harper gave you a questioning look when she saw the glint in your eyes. “Even if he is overrated.”
Evan’s jaw dropped. “You did not just—”
“Last one in is a rotten egg!” You called out behind you as you grabbed Harper’s hand, dragging her towards the main entrance with you and letting your laughs echo through the reception as the boy swore up and down behind you.
…
You could have said that your resentment towards the Ferrari driver was purely based on how much Evan spoke about him during the racing season, but that would be a lie.
It had started off that way when the boy finally made it into Formula One. Evan had been a motorsport fanatic from a young age, always eager to ramble away to you and Harper on various championships and seasons neither of you particularly cared about. As you got older, you learned to become more accepting and tolerant of the fact your Sundays would always be hijacked by whatever grand prix was occurring that weekend.
However, when a young hot shot joined the sport that Evan had been following through the lower leagues, you didn’t realise just how quickly that tolerance would disappear until he was yapping your ear off after every single race.
And truthfully? You didn’t get it. You didn’t get the sport in general, you didn’t understand what made a driver good or bad, and you didn’t understand the world’s obsession with Charles Leclerc as the years passed. To you, he just seemed like a pretty boy who enjoyed the spotlight of being the face of the sport. To you, he seemed like nothing more than a show pony.
And no amount of debates and rants from Evan would change that.
You wouldn’t have gone out of your way to say you hate Charles Leclerc, but you would say you were coming pretty damn close since you arrived at The Chalet.
The Chalet was bustling from the moment you opened your eyes to the moment you fell asleep. Wherever you went, it felt like you were pushing through a crowd to get from point A to point B. And the amount of times you had fans gripping your arm as you walked past, asking you if you had seen the Monegasque driver was starting to make you want to rip your own hair out.
Yet, despite the buzz around the driver being in the lodge and the amount of fans circling the place through various hours of the day, you had yet to see the boy himself and that was something you were perfectly content with.
You had managed two blissful days before you crossed paths with Charles Leclerc.
You had been taking too long to get ready so you assured Harper and Evan you would meet them at the slopes, insisting there was no need for them to wait for you. Both Montgomery’s—stubborn as ever—scoffed and told you they would be waiting for you in the lobby instead.
You had been in a rushed state when you made your way towards the equipment valet, eager to just quickly hand your locker number over and collect your equipment. However, your path seemed to be blocked by a man standing in front of you, nose buried in his phone as he muttered in a language you didn’t quite understand.
“Excuse me, do you mind if I just—”
“Fucking hell,” the man swore, causing you to pause and frown at his back.
You were taken aback, not expecting that response or the scoff that left his lips afterwards. And when he turned around, you were even more shocked when you realised you knew exactly who the rude man was—none other than Charles Leclerc.
“Look, I appreciate that you are a devoted fan and I am grateful for the support, but I really don’t have time for pictures right now,” Charles continued and, to his credit, did look a little empathetic. Though, that didn’t take away from the underlying hostility in his words. “I am just here to enjoy my break. Please let me do so in peace.”
You blinked, absolutely flabbergasted by his assumption. “Huh?”
The smile he gave you was almost condescending. “As a fan, I am sure you’d understand that I’d want a few days just free from the media and—”
And it seemed like only then did your brain catch up with the situation.
“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart, I am not a fan,” you stated as bluntly as you could, watching the boy’s face morph into something quite like confusion. As though he genuinely couldn’t compute the fact somebody wasn’t a fan of him.
“What?”
“I was just trying to get my skis and you were standing in my way like a douche,” you said simply, watching as his brows furrowed closer together. “Which I would have felt bad for calling you before I realised who you were.”
“Who I was,” Charles repeated, still baffled as you pushed past him to do just as you said.
“Hot shot who thinks everybody who breathes near him cares about who he is,” you supplied, a sickly sweet smile on your face as you now stood before him with your skis in hand. “Have a great day, Charles Leclerc.”
And the boy didn’t get a chance to say anything as you walked away, your mood positively ruined by the time you reached Evan and Harper in the lobby. They took one look at your sour mood and raised their brows in question, but you simply grumbled and waved them off, in no mood to repeat your interaction to Charles’ biggest sympathiser.
Fortunately for the Montgomery siblings, your mood eased up by lunchtime and you were (mostly) over the whole interaction.
…
Or at least, you were over the interaction until dinner came around.
Dinner at The Chalet was like one massive family meal. With a large hall dedicated as the dining area, the Blanchet’s had set it up quite like a buffet system. There were tables of food bordering the room with tables dotted through the middle. Everyone sat on the round tables, in their little families and looking like a picture perfect scene for the final meal of the day.
So of course your final meal of the day had to be ruined by an arrogant Monegasque who grinned at you like you two were old friends.
“Ah, you! I’ve been looking for you.”
Truthfully, you wouldn’t have even realised he was talking to you if it weren’t for the fact the boy had stopped right beside you, practically looming over your shoulder as you tried to help yourself to some macaroni cheese.
You raised your brows, giving the boy a once-over before returning your attention to your plate.
“Uh, hello,” Charles tried again, his brows furrowing together a little at the cold shoulder you gave him.
“Hi,” you stated simply, not wanting to spend any more moments with the Monegasque than you had to.
“I wanted to apologise for earlier,” Charles continued, seeing your response as an open invite to a conversation.
“Do you now?”
“Yeah,” Charles nodded, a smile making its way onto his face as your sarcastic tone went completely over his head. “Listen, I really didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just—this is my holiday and I had no intention of my location being leaked. I just wanted a break from everything, you know? And I guess the frustrations of being bombarded for the last few days just got to me.”
And truthfully speaking, a part of you sympathised with the boy. Though his fame reached levels you would never understand, The Chalet was your haven away from everything. It was a place where reality never seemed to touch, a place to escape. You could understand better than anyone what it was like to crave that feeling in your life.
But just as you opened your mouth to say as much, Charles seemed to remind you exactly why you disliked him in the first place.
“And I just wanted to clear things up with you before the media found out and—”
“So, you’re only apologising because you don’t want me running to journalists and ruining your image?” You interrupted, catching the boy off-guard as he gaped at you for a few seconds.
“Well, yes, it wouldn’t look good if I was harassing fans,” Charles said.
“But I’m not a fan,” you corrected him, gripping your plate in your hands. “And I certainly don’t care about shattering someone’s image for fifteen seconds of fame, no matter how much of a douche they are.”
Charles frowned. “I—”
“You can take your apology and shove it up your ass, Charles,” you said, that sickly sweet smile on your face once again as you turned around to find whichever table your family were sitting at. But a hand reached out to softly grip your elbow and you turned to find Charles looking at you with a helpless expression.
“I am sorry,” Charles said to you, something in his voice that you didn’t really understand. “But I also care about my image. Surely you can understand that.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you retorted as you tried to tug yourself free from his hold.
Charles opened his mouth to reply, but a louder voice caught the attention of both of you.
“STORMY! OVER HERE!”
You felt your face heat up as you glanced over your shoulder, finding Evan sat amongst your family and his own as he waved you down. He had a shit-eating grin on his face (most likely from the fact he used the one nickname that he knew pissed you off more than anything else in front of everyone) and looked like he was about to do more when his gaze shifted to the man beside you. His jaw dropped, a comical expression on his face as he looked between you and Charles Leclerc.
“Stormy?” Charles repeated, looking over at you.
You ignored his questioning gaze, instead narrowing your eyes at the hand still gripping your elbow. “Can you let me go now or is there more to your shitty apology?”
Charles opened his mouth once again, yet another person interrupted him before he got a chance.
“Charles? What’s taking you so long?”
Your eyes wandered to the girl who saddled up beside him, her expression light until she turned to look at you. Her gaze was calculated, her blue eyes seeming to size you up and something about the all white attire made you wonder if she was really playing into the Ice Queen vibes.
“Another fan?” She sighed, as though your presence was the biggest inconvenience to her. “Honey, he can take pictures with you after dinner—”
“That’s fine, we’re done here,” you quickly corrected, ignoring the patronising tone in her voice or the way that Charles still looked like he had more to say. “I won’t be bothering either of you anytime soon.”
You turned on your heels before either one of them had a chance to drag out the interaction any longer than it needed it to be. You weaved through the tables before making your way towards the table your family had chosen, settling yourself in the free seat beside Evan.
“That was Charles Leclerc!”
You hummed, grabbing your fork as you began to dig in. “Unfortunately so.”
“Dude, what the hell!” Evan hissed, pinching your side until you let out a small squeak and turned to him. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew him?”
You frowned. “I don’t.”
“You were talking to him for ages!” Evan countered.
“He was just being a dick,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “Plus, that was probably the last time I’ll ever talk to him.”
Harper snorted. “And you didn’t even get him an autograph.”
“Not that I would ask,” you prefaced before shaking your head. “But I doubt he would have given me one anyways. We…got off on the wrong foot.”
“It’s Charles Leclerc,” Evan scoffed. “There is no wrong foot.”
“Keep it in your pants, dickhead,” you teased, lightly pinching his side back in retaliation. “Even if I did get you an autograph, I would have shredded it after the Stormy stunt you just pulled.”
“But that’s your name,” Evan grinned.
“No, it’s what you called me for seven years because you couldn’t remember my name,” you retorted.
“No, he remembered,” Harper piped in, a grin on her face that scarily matched her brother’s. “But with a temper like yours, Stormy just fits so much better.”
You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. You both suck and so does Charles Leclerc.”
“At least wait until dessert before you start insulting Evan’s boyfriend in front of him.”
“He’s not my boyfriend!”
…
You had expected that was the last time your path would ever cross with Charles Leclerc and, for the most part, it was.
A few days passed and other than some awkward shared glances in the dining hall, you hadn’t found yourself caught in a conversation with the Ferrari driver after his attempted apology and you were intending to keep it that way until the end of your trip. You were happy to continue on with your holiday, even if you swore you could feel a pair of eyes watching you sometimes.
However, it seemed like the universe was on a mission to get your hopes up before crumbling them back down again—and this time, it was in the form of another involuntary meeting with the Monegasque.
You hadn’t even noticed the boy standing a few feet away from you with a group of his friends. You were stood next to Harper, listening to her ramble away as you waited in line for the ski lift to take you to the top of the mountain. It was fairly early, most of the resort residents still enjoying their breakfast inside which meant the queue wasn’t very long. You had been eager to get out on the snow early after being one of the last in the passing days.
However, whilst you failed to notice the driver, it seemed like Harper had.
She watched the boy continuously glance over at you, like he was eager to catch your eye. She watched as he slowly shuffled closer, like he was trying to gain the confidence to jump into the conversation. She watched Charles Leclerc act like a hopeless fool, and it was somewhat endearing to witness.
And maybe—just maybe—she was in the mood for some drama that the vacation in the ski resort very rarely gave her.
You were already settled in your spot when you felt someone shuffling in the seat next to you. You felt the comfort bar come down and you turned with a smile, ready to continue your conversation with your best friend when you realised your best friend was not the person sitting next to you.
No, it was Charles Leclerc.
Your head whirled around, finding Harper standing in the queue with a grin on her face. You shot her a look, one that spoke more than a thousand words on just how you felt about her betrayal. However, the girl just laughed and waved you off as the lift began moving and it was far too late to get off.
Your attention shifted to the boy beside you again, noticing the sheepish expression on his face and you let out a sigh.
It was fine. Totally fine. The ski lift took around ten minutes to get to the top of the mountain. That was hardly anything, practically a blink of an eye if you were being honest. It would be a quick ride up, you wouldn’t even have to talk to him and you could easily ignore him by the time you made your way back down the mountain. It was all going to be so, so fine.
“So, uh, how are you this morning?”
And suddenly, even a second felt like ten years passing.
You kept your head facing forward, hoping the boy would catch the hint that you weren’t interested in small talk and would also remain silent. Though, considering the fact he was fidgeting in his seat, you doubted the boy could keep quiet for longer than thirty seconds.
“The weather is great, right?”
Your brows furrowed together. The weather? Really?
“The pancakes were also really good at breakfast this morning. Did you have any?” He continued, only pausing for a moment when he realised you were making a point of not answering him. “Stormy?”
One simple word and that was enough for you to break your silence.
“Don’t call me that,” you snapped, a little harsher than you truly intended but the sentiment remained.
Charles blinked. “You don’t want me to call you your name?”
“It’s not my name,” you replied.
He blinked again. “But in the dining hall—”
“It’s a nickname—one that Evan likes to wind me up with because he thinks I’m moody,” you explained before realising the boy didn’t really deserve an explanation. Not when you were adamant to keep this conversation short. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Well, I can see where he gets it from,” Charles said with a small snort.
You frowned. “Excuse me?”
Seeming to realise what he said and just how it sounded out loud, it was almost comical to watch Charles’ lips part before he awkwardly gaped at his previous comment. “Not like that! I just meant—”
“Whatever,” you muttered as you turned to face forwards again, pleading for the lift to somehow reach the top of the mountain already.
“Look, I’m sorry. This wasn’t how I intended this to go,” Charles admitted, almost sounding a bit pained when he said it, as though he wasn’t used to admitting he was wrong. “I wanted to properly apologise. I shouldn’t have been so rude to you, and I definitely shouldn’t have brushed it off as anything except how you felt.”
You paused, brows furrowing together as you turned to face him with a curious expression.
Charles blinked. “What?”
“I was just waiting to see if there was a ‘but’ coming,” you confessed.
“No buts,” he assured, pausing for a moment before his cheeks burned pink. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. That’s it.”
You let out a sigh, wishing that some part of you was suspicious about his apology but you weren’t. He sounded genuine, and as much as you wanted to—and still partially did—believe he was a bit of a pompous prick, you couldn’t fault that his apology seemed sincere.
“I accept your apology,” you said, your voice a little strained before you continued. “And I’m also sorry for being a bit of a bitch.”
Charles’ lips parted. “Oh no, you weren’t—”
“I was a little,” you said, your lips twitching upwards as the boy gave you a nervous smile. “I can assure you I won’t be telling any gossip pages about what an asshole Charles Leclerc is.”
He actually laughed in response, despite the fact that alone would probably make his PR team bury him six feet under before the next season started. “I appreciate that, Stormy.”
You glowered at the nickname, but it only seemed to make the Monegasque laugh harder.
…
Despite the exchange of apologies on the ski lift, you expected that to be your last proper interaction with Charles.
You were also quickly realising that every time—so far—you had assumed as much, you would find yourself face to face with the driver once again. And this time was no different, except it came much earlier than a few days. It happened later that very same day.
You had made your way into the dining hall, grabbing a plate and beginning to survey the large buffet when you felt the warmth of another person standing beside you. You felt a hand brush your arm and turned to find Charles smiling at you.
“Bonjour, mon ami.”
You blinked. “What?”
His smile widened. “It means—”
“No, I know what it means,” you quickly corrected, shaking your head a little. “I just…didn’t realise we were friends.”
Charles’ brows furrowed together. “Why wouldn’t we be? I thought we had made up on the ski lift.”
“Yes but, other than that, we are strangers,” you said to him like it was obvious—and to you, it was. Beyond a few misunderstandings and awkward apologies, the man in front of you was as much a friend to you as any of the other guests in the lodge.
“Well, we can change that now!” He said, and that smile returned to his face. “Turn over a new book or whatever the saying is.”
Much to your own surprise, you found yourself laughing a little at his response. “Charles, I—”
“STORMY, HURRY UP OR I AM DRINKING YOUR WINE!”
Both your and Charles’ head snapped over to Evan who was holding a wine glass in each hand, a large smile plastered on his face and a twinkle in his eyes that promised mischief. His hair was still wet from the shower he took before dinner, meaning it was slick back and giving him an almost wannabe Bond villain look.
You laughed, shaking your head as you turned back to look at the driver. Only you found Charles still looking in Evan’s direction, something contemplative and almost begrudging in his gaze.
“You okay?”
Charles turned to face you, and it took a mere second for the glare to disappear and be replaced with his bright smile once again. “Yeah, of course. It seems like you’re wanted elsewhere though.”
“He’s a menace,” you said, playfully rolling your eyes but the fondness was clear in your voice. “I love him even if he’s a pain in the ass.”
Charles only let out a contemplative hum as a goodbye as you headed towards the table where your family and the Montgomery’s were sitting. And maybe if you looked over at him as much as he did with you over the course of the dinner, you would have seen Charles looking a little too bitter every time your eyes were on Evan instead of him.
…
A week had passed in the resort and the Christmas spirit was starting to truly spread as the festive holiday quickly approached.
Your parents and the Montgomery parents had decided to pass on the slopes, instead choosing to visit infamous glacier caves that had been advertised and talked about by some locals in the lodge. You, Harper and Evan had declined the offer to join them, though the excitement of no parents being around—despite the fact all three of you were firmly in your twenties—seemed to spark a shift in energy in Evan that could only be described as childlike.
“I have a proposition.”
Harper already let out a groan, tilting her head back as she did. You couldn’t see her eyes beneath her goggles, but you imagined she was rolling them. “God, no.”
Evan frowned. “You haven’t even heard it yet.”
“Your ideas are shit,” Harper said to her brother. “And usually dangerous.”
“No, they aren’t,” Evan scoffed.
You shrugged. “You don’t have a great track record, if we are being honest.”
“Whatever,” Evan grumbled before grinning at the two of you. “First two to reach the bottom wins. Sabotaging each other’s run is allowed. Loser has to do the forfeit.”
Your eyes narrowed. “What’s the forfeit?”
“Loser has to streak in the snow,” he grinned.
“I am not streaking in the snow,” Harper scoffed.
“Then, you better hope you win,” the older Montgomery countered with a grin.
And begrudgingly, you and Harper agreed to his childish idea.
It wasn’t the first time a silly competition between the three of you got out of hand, and you truly doubted it would be the last. With no rules set and no parents to even try to intervene, it didn’t take very long before the competition got dirty and the run down the slopes became more chaotic.
You had been running behind Harper, secure in second place and watching her movements closely to look for any weakness that you could exploit. However, you had failed to realise that Evan—who had been running behind after he almost skied into a group of people—was quickly catching up on you.
You didn't realise until it was too late.
You let out a noise of surprise when you found the boy right by your side, one that quickly became a series of curses when you realised what he was doing. You tried to move away when you noticed him turning into you, but you were too slow and it only put you in a worse position when his pole lodged itself between your skis.
He was long gone by the time you tumbled into the snow, cackling loudly as he went. You let out a groan of frustration as you turned until you were lying on your back. You winced a little as you tried to awkwardly scramble up onto your feet in hopes of catching up with the Montgomery siblings, but the second a bit of pressure was placed on your ankle, you were crying out in pain and your ass hit the snow once again.
“Shit,” you whispered to yourself as you sat in the snow, tears welling in your lash line at the shot of pain up your leg.
“Cherie!”
You lifted your head when you noticed someone skidding to a stop beside you. You blinked at them in a moment of confusion, but the second they removed their goggles and pulled down their mask, you found Charles—or at least, a very worried and concerned version of him—looking down at you.
He took you in, noticing the glossy sheen to your eyes before he turned back to look over his shoulder, letting out a string of curse words that you were certain were not in English before his attention returned to you.
“Are you okay? What hurts? Is something broken? Should I call for them to send a helicopter—”
“Charles,” you quickly interrupted the rambling boy. “I’m fine. I’ve probably just sprained my ankle.”
“Yeah, because of him,” Charles grumbled, mostly under his breath like he had no real intention for you to hear the snide remark.
“It was a joke,” you waved him off, but that only seemed to upset the boy further.
“A joke?” He repeated, his eyes widening in disbelief. “You’re hurt. It’s hardly a funny joke.”
“Charles, calm down.”
The boy just scoffed, shaking his head before he lodged his poles into the snow, keeping them off the main trail before he turned to you and offered his hand.
You looked at him expectantly.
“Let me help you get down to the lodge,” he said in as calm a voice as he could manage.
“Charles—” You began, but he wasn’t having it.
“No, cherie, I am not going to leave you here when you’re injured and alone,” he said, emphasising the last word in particular as he glanced around, almost like he had to remind you that Harper and Evan were most likely at the bottom of the slope by now.
“Fine,” you said with a sigh, taking his gloved hand in yours as you allowed him to pull you up, keeping your weight on him with ease. “This doesn’t mean we are friends though, Charles.”
He only grinned at you, the first time he seemed a little more like himself since he stopped to check on you.
“Whatever you want to say, Stormy.”
…
As expected, you had sprained your ankle and were advised to take it easy for the next few days.
And you were banned from hitting the slopes in fear of making the sprain worse.
You wanted to be annoyed about the situation—and a small part of you was—but honestly, a few days in the lodge with some peace and quiet seemed like a dream. As much as you loved your family and the Montgomery’s, you needed a break from how loud and giddy and excited they were.
And as the days quickly approached Christmas, it felt like a nice relief to have some time to yourself before the festivities truly took over.
You had waved them off after breakfast with a smile, teasing them not to miss you too much as they headed towards the slopes. Evan had offered to stay inside with you, even just for today, because of the guilt that he was the one to put you in the position. But you just rolled your eyes, assuring him you were more than happy to sit by the fireplace by the foyer and enjoy a day where you didn’t have to fall flat on your ass in the snow.
You had been a few chapters into your book, curled up on the couch with your ankle elevated on a pillow with a blanket thrown over you when Charles and his friends made their way downstairs, prepped and ready with the intentions of heading out to the slopes.
But the boy spotted you and found his feet moving in a different direction.
“Stormy!”
You lifted your head, unable to even find it in yourself to be annoyed by his constant use of the nickname when he had a pretty smile on his face whenever he said it. He was bundled up in layers, probably on his way to the equipment kiosk before he headed for the lift. He looked comical next to the fire.
“My knight in shining armour,” you greeted, a teasing tilt in your voice but the boy missed it as he took in your appearance. “You look warm.”
“You’re staying in today?”
You nodded. “Doc’s orders.”
“Alone?”
You nodded once again. “I told the others they could—”
“I’ll stay with you!”
He said it so quickly that it took you a few seconds before you realised just what he had said. You blinked, your brows furrowing in confusion. “You’re at a ski resort and you don’t want to go skiing?”
“I’ve been skiing every day since I got here,” he said with a casual shrug of his shoulders. “I can handle not skiing for a day.”
You flashed him a smile. “It’s fine, you don’t have to—”
“But I want to,” he countered, the words passing his lips with ease.
You hated the way your chest tightened a little at his words. “Oh.”
Charles smiled at your response.
“Charles, hurry up!”
You missed the way his brows furrowed together at the voice when you turned to look at the woman standing a few feet away, looking impatient and slightly annoyed. It was the same woman from the other week, the one that looked a little too much like the cold weather personified. You had learnt over the passing days her name was Melanie, but that was about as far as your knowledge on the woman went, other than her clear attitude.
Charles let out a sigh before he replied, a slightly more strained smile on his face. “Go on without me. I’m gonna stay in the lodge today.”
Melanie frowned. “Why?”
“Because I want to,” Charles stated simply, and the repeated words made your chest feel funny again.
Melanie glanced over at you and then Charles, and then back to you again. Her eyes were narrowed and her glare felt icy, but before she could even think of saying anything, a friend from the group was calling out to her and she had no choice but to join them.
Charles turned back to you, an easy smile on his lips once again. “So…what’s the plan?”
You snorted. “To sit here because I’m practically bedbound, unless I want to hobble somewhere.”
Charles pressed his lips together. “Well, sitting by the fire with no hot chocolate is sacrilege.”
Your nose scrunched up. “But I don’t have cookies. Hot chocolate by itself isn’t fun without homemade Christmas cookies.”
“Then we will make them,” Charles said.
You rolled your eyes. “And where are we making them? In our rooms with a kettle, tap water and no other ingredients?”
“Please,” Charles said with a scoff, a glint in his eyes as he looked down at you with a proud glint in his eyes. “I am Charles Leclerc. I have my ways.”
You weren’t sure what strings he pulled, who he bribed or just what he blackmailed the lodge owners with, but you were filled with a sort of unease when Charles returned twenty minutes later. He had changed out of his heavy ski gear into a pair of jeans and a sweater that looked insanely cosy. And he had told you that he needed you to close your eyes, to trust him enough to carry you to the destination with a promise that all the drama would be worth it.
He looked so damn proud when he brought you to the lodge’s kitchen with bowls and whisks and ingredients sprawled across the counter—it made that funny feeling in your chest return.
“How did you manage this?” You asked, an incredulous laugh leaving your lips when he sat you on the counter.
“I’m Charles Leclerc, I can get anything I want,” he said, and once upon a time, you would have rolled your eyes and thought he was a pompous dick. You still thought he was a little cocky, but it was an endearing trait now.
You raised your brows. “Do you, Charles Leclerc, know how to bake?”
“Nope,” he said honestly but he was still smiling. “But I am sure I can make something edible with you guiding me.”
“Smooth,” you snorted. “Don’t blame me if they taste like shit.”
As it would turn out, Charles had an overbearing need to be in control of everything. You guessed it came with the lifestyle, the fact his life is always in the palm of his own hands whenever he sat in a car that raced hundreds of miles an hour. However, it seemed like it also extended to the Monegasque ignoring your very clear and correct instructions to do something he insisted was the right way.
“In what fucking world do you need that much sugar?” You remarked, lips parted in shock as you watched the boy add more.
“They are sugar cookies, cherie, it’s in the name,” Charles retorted.
“That doesn’t mean the batter should be seventy-five percent sugar!” You huffed as you reached over to try and grab the bag of sugar from him. “You are going to make us both diabetic with one of those damn cookies. Don’t you have a diet you are meant to be following?”
Charles only grinned, a little mischievous. “Yeah but it’s Christmas.”
You shook your head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re bossy,” he countered.
“And I’m right,” you insisted as you frowned at the batter, wondering if it would be easier to just toss it out and start again. “It’s not my fault you don’t have the ego to handle it.”
“Or your ego can’t handle the challenge,” Charles said, something shining in his eyes like his words had a hidden meaning you couldn’t quite understand. “Tell me you don’t like it.”
You tilted your head a little. “You think you’re the only man to talk back to me, Leclerc?”
His tongue poked the inside of his cheek. “I would like to think I’m the best.”
You couldn’t ignore the way his eyes darkened, the way it seemed to surge some sort of competition inside him. You couldn’t help but want to play on his fragile male ego a little more.
“And if I said you weren’t?” You questioned, pressing your lips together in a poor attempt to hide your smirk.
Charles breathed out of his nose, his jaw clenching a little before he replied. “Then I would say Evan is a lucky man to have you.”
And just like that, your smirk dropped.
“What?”
Charles frowned a little. “I would say Evan is a lucky man,” he repeated, the words sounding a little forced as they left his lips. “You two seem like…a great match even if he does leave you abandoned on a ski slope after—”
“Oh my god, no!” You blanched, your shoulders hunching up to your ears as you shook your head. “Ew, no! Absolutely not!”
Charles blinked. “Huh?”
“Me and Evan—” You swallowed hard, unable to even get the words out. “It’s not like that between us. I have known him forever, he’s like a brother to me.”
“Oh,” Charles murmured, taking a few seconds before he grinned. “Oh!”
“Yeah, oh,” you grumbled.
Charles couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. “So, you aren’t—”
“Nope.”
“With Evan or anyone?”
“No one.”
“Good.”
You snorted, rolling your eyes at the giddiness written across his face. If someone told you it was Christmas morning, you would have believed them. “Subtle, Charles.”
“Subtle is my middle name.”
…
The next day, you met Charles by the foyer fireplace, but this time he was prepared with his own book.
The day after, he was there again but both your books were quickly abandoned as you chatted away.
The day after that, neither of you bothered to bring your books down.
Despite your insistence that he should be out on the slopes enjoying his vacation and the downtime he had in between seasons, Charles was adamant that he was doing exactly what he deemed relaxing. And just like he said earlier, Charles Leclerc gets what he wants—and it seemed he wanted to spend his days huddled in the lodge with you.
Everyone noticed the budding relationship between you and Charles, but nobody said a word. Well, your family and the Montgomery parents didn’t say a word. Harper and Evan on the other hand? They wouldn’t leave you alone.
Harper was cackling at the irony. She was throwing your words back in your face, teasing the way seemed to switch your opinion on the Monegasque driver in the span of a week and looked down right smitten for the boy. She teased you over the fact it took you almost two months before you went on a date with your ex-boyfriend, and here you were having daily fireplace dates with the boy you called an asshole less than a week ago. She was embracing her full right as your best friend to annoy the fuck out of you.
Evan was a whole other story. The boy looked like a kicked puppy every time you came back from hanging out with Charles, only to tell him you didn’t get him an autograph nor did you bring into the conversation how cool he was or how amazing he was or how he and Charles would totally get on if you introduced them. You didn’t have the heart to tell the boy that up until seventy-two hours ago, Charles didn’t like him through a bizarre assumption.
It had been constant and annoying, but in a way that made your heart feel full because you knew no matter what, at least those two would support every decision you made. Even if they got unbearable during the meal times where Charles would find any excuse to come talk to you.
Tonight was no different as he approached you with a smile spread across his face and something dangerous and promising shining in his eyes. You were sitting at the table alone whilst everyone else headed towards the tables to fill their plates—yours in Harper’s hand—and you were grateful for the small moment of peace as he leaned down.
“Missing me already?” You teased.
He shrugged, though he didn’t disagree. “I have a very important message for you.”
You raised your brows in question. “Oh?”
Instead of saying anything, the boy just grinned wider and handed you a small piece of paper. You frowned a little at it, looking up at him in confusion but the boy was already taking a few steps away from your table.
“Charles—”
But the boy just winked before turning on his heel, heading back to the table the rest of his friends were sitting at, where they were probably watching the whole interaction even if they tried to make it seem like they weren’t.
You glanced down at the note in your hand, lips turned downwards as you opened the folded paper. It baffled you that he couldn’t just say what he had written down, but another part of you warmed a little at the idea that he had taken the time to write the note and go through with it—regardless of it being a bit silly.
You couldn’t bite back your smile when you read the note.
meet me @ midnight. my room number is 161. wear something cosy :)
You snorted, shaking your head as every cell in your body thrummed in excitement to meet the boy you once hated later that night.
…
“The note was cute, but I still don’t understand why you couldn’t just ask me to hang out.”
“Because that’s not fun.”
“You just handed me the note, that’s hardly any different.”
“It was like a real life text, cherie. It’s how they used to do it back in the day.”
You snorted in response.
You had listened to his advice, deciding that a hoodie and pyjama bottoms were the way to go as you snuck up to the floor he was staying at. Your knuckles had barely grazed the door before it was yanked open, a grinning boy on the other side. He was dressed in a baggy hoodie and grey sweatpants, his hair pushed back with a bandana and a pair of glasses sat on his nose.
He didn’t even give you a chance to say anything before he was dragging you inside.
It should have been obvious that Charles Leclerc of all people would have a suite but truthfully, you hadn’t even realised the lodge had master suites as big as this one. But it did. And it was huge. And you expected nothing less for the Monegasque.
There were multiple different rooms that veered off the large living room: one that was furnished with a massive tv, soft plush sofas and a large fireplace that looked like it was straight out the front of a Christmas card. Surprisingly, it was decorated for the festive season with even a tree settled in the corner between the armchairs. It felt homely. It felt perfect for this midnight meeting.
However, you didn’t get much of a chance to look around before he was dragging you out onto the balcony. There was a loveseat set up with pillows and blankets, and a small table set with hot chocolate and a plate of cookies (ones he assured you he had the chef make fresh).
“I never took you to be so traditional,” you teased, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders as a light breeze hit you. “But I guess you have to make do since you haven’t even asked for my number.”
Charles raised his brows. “Is that your subtle way of telling me to hurry up and ask for it?”
“Subtle is my middle name,” you retorted, his own repeated words thrown back in his face but they seemed to light a spark inside him.
Charles’ eyes dropped to your lips for a few passing beats before they returned to your eyes, and you saw everything written in them. This was different to the days you had spent down in the foyer. Everyone could see you both. You could see everyone. It was public and out in the open and exposed.
But here?
It was just you and him and the pretty night sky that shone and glittered with stars. You were away from the world, from reality. You were away from your family and friends. You were away from peering eyes and judgemental looks. You were in a bubble you never wanted to leave, huddled in thick wool blankets and desperately hoping he would close the minimal distance between you both.
His lips were a hairbreadth away from brushing against yours when another breeze caressed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine that momentarily jolted you away from him.
“You’re cold,” he noted, though it was pretty obvious when you two were both outside in minimal layers. “Let’s get inside. We can warm up by the fire.”
And a part of you wanted to scream off the balcony into the French Mountains when he stood up, when the moment broke and his lips weren’t against yours. But as angry as you wanted to be, you were grateful when he guided you to sit in front of the fire as he added more wood to the dying embers.
His thigh was brushing against yours when he settled into the spot beside you on the floor, his cheeks tinted pink from the cold as he grinned at you before holding his hands out to the fire. You laughed, following suit and the conversation from moments before the almost-kiss returned.
However, minutes passed and your body was still racked with small shivers that Charles quickly picked up on.
“C’mere,” he murmured as he lifted his arm, giving you little time to dispute (not that you were going to) as he wrapped his arm around you and tugged you into his side.
You didn’t think about it too much as you buried yourself into his embrace, as you pressed your cheek into his hoodie and enjoyed the way his hand seemed to leave a trail of heat wherever he touched.
“If I get hypothermia and die, I’m coming back to haunt you and your sugar cookies,” you grumbled, though it was lighthearted as you pressed your nose further into the fabric of his hoodie.
His chest shook underneath you as he laughed and tightened his hold on you. “I would never let anything happen to you, Stormy.”
“You and that stupid nickname,” you said as you let out a long sigh. “You know my actual name now. You have no excuse to use it.”
“Yeah, but it suits you,” Charles retorted, letting out a small noise of surprise when your cold fingers pinched his side. “Plus, you get this…uh, what’s the word…cute look on your face when you’re angry.”
Your head snapped up to glare at him. “I don’t look cute when I’m angry.”
His face brightened. “Yes! That face! C’est mignon!"
Your eyes narrowed further. “Don’t pull the cute French card, it’s not gonna help you.”
“You think my French is cute?” Charles replied, his laugh echoing through the suite as you rolled your eyes.
“You drivers and your egos,” you grumbled.
“Have a lot of experience with drivers?” Charles questioned, a hint of something unreadable in his voice.
You snorted, both of you knowing the answer to that question but you played along. “Maybe I do.”
His eyes darkened slightly. “What about kissing them?”
And just like that, Charles Leclerc had left you speechless for what felt like the millionth time since you met him.
His gaze was locked on your lips, the crackling of the fire felt like it was booming through the silent room and you were truly wondering if your heart was going to burst through your chest and splat on the floor in front of you both.
“I can’t say I have much experience in that department,” you admitted once you managed to choke your words out.
His lips twitched upwards. “Would you like some experience, Stormy?”
You didn’t know if you nodded or if he just took the signs of your flustered, stuttering mess and took mercy on you. You didn’t know if his hand reached to cup your face first or if it was your hand on the nape of his neck instead. You didn’t know if it was you moaning lowly into the kiss when his tongue darted out or if it was him.
Kissing Charles Leclerc was overwhelming and world-altering and, truthfully, you didn’t think you could even utter your own name if someone asked you at that moment.
“Merde,” he groaned before he kissed you harder, faster, more passionately. His other hand reached for your waist, those muscles hidden under his baggy hoodie put to good use as he hauled you onto his lap.
Your knees sat on either side of his hips, your ass firmly planted on his lap as the new position allowed you to fully wrap your arms around his neck. The boy’s hands dropped to your waist, squeezing and guiding as your hips shifted in his lap as his kisses left you seeking anything he would give you.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admitted when he had to pull away, when his lungs were burning for air. But you still wanted more, you sought out to keep hearing those pretty noises he made as your lips trailed down his neck. “So fucking long.”
“You took your time,” you muttered between open-mouthed kisses when his hold tightened as your lips passed a particularly sensitive spot just below his ear.
“You hated me for a majority of the time we’ve known each other,” he managed to utter out, his head falling back as your teeth lightly grazed his skin.
“Does it look like I hate you now?” You retorted, something about the back and forth feeling as thrilling and exciting as his fingers fiddling with the hem of your hoodie.
Charles’ eyes caught yours as you lifted your head from his neck, lips red and swollen and fuck, he wanted to kiss you again. “I think I need a little more convincing.”
“Yeah?” You watched as he nodded, a little too eager but it made your stomach twist in the best way possible. “Well, you did promise to keep me warm.”
“I did,” he murmured, his voice a little rough and husky.
“Warm me up, Leclerc,” you whispered as you leaned down to kiss him again, his hands squeezing your waist before your lips even touched. “And then I’ll decide if I hate you still.”
A choked noise of surprise left your lips when Charles suddenly moved. You were no longer sitting on his lap, but instead had been laid back on the floor with the boy now hovering over you. He flashed you a smile, one twisted with promises that made your chest feel tight.
You waited for him to lean down and kiss you again. You waited to feel his heated touch on your body. You waited for him to finally slide his hands under the fabric of your hoodie, to feel his fingers along your bare skin.
But instead, he just looked at you with so much fondness in his eyes.
“What?” You questioned, and suddenly the idea of being naked underneath him was no longer the most exposed you felt.
“Nothing,” he said simply as he shook his head. “Just…wanted to make sure.”
Your brows furrowed together. “Of what?”
“That you’re okay with this,” Charles said as he finally lifted his hand, as he let his fingers brush across the apple of your cheek. You could feel your skin heating up underneath his touch. “I want you to know that I’m happy to just talk. I don’t want you to think I just invited you here to—”
“Charles,” you interrupted, and the boy fell quiet as his cheeks flushed pink. “I want to.”
He tried to bite back his smile. “Yeah?”
You laughed, nodding. “Yeah.”
And despite the reassurance and despite the heat in your body that just wanted to throw your legs over the boy and ride him until the sun came up, Charles Leclerc was nothing, if not a gentleman. And something about that made it so much hotter.
His touch was always so confident but gentle. The way his lips pressed against yours, the way his tongue caressed yours as his fingers slowly peeled away the layers of clothes between the two of you. The way he paused to set down pillows and a blanket to make it comfier for you before his fingers hooked on the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your legs and discarding them someplace else.
The way you reached down to cup his bulge in his boxers, prepared to slip your hand beneath the elastic of his boxers and stroke the length of him—only to have your hands batted away. You barely got a chance to question him before his kisses silenced you, before they began moving south and you felt his lips on every inch of your exposed skin that he could reach.
You felt breathless by the time he was between your legs. You felt like your head was spinning with pleasure as he hooked his arms around your thighs and happily settled between them. You felt like you were in some sugar cookie induced dream as you glanced down, catching his eager eyes watching every little move and reaction you made.
The fire was roaring a few feet away, loud and proud and yet, it was his touch and whispered words that made your whole body feel like lava was coursing through your veins. It was the way his tongue swiped and licked your needy pussy, the way his lips wrapped around your clit until your back was arching off the ground. It was the way Charles murmured soft praises as his hands reached out for yours, as he intertwined your fingers and softly squeezed as you came on his tongue once, twice until you felt like a pile of bones.
It was the way he smiled down at you like his face wasn’t glistening with your release. The way he leaned down to kiss you with the taste of yourself still on his tongue. It was the way he was fully prepared to leave it there, let you rest, spend the rest of the night listening to the random rants he could coax out of you.
Charles only let out a surprised noise when you pushed him onto his back, as you straddled him like you fantasised about earlier and reached between your bodies to squeeze his aching cock.
You knew Charles Leclerc was pretty, even in the days where you thought you despised the man. It was an undeniable fact that he was easy on the eyes, that he was gorgeous, that he had one of those faces that didn’t make him feel like he was a real human.
But he was undoubtedly prettier when you were sinking down on his cock, walls squeezing him as his lips parted to let out a string of curse words in a handful of languages you didn’t speak.
His hands were all over you, his lips never stopped moving and all it took was a slight lapse in your tempo as you rocked back and forth for the boy to grip your hips, hold you up with ease and fuck up into you.
You were a puddle on his chest, his lips right beside your ear as he whispered filthy words to you. His hands and kisses were gentle when it felt like you could feel his cock in your throat from how deep inside he was. Charles Leclerc was a fucking enigma that you didn’t ever want to work out.
And even after he did most of the work, even after he was breathless and flushed and fucked out, you were still the first thing on his mind. Your comfort, your pleasure, just you.
“Cherie,” he murmured softly, the accent seeming a little thicker as he spoke. “We should move to the bed.”
“No,” your words muffled as you nuzzled yourself further into his chest, content where you were with your legs tangled together and your naked bodies pressed together. “I’m comfy here. Beside you.”
“Okay,” was all he said in response as he pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head and pulled the blanket over the both of you before holding you closer—if that was even possible.
…
The first thing you noted when you woke up was how comfortable the ground felt beneath you.
The second thing was that you were no longer on the floor, but on a very comfy bed with a mattress that felt like it was a cloud.
Your hand blindly reached out to your side, expecting to feel a solid, warm body and probably a disgruntled curse from a certain Monegasque, but it never came. Your brows furrowed together, your hand continuing to pat the bed but it felt cold under your touch.
For a short moment, you wondered if you had dreamt it all. You wondered if it was just a hyper-realistic dream where you swore you could still feel his touch on you, if it was all a part of your imagination.
And then, from the other side of the door, you heard a voice.
Your lips unknowingly tilted upwards as you sat up in bed, the sheet falling to your waist as you did. You stretched out your limbs, moving with no real rush as you grabbed the first piece of clothing you could find—a shirt of Charles’ that rested at your thighs—before making your way towards the door.
You pushed the door open, expecting to find him lounging on the couch as he talked away to whoever he was on the phone with, but he wasn’t. You leaned your head out, peeking around to instead finding him on the balcony, the door still open to let his voice and a chilly breeze carry through into the suite.
You contemplated bracing the cold and making your way towards the balcony, to wrap your arms around his waist and settle into the warmth of him as he finished his call. Your hand moved to pull the door open wider, but then the muffled voice became actual words and you froze.
“She doesn’t mean anything to me. She never has. Why should I care now?”
You frowned a little.
“I was doing her a favour, for no other reason.”
Your stomach churned, but you tried to ease your thoughts that were threatening to spiral.
“I’m not going to ever see her again after this trip, what’s the big deal anyways?”
But that? That was your final straw.
You felt sick to your stomach as you rushed around the room, staying as silent as you could as you redressed yourself. Your head felt like it was spinning, like you couldn’t even keep up with your own thoughts. You wanted to feel angry and spiteful, and maybe you did.
But most of all, you just felt disappointed.
In yourself. In the situation. In the man you thought Charles Leclerc was.
You were fighting down the bile that felt like it was rising up your throat when you finally slipped out of his suite. He was still on the phone, still on the balcony when you left. And he probably wouldn’t even realise you were gone until you were safely back in your own room, where you could let everything hit you at once and let the tears threatening to spill finally fall.
You didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t want to believe he was that kind of guy, another asshole that you had laid yourself out in front of, only for it to be thrown back in your face. You wanted to believe he was the gentleman you saw, touched and kissed last night.
But the truth of the matter was that Charles Leclerc was just another name on your list of men who disappointed you, and you didn’t want to see his stupid, perfect face ever again.
…
Charles was absolutely fucking baffled.
He felt like he was missing a key bit of information in his own life, and no matter how many times he replayed the last week or so in his head, he couldn’t work out what he was doing wrong.
After a season of disappointing races and a team that played with his strategy like a fucking water balloon being thrown around by a group of toddlers, Charles wanted an escape. He wanted a place away from journalists and fans and everyone who even knew who he was. He just wanted a break from his own life.
The vacation at The Chalet was meant to just be that, but it became so much more.
For the first time in a long time, Charles felt like himself again. He felt happy. He was excited for the new year, he was excited for the future, he was excited for what possibly lay ahead of him. He felt like he was in some dream, but it wasn’t a dream. It was his reality and he woke up every day eager to know what amazing thing would happen to him—to know what amazing day he would have with you.
But that dream seemed to crumble into pieces when he realised you were ignoring him.
He didn’t try to take it too personally when he headed back into the bedroom that morning, his cheeks tinted pink from the cold weather but eager to spend a few lazy hours with you in between the sheets. He was eager to make you smile and maybe kiss you, maybe do something more.
But disappointment hit his chest when he saw the empty room.
He just assured himself that you probably had to head back to your room before your family and friends woke up, or maybe you wanted to freshen up. He assured himself he would see you at breakfast and everything would be fine.
But it wasn’t fine because you weren’t at breakfast. He waited in case you came at the end, but you didn’t.
He waited for you at the usual spot in the foyer, but you never came.
He waited for you at lunch and dinner too, but you never came.
The next day, he almost expected the same and was preparing himself to ask one of your friends if you were okay, but he was shocked to find you sitting in your usual place at breakfast. He smiled at you, something in his chest easing as he made a step in your direction, but the dirty glare you sent his way was enough to make him stop in his tracks.
You didn’t turn up to the foyer that day either but between the dirty looks from you and the fact he was pretty sure Harper tried to trip him up at the coffee stand, he knew something was wrong.
He just didn’t know what.
And every time he tried to get near you, tried to talk to you, it was a pathetically failed attempt that left that competitive streak inside his chest blaring with annoyance.
You were ignoring him and he didn’t know why.
And then he saw it, three days after you started ignoring him. He was making his way into the dining hall, having just showered after a day in the slopes his friends dragged him out for, when he saw you and Evan by the buffet.
Your eyes found his and something in his chest sparked.
And then his eyes fell to the way your hand rested on Evan’s arm, the way you leaned into him as you laughed, the way Evan’s arm was thrown over your shoulder as you both walked back to your table. He watched as you both sat next to each other, so close your thighs were probably pressed together under the table and something bitter settled in his stomach.
He knew he had no real reason to be jealous. Especially between the fact that you yourself had assured him everything between you and Evan was platonic (if not familial) and the fact there was no real talk of anything being between you and himself other than a shitload of chemistry.
But even logic didn’t stop the jealousy he felt.
His appetite was gone after that, as he turned around and headed back to his suite that felt a little bittersweet after the amazing night and shit morning he had with you. But he wasn’t in the mood to eat or pine for you from a distance.
Charles was sick and tired of you ignoring him, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.
And the first step in his plan had everything to do with the blond you were currently laughing and touching. He just needed to get Evan alone.
…
It was Christmas Eve when Charles’ plan finally reached its final step—to finally talk to you.
It felt like an odd sense of deja vu when you woke up that morning, making your way down for breakfast before you got ready for the slopes that day. You thought nothing off the weird looks Evan was giving you or the way he seemed giddier than usual, because truthfully it was no different to how Evan usually was on Christmas Eve.
You put down his eagerness to head towards the slopes under the assumption he probably had some weird challenge for you and Harper at the top. You just hoped this one wouldn’t result in another sprained ankle.
“I’m riding with you today, Stormy,” Evan said as the three of you headed towards the ski lift.
“Uh, get in line, loser,” Harper spoke up as she stood on the other side of you. “I called dibs.”
Evan narrowed his eyes. “No, you didn’t.”
“Well, I did just now,” Harper retorted.
“Does it really matter?” You questioned, amused as you glanced between the two of them.
“Yes!”
“No!”
Harper and Evan turned to glare at each other, confusion from one of them and insistence from the other. However, you just laughed and shook your head.
“Fine, first one to the lift wins!”
You were already settled in the lift as you heard the two of them bickering to each other. You waited to see which one would win, to see who would settle in the spot next to you. However, what you failed to notice was the way Evan all but threw himself on top of his sister so she couldn’t reach the lift before someone else did.
You turned, a smile on your face as you waited to greet the winning Montgomery, but instead you found yourself staring at a painfully familiar set of green eyes.
And in an instant, your smile dropped at the sight of Charles Leclerc sitting next to you.
But before you could even think about jumping off the lift and taking the next seat, the lift was already too high up for you to do anything about it.
“You’ve been ignoring me,” he said to break the silence.
But you didn’t respond.
“Look, I know you don’t want to talk to me but at least hear me out,” Charles continued, a hint of desperation in his voice. “This is all a misunderstanding.”
You kept your gaze facing forward.
“Evan told me what you thought happened that morning.”
And just like that, your head snapped around to stare at him, a mix of emotions going through you right now—though the biggest was possibly Evan’s betrayal.
“You weren’t lying when you said he was a big fan,” he said with a nervous laugh. “It didn’t actually take much for him to tell me why you’ve been ignoring me.”
“You used my friend?” You questioned, the bitterness and coldness in your voice evident.
“I asked and he gave me information,” Charles corrected before his shoulders sagged a bit. “Look, don’t blame him. He heard what I had to say and—”
“And I don’t care what you have to say so go talk to Evan about it,” you spat back at him, watching the way he winced at your words.
“Cherie—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Stormy—”
“And definitely don’t call me that.”
“Please,” Charles pleaded as he looked at you with wide eyes, ones that held so many emotions you did not want to see. “That phone call was not what you think.”
You looked away at the mention of the phone call, something quite like anger and disgust bubbling inside you at the mere reminder of the words you heard that morning. “Just…stop it, Charles. I don’t care, okay? You go about your life and I’ll go about mine.”
“No,” he stated simply.
You scoffed. “What? You need another girl in another city to have fawning over you? The hundreds of others not enough?”
“No, because I am not interested in my life not having you in it. I am not interested in a hundred other girls.” The words were stated like they were facts. “Stormy, I just want you.”
You scoffed again but a hand tugging yours made you look over at Charles, fully prepared to pull your hand away.
“I wasn’t talking about you on the phone that morning,” Charles quickly blurted out before you had a chance to say anything. “Everything you heard on the phone that morning, it wasn’t about you.”
You blinked.
“It was about Melanie.”
Your brows furrowed together, a crease forming between them that Charles had the urge to smooth out with his thumb, but he resisted.
“What?”
“She—” Charles paused for a moment, like he was trying to gather the correct words. “She’s not my friend, not really.”
You blinked again. “She’s not? But she acts—”
“She acts like we are, yes. She’s a friend of a friend, and that’s about all there is to her. She’s…uh, how do you say? She seems to have gained a crush on me? Or maybe it’s some weird obsession. I’m not quite sure,” Charles admitted with a frown. “She asked me out once, almost a year ago and I declined. But she has latched onto the group ever since and I couldn’t quite shake her off.”
You didn’t say anything, instead letting him continue.
“She wasn’t even meant to be on this trip,” Charles confessed. “But she said to our mutual friend that she was alone this Christmas and…I just couldn’t say no, right? But she’s spent the last year acting like I didn’t reject her and I didn’t like the idea of being trapped up here with her. But even with all our other friends, she was always beside me. She was always there. And when she started to throw tantrums to our friends and make up stories after I started spending time with you, I had enough.”
Your lips parted slightly in shock.
“Turns out she told all our friends that we were together,” Charles said with a grimace. “That we wanted to keep it a secret from the media, and that meant I wanted to keep it from everyone. She tried to make it out like I was a monster to our friends when I started spending days with you. Thankfully, none of them believed a word she said but…it was just too much.”
“Oh.”
“That’s why you heard me ranting on the phone about not seeing her after this trip because I have no plans to be around her ever again and I made that clear to my friends. You can even ask them if you don’t believe me,” Charles said as he finally let out a long breath. He looked at you, an almost pained expression on his face. “I would never say those things about you. Not when you might just be the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
Your cheeks burned. “Charles—”
“I know you feel it too,” he continued, and that desperate note to his voice returned. “I know you’ve felt it all week. I know you felt it that night. I know you feel like this—us—could be something.”
“I’m such an idiot,” you muttered, closing your eyes as you realised the agonsing and the pain and the ignoring over the last few days could have been avoided if you stayed in the bedroom a little longer that morning. Or if you had just spoken to him instead of letting the pettiness take over.
“You had no reason to think otherwise about me, cherie, and I get that,” Charles said as he squeezed your hand, almost like a tester to see if you would pull away or not. But you didn’t. “But I want to change that. I want to explore this. I want to show you that I would never do that to you. I want to give you reasons to trust me.”
“I would like that,” you murmured in a soft voice, but Charles heard you loud and clear as he grinned at you.
“Yeah? You don’t hate me still?” He questioned.
You laughed, shaking your head as you did. “I don’t think I ever hated you, Charles.”
“Good, it makes this easier then,” he said before he leaned in, his slightly chapped lips pressed against yours—and something about it felt like coming home.
You sunk into his embrace, your hand coming up to cup his cheek like you needed to believe he was really there (even if the gloves made it a little awkward). But feeling him smile against your lips was assurance enough.
“Merry Christmas Eve, Charles.”
“Merry Christmas Eve, Stormy. I hope it’s one of many with you.”
And maybe Charles Leclerc became another one of the many reasons you loved The Chalet.
.
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TW: dubcon, misogyny, degradation/condescension, toxic partner, gaslighting, guilt-tripping
fem reader
The first time he said you were made for him, you thought it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to you.
He’d said it with such unbothered air – so matter-of-factly – as if it were the most obvious thing, as though he was almost exasperated even to have to spell it out for you.
And you’d smiled, feeling warm and giddy. Lovey-dovey heart-eyes looking back at him with not a single second guess.
You should have asked him what he meant, though…
But you always brush such things off. Lying snugly against his side in bed, head resting on his chest with his muscled arm around your waist – watching a dumb movie on the laptop kept atop his abs.
“Tch- she’s just like you.” He snorts casually.
You barely hear it. And even then, it takes some time before you humor it.
But after your brain's bothered computing, you eventually pout –looking at the actress on the screen – sitting on the floor with tears streaming down her cheeks, all wet mascara streaks and tousled hair.
She was pretty, but she looked nothing like you.
“What do you mean?” You ask after a little while – not having been able to pay attention to the rest of the plot. Too busy mulling what he’d said – trying to spin it positively as you so often do – but finding only far-fetched reasons, none of which sounded like something he'd bother say.
“What?” He mumbled.
It had been a while since he’d made the comment – about half the movie already – so it was only fair.
“How’s she like me?”
He raised his brows – a bit of a double chin forming on his neck as he angled his head to look down at you.
“You know...” He brushed it off – redirecting his eyes back to the movie. The final climax was beginning.
You decide you can wait until the end. He’d just get annoyed if you talked through or paused the film now.
He doesn’t spare you the same consideration, though – already with his hand casually running up your arm, coming to cup your tit.
He plays with it until the credits start rolling.
Closing the screen, he places it on the nightstand and climbs on top of you as though it were what both of you had been waiting to do.
“Uhm-” You protest – but he doesn’t take it as such, promptly dipping over to catch it with his lips – already pulling on his tight shirt, leaving your lips briefly to wring it off over his head. “Wait-” You interrupt before he’s back on you.
“What?” He breathes – nipping the corner of your mouth instead.
You hold his shoulders, trying to lift him off – but it doesn't seem like he even registers the effort – already buried in your neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses.
“You didn’t tell me what you meant earlier.” You remind him.
It takes a second before he remembers, asking, “Jeez – ‘you still thinkin’ about that?”
The kisses don’t stop. Instead, they return to try your lips again.
But you’re adamant about refusing – placing your hand over his mouth and giving him a glare – the one that tells him to listen when he isn’t – one that you have to use rather often…
He takes your hand and pins it to the pillow beneath in a finger-lock – kissing your lips despite it. “C’mon~ it’s not important.” He dismisses, words slurred with different objectives.
You slant your head to the side, and his lips meet your cheek instead. “No, really. I want to know what you meant.”
His brows furrow then – visibly getting annoyed with you – the irritation also evident in his voice. “Ugh – I’s just sayin’ you’re a little…” He leans back on his heels, where he's taken to kneel on top of you – his bulge rubbing against your mound, thick and stiff.
He scans the ceiling with his chin raised, releasing a sigh before looking back down at your face and the pouty look written across it.
He chuckles a little, grabbing the chubs of your cheeks in both hands to hold you – placing yet a kiss, now on your nose.
“I’m just sayin’ you’re cute, is all.”
He starts kissing you again – his hands hot at your sides, where he starts impatiently tugging at your top, lifting it up.
“Stop-”
You push his hands away.
This time, he sighs with rust – almost growling. “I swear – only you would make a big deal outta this.” He accuses suddenly – body sagging with his head hung. “All I meant is that you’re a little…”
Your brows furrow at his grumpy mumble. Your doubt about it being derogatory only solidifying – making your voice come out sharper.
“A little what?”
He huffs again – as though you were the one being unreasonable.
“A little hopeless at times.”
You gape. “Hopeless?”
You prop yourself up on your elbows, signaling for him to get off – but his hands squeeze your shoulders, keeping himself there. “You’re not getting’ me-”
“Apparently not.” You cut him off – still struggling to get yourself up.
But it takes only an effortless push from him to have your back thud against the mattress again.
“Say they were to make a movie about me, right?” He starts – ignoring the look you give him. “You’d play the love interest as a clueless damsel in distress. And I’d play the lead as the hero who saves you.”
You roll your eyes. “Right. Or, more realistically – you’d play an asshole, and I’d play the upset girlfriend who leaves you with blue balls.”
This time, you put your hands on his chest to push him off.
Unfortunately for you, he’s as steadfast as a mountain.
“No, baby – come on.” He whines. Taking your wrists and sinking back down to your neck – kissing your collar with a tired groan. “You know what I mean.”
“Get off – I’m serious.” You put plainly now when everything else had failed.
But only a sound scoff leaves him as he continues to touch – fiddling with your top again like before. “No. You’re throwing a fit.”
Your face is properly sour now – your voice, too. “I’m not a child.”
“Then quit actin’ like one, hm?” His hands squeeze your sides as he gruffs against your neck. “Face it, babe. You’re with me because you like havin’ someone capable supportin’ you.”
Your brows crinkle differently at the statement – softening just a bit – mainly because you weren’t sure whether to take offense or not.
And before you can decide, he’s already adding to it, “Just like I like havin’ a cute, pouty, pretty little girlfriend cryin’ my name over every single silly little thing, too~” His voice went sweeter with the teasing – you felt the grin of it run against your jugular.
“You-”
“C’mon, don’t pretend.” He drawls. “You know I’m right.”
You can’t really defend against it. After all – suppose – he was right...
“We’re perfect for each other~” He purrs groggily. Still laying wet lovebites to your neck. “You were made for me.”
You don’t think it’s as romantic this time around – sounding more like a verdict.
Or a bitter truth.
“I like you just like this.”
BNHA – Bakugou
JJK - Gojo, Naoya
HQ - Kuro, Oikawa
AOT - Eren
DS – Sanemi
#yandere x reader#yandere#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere smut#yancore#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujustu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen#yandere jujutsu kaisen#yandere jjk#jjk smut#bnha smut#yandere bnha#mha smut#my hero smut
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SWEET SNACKS.
✧ PAIRING: gojo satoru x reader | 2.3k words
✧ SUMMARY: tooth rotting fluff, meet cute, battles with inanimate objects, reader's got exams bc i have exams, satoru's whipped af (as usual), sorry i love writing him as a simp, reader is also whipped bc this is gojo satoru, bonding over snacks !!
✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: if you saw me tryna post this yesterday no you didn’t. this was supposed to be a quick drabble oops. but it's finals week so i'm offering this piece of fluff to maintain sanity and gush over the meet cute i will never have. if y’all are also dealing with finals, i'm wishing you the best !!
satoru strolls down the bustling streets with a quiet hum, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets to keep them away from the bite of the cold breeze. his boots crunch against the thin layer of melting ice that has formed overnight, now warming under the cold afternoon sun that coyly hides behind gray clouds.
honestly, he wasn't the biggest fan of weather like this, and he wouldn't have stepped out on any other day. but one meeting with the higher ups had his mood souring, and shoko had suggested he take a walk, maybe grab something to eat.
he knew better than to argue with her, especially since she could somehow read him better than most people could—scary.
so here he was, trudging down the streets of tokyo with his hat pulled over his ears, cheeks pink from the frosty air as it dances across his skin. despite the weather, satoru thinks there's something oddly peaceful about the city, the quiet chatter and sounds of boots scuffing against pavement as he turns a corner to head to the nearby vending machines he's frequented so many times.
the peace is broken by an annoyed grunt, and satoru looks up.
"are you serious?" another irritated groan. "of all the days…"
he takes in the scene with interest.
even with all the anger that he's not quite understanding, he thinks you're so undeniably pretty—puffy jacket hugging your body and the warm scarf resting around your neck. your brows are furrowed, exasperation tugging your features into expressions that shouldn't look so endearing.
you groan again, slamming your curled fist against the glass of the vending machine—frustration ticks at your brow.
and why wouldn't it?
nothing was going your way today. it had already started off badly, the atmosphere filled with gloom that made it impossible to want to leave bed. but you had to force yourself to miserably extract your body from the warm cocoon of blankets and pillows that urged you back with a siren's call—a promise of comfort that looked all too enticing.
and then, when you finally did manage to drag yourself to the library to sit down and study, nothing was sticking. you read through paragraphs over and over until your head was spinning, dizzy with information that wouldn't absorb, and that fact is nothing if not disheartening. the impending quickness with which your final exams were approaching made you feel even sicker, so you decided to take a twenty minute break to grab a drink from the nearby vending machines.
but of course, even that couldn't just work out.
satoru watches you stand in front of the machine with a glare, before you're shoving your weight against it, huffing as it remains in place and hoping that at least one of your efforts will prove to be fruitful. he's talking before he can help himself.
"hey, you need some help?"
you turn to face the owner of the voice, finding cerulean eyes behind black shades that so directly contrast the white of his snowy hair. he's tall—abnormally so as he peers down at you with curiosity and a bit of mirth.
you think you've never seen a man so handsome in your life.
then you remember he's asked you a question, and you attempt to swallow down the unnecessary nerves that have taken root in the pit of your stomach. "oh, my uh…my drink got stuck," you reply somewhat lamely, cheeks heating up under his gaze as you think about how utterly ridiculous you must've looked to passersby.
satoru's eyes travel from your face to the machine, noticing the way your drink of choice is stuck in a frozen free fall against the glass and the rack. he sighs in exasperation. "tried hitting it?" he asks, walking closer to stand next to you and take a closer look, even though he knows the answer already.
you're not sure what it is, but this man exudes a certain energy—confidence that leaks through his very skin. it makes you feel like you have no right to be standing this close to him, but all he does is smile at you patiently, waiting for an answer.
so you nod, brows ticking again as the dull throbbing in your fist reminds you of how you had lost the battle with the greedy machine. "yeah, i've been hitting it for the last ten minutes. didn't budge," you sigh, checking your phone to see that there are only a little over five minutes remaining for your quick break. "what a waste of time and money."
satoru watches you shrug helplessly, smiling up at him. "oh well—"
he takes two long strides until he stands right in front of the machine, grips the edges, and shakes it hard.
satoru can feel you gape at him, at the unfiltered display of strength, and the unbothered expression on his face that tells you it didn't faze him. you hadn't been able to move the machine even an inch.
his powerful movements earn you a tell tale thunk, and your heart leaps in excitement as he bends down to push his hand through the slot and pull out your drink. he returns to his full height, an easy smile on his face as he turns around and hands it to you.
"thank you." your voice comes out breathless, a weird kind of excitement thrumming through your veins because it feels like you aren't supposed to know this man.
satoru's smile stretches further when your fingers graze his, taking the drink and popping it open eagerly. he watches you take a sip, oddly pleased with himself at the sheer joy on your face. he doesn't quite understand why this drink looks like it's made your day, but he doesn't ask because you look so sweet drinking it.
"how did you do that anyway?" you ask after you drink a little, curiosity so obvious in your tone. "i tried so hard to move it and it didn't budge at all."
satoru smothers a smile, fighting back the urge to say something stupid. instead he grins, cheeks warming a little under your eager stare. "guess i'm just strong."
you make a face, raising a brow with a playfully disbelieving expression as you cross your arms—to which satoru just laughs. "what's your name?" he asks.
you purse your lips, hiding a smile as you tuck your nose behind your scarf. you give him your name, almost shyly, and satoru tests it on his tongue. he decides he likes the flow, cocking his head as he replies with his own.
"satoru."
for once, the pressure of his last name doesn't permeate the air, and he's all too grateful for it. he turns around to approach the machine again, and he can feel your somewhat confused gaze on his back.
you watch as he stands there for a good minute, his back to you as he ponders the choices in the vending machine like they'll lead to life or death. then he shoves in a bill and clicks a few buttons, and within a couple of seconds, you hear the thud of two things falling.
he remains facing away from you for a few more seconds and then turns around, and you see that he's bought a chocolate bar and the same drink that you have in your hands. you raise a brow.
"well you did almost just lose your life trying to fight a vending machine for it," he says, shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly. "figured it'd be good to try."
you sputter over your words, embarrassment crawling up your neck, but satoru laughs good-naturedly. his eyes shine with mirth as his shoulders relax. "i'm kidding." he stresses, smiling into the collar of his jacket. "but it does look good so…"
he opens the drink and takes a sip, eyes squeezing shut dramatically as he hums at the sweet flavors washing over his tongue. you suddenly feel like getting revenge for his unfiltered teasing.
"well?" you hum cheekily, taking a sip of your own and raising a playful brow. "taste good?"
satoru laughs—a full, pristine sound that makes him throw his head back. "yeah," he agrees easily, feeling oddly fond of the way your voice curls around your words. "it's sweet, i like it. you've got great taste."
somehow the words of this man you've met not five minutes ago cause the muscles of your heart to trip over themselves. you watch him peel open the candy bar, a brand that's unfamiliar to you.
"what'd you get?" you ask, unsure of where the confidence to speak up is coming from. a man like satoru—so unflinchingly ethereal—would normally have your lips zipping and throat muted.
he holds up the bar with a grin. "my favorite."
there's a pause, followed by your sheepish smile, and satoru gapes at you, cerulean widening so clearly behind a backdrop of white. he takes in your innocently confused expression and his ribcage shakes with thuds. "what, you've never tried it?!"
before you can even shake your head no, he's breaking off a piece and handing it to you.
"no, oh my goodness, it's yours—"
"take it." he pushes his hand closer to you, eyes staring imploringly, and you sigh, reaching up to take the piece from between his fingers. a graze of skin—he's warm.
"thank you." you slip the piece past your lips, not at all surprised by its sweetness and yet a little taken aback by its underlying comfort—a rush of warmth.
"good." you're nodding, smiling between chews as satoru's stomach flips. "really good."
he chuckles, all too triumphant for something so menial. "told ya."
you laugh, a quiet subdued sound that satoru wishes he could hear more of. "thanks for getting my drink out," you say. "i really needed it today."
"oh yeah?" he finds himself asking. "how come?"
you sigh, smile dropping as a bit of fatigue makes itself comfortable on your face. "ah well, i've got final exams this week. i've been studying like crazy. nothing's really sticking, and the closer i get to the exams, the more annoyed and stressed i get."
satoru hums, not envying you for a minute.
"so it kinda felt like a kick in the butt from the universe when the drink decided to not just…"
he laughs again, taking another piece of chocolate and chewing on it soundlessly. "i gotcha."
you grin, curling your fingers around each other to diffuse some warmth back into them. "yeah."
there's a silence that follows—not uncomfortable, not unwelcome. you take quiet sips of your drink, and satoru breaks off little pieces of the chocolate bar to chew on. his eyes linger on you, watching the way your lips curl around the bottle, the way your fingers rub against each other, the way the cold has settled into your nose and cheeks and made a home amongst your skin.
when you look up at him, he looks away, throat oddly parched. his fingers flex.
"here, the rest is for you," he says, pushing the half finished candy bar into your hands.
you shake your head immediately. "no way! you paid for it! besides isn't this your favorite snack?"
satoru shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets with a grin that looks too happy. "you liked it, didn't you?"
you nod, slowly, like you're confused at what he's getting at. "well then, enjoy the rest of it. i buy them all the time—i don't mind sharing this one."
you can't help the soft smile that graces your lips, looking up at him with an odd sense of gratitude and surprise—touched that someone could be so casually kind.
"then thank you," you laugh quietly, eyes fluttering against the gust of cool wind that tickles your skin. "i'll enjoy it."
satoru grins, uncharacteristically pleased—he won't ever admit it, but he's glad shoko told him to take a walk. he'll have to thank her when he gets back.
he clears his throat, offering you a small wave as he turns on his heel to head back to the school. "well then, see you around. good luck with your studies, yeah?"
you smile with a gentle nod, oddly rejuvenated after seeing bright blue eyes and snowy hair. "thank you."
and then he's disappeared into the crowds. you laugh to yourself quietly, looking down at your drink and the half-eaten candy bar nestled between your fingers. a part of you feels strangely forlorn, wishing that you had the guts or confidence to talk to him a little longer—ask a little more.
but you've never been good at that, so even just this small happiness you'll take in stride. you grin to yourself, shoving the drink into your bag and slinging it over your shoulders.
you begin walking back to the library, fingers breaking off pieces of the chocolate and savoring the sweetness on your tongue. somehow you didn't expect a man with such an imposing presence to enjoy simple sweet things like this, but that just makes you all the more fond of him.
by the time you've reached the entrance of the library, you're shoving the last piece of chocolate into your mouth, sighing as the doors of reality swing open once more. the meager slice of giddiness that enveloped your very being dissolves, and all the reminders of what's left to do come back to suffocate you.
you bite back a groan, about to throw the empty wrapper in the trash when something catches your eye. you double-take, peering down at it with wide eyes and rapidly heating skin. there are a set of numbers scrawled there, along with a haphazardly written message:
in case you need someone to fight another vending machine for you -satoru <3
#jjk x reader#gojo satoru x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen fluff#gojo x reader#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru x you#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fluff#jjk drabbles#gojo satoru headcanons#gojou satoru x reader#gojo fluff#satoru gojo x you#gojo satoru x y/n#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#jujutsu kaisen x you#gojo x you
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Brother's Best Friend - Part 11
Jake Seresin x F!Reader
A/N: Fair warning: I didn't have much time this week so this was a bit rushed and definitely not my best piece of work, but I really wanted to do at least *something* for the holidays!
Summary: The trials and tribulations of falling for your brother's best friend.
CW: New Years Eve party, banter, fluff fluff fluff
WC: ~2300
Part 1 | Masterlist
“So,” Bradley starts slowly, drawing out a suspenseful silence with a smirk as he butters his toast. “I met study group guy.”
You look up from your plate in alarm, your fork halfway to your mouth, and awkwardly meet your brother’s gaze.
Jake, who’s just set his food down to your left, picks his coffee back up, ready to make a quick exit.
“Uh, where?” you ask, trying to sound casual, but you’re so nervous that your voice wavers.
“Here,” Bradley replies with a grin as he makes his way to the table. “He came by to see how your exam went.”
“Oh?” You gulp anxiously.
“How considerate of him,” Jake notes moodily, setting his coffee back down and giving you a look.
“I agree.” Bradley sits down. “I think he wanted to compare study strategies,” he continues, then clears his throat. “Since the two of you didn’t end up studying together.”
Jake’s eyes go wide as he lets out a feigned gasp. “You didn’t?”
You give Jake an annoyed look and then glance back at your brother who is watching you with a pair of raised eyebrows. “Yeah,” you nod, “about that. Umm, the thing is…”
“You lied?” Jake brings a hand to his chest as though this revelation continues to shock him.
You glare at him irritably. “Partly.”
“Which part?” Bradley enquires, biting into his toast.
You sigh. “The part about study group guy.”
Bradley grimaces. “Why?”
“Yeah,” Jake chimes in, finally taking a seat. “Why?”
“Because I obviously made the wrong decision studying at home,” you retort, eyeing Jake bitterly. “And I just needed somebody to blame.”
Jake watches you cautiously, likely wondering if you indeed think you’ve made a mistake. Good.
“So, you bombed your midterm, big deal.” Bradley waves a hand. “We wouldn’t judge you. Guess that means he won’t be attending tonight’s party.”
You purse your lips. “Nope,” you confirm. “I’ll be all alone.”
Jake tries to catch your gaze as you rise from the table. “We’ll be here.”
“Aren’t you gonna bring your girl?” Bradley asks.
“Nah.” Jake waves a hand.
“Why not?”
Jake eyes you pointedly. “Not really sure where we stand, to be honest.”
You gasp theatrically. “Oh dear! Trouble in paradise?”
Jake throws you a flat look and grumbles, “Well, she’s sort of hard to read at times.”
“Because you’re illiterate?” you retort.
Bradley snorts while Jake scoffs in offence. “Dump her!” Bradley cries as you bring your dishes to the sink. “Life’s too short for mysteries.”
Jake sighs. “She does love to keep me guessing.”
Bradley shakes his head in disapproval after taking his last bite. “She’s playing games with you, man. It’s not worth it.” He gets up and follows you to the sink. “How ‘bout you? You need a date for tonight?”
“Huh?” you say in surprise, having been under the impression that your turn under the microscope was over.
“Remember that dude you met at the Hard Deck last summer? The one you said was ‘so hot’” – Bradley visibly shudders – “I just found out that he’s into you.”
“What dude?” Jake asks abruptly, his posture instantly going rigid.
“The one from 22,” Bradley clarifies. “The backseater. Forgot his name.”
“The douche from Michigan?” Jake makes a face and quickly rises from the table. “You think he’s hot?” he asks you incredulously.
Before you have a chance to respond, Bradley continues. “Apparently he ran into you last week at the café?”
You blink between Bradley and Jake as the latter approaches. While it’s true that you saw one of Bradley’s colleagues the previous week, you’ve since forgotten all about that encounter, because the very next day was when Jake had finally made his move. You start to back out of the kitchen but both Bradley and Jake follow you out. “I have some errands to run,” you say quickly.
“Nothing’s open,” Jake reminds you.
“Do you want me to invite him tonight or not?” Bradley asks, already scrolling through his contacts.
Jake elbows Bradley aggressively. “You’re seriously trying to get your sister laid?”
Bradley cringes. “Dude! Don’t go there!”
Jake stares at Bradley. “What do you think is gonna happen?”
You scoff at Jake incredulously. “Excuse me?”
Jake turns to look at you and places his hands on his hips with an impatient exhale. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I just don’t want her to be alone on New Years!” Bradley exclaims, still looking down at his phone.
“She’s not gonna be!” Jake cries desperately.
“I don’t want the date, Bradley,” you say, putting on your shoes despite having absolutely nowhere to go.
“Why not?” Bradley enquires.
“I just don’t. I’m fine with being alone.”
“You won’t be alone,” Jake repeats, the frustration in his voice noticeably mounting.
“I thought you liked him,” Bradley says, slightly deflated. Clearly, he assumed that he was doing you a favor.
“I don’t even know him,” you say. “I just thought he was good-looking, that’s all.”
Jake makes a face. “He’s not.”
You roll your eyes. “Appearance is subjective.”
Jake stubbornly shakes his head but makes no further comment.
“Okay, so why not give him a chance?” Bradley presses. “It’s not like you’re seeing someone. Right?”
You give Jake a quick glance before conducting a thorough examination of your own shoes. “Well, kind of.”
“Kind of?” Jake asks, slightly panicked.
You continue studying your feet. “I think.”
“Who is he? What’s he like?” Bradley asks.
“Uh,” you stall, “he’s alright.”
Jake lets out a muffled cry. “Alright?” he asks and you try not to wince at his utterly obvious outrage.
Meanwhile, Bradley raises an eyebrow. “Wow,” he says wryly. “Sounds promising.”
“What else?” Jake says quickly.
You look up at him in disbelief. “Occasionally aggravating.”
Bradley appears puzzled. “Why are you with this guy?”
Jake squares his shoulders. “He must be extremely handsome.”
Bradley looks back at you. “Is he?”
You roll your eyes. “He’s cute.”
“Cute?!” Jake exclaims.
Bradley laughs. “I really think you should give my guy a try.”
Jake crosses his arms over his chest and stands up taller. “I’m sure there’s more to this guy than just… his looks.” He’s blatantly searching your face now, as if Bradley isn’t even present.
You start to nervously fix your hair in the mirror at the front door. “I’m not interested in your guy, Bradley.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” You sigh resignedly while Jake watches your reflection. “I… I like my guy.”
Jake stares at your face in the mirror as if this is news to him. Then, his mouth slips momentarily into a smile before he sucks in his cheeks to hide it.
Bradley grimaces. “Why?”
“Because, he’s…” another reluctant sigh, “…he’s a good guy.”
“That’s kind of vague,” Jake comments, still trying to suppress a grin.
You shoot him a glare while Bradley chuckles. Then, he says, “Alright, fine. Maybe in a couple of weeks when you’re single again.”
Jake looks at Bradley sharply. “Why would she be single again?”
“Come on, when was the last time my sister liked a guy enough to stay with him long-term? She finds something wrong with everyone she dates.”
Jake shifts his weight uncomfortably. “Maybe this one will stick.”
“Doubt it.” Bradley shrugs.
“This one’s different, Bradley,” you say quietly, turning to face them again.
Jake looks back at you. “He is?”
“How so?” Bradley asks.
You pause, hesitant to reveal the truth. “He… makes me feel…”
Bradley watches you dubiously. “Pretty?”
Jake also takes a stab: “Aroused?”
You let out a weary sigh and lock eyes with Jake. “Safe.”
He stares at you with a stunned expression while Bradley nods approvingly.
“Happy,” you continue.
This time, Jake doesn’t hide his smile, but Bradley raises his eyebrows as though your response has surprised him.
“Strong,” you say.
“Wow,” Bradley mutters.
Jake lowers his gaze with a grin, but you decide to add, “And aroused, I mean –”
“Oh god!” Bradley exclaims.
Jake chuckles, glancing up at you again.
Bradley shakes his head. “I get it, you’re in love. But, Seresin – I just remembered: I’ve got the perfect girl for you!” He holds up his phone, beaming.
…
Bradley decides to invite the perfect girl just in case because he can see how much his dear friend has suffered at the hands of his mysterious lover. And the perfect girl just happens to be Jake Seresin’s exact type. You try to ignore her flirtatious behavior while Bradley all but pushes Jake in her direction. Your brother seems so keen to set Jake up, you start to wonder what his vested interest might be.
There are enough people in attendance that you can watch Jake without worrying about anyone noticing that you’re staring. So, you pour yourself a fourth martini and head back into the living room to see what your brother’s best friend is up to. You barely make it past the couch, however, when someone you’ve only met once in your life takes your hand and starts encouraging you to spin under his arm.
You glance over at Jake, whose date is also trying to get him to dance. Taking a sizeable gulp of your drink, you follow through with the spin and smile uncomfortably at your new dance partner. The room is bustling because the ball is about to drop and everyone has gathered for the countdown, so you’re forced to crane your neck every so often in order to check on Jake.
He notices your new friend right away, locking eyes with you despite his own supposed date trying to monopolize his attention. You wish you could steal a moment with him when the new year arrives, but Bradley would notice his friend’s absence in a heartbeat considering he’s been tailing Jake all night, making sure that he was having a good time.
When the champagne flutes start making their rounds and the crowd erupts in an enthusiastic countdown, however, Jake separates from his friends and starts making his way through the bodies toward you. He nods his head in the direction of the hall before he’s even come near you, inviting you to join him. But you glance back at Bradley and see that he is already searching for Jake in the crowd that’s suddenly doubled in size as everyone has made their way into the living room.
You shake your head at Jake regrettably. The last thing you need is for the year to start with Bradley walking in on the two of you making out.
Jake gestures more vigorously with his head, urging you to follow and, when you refuse, he moves closer and reaches out to grab your hand. You don’t resist when he pulls you in and, before you can check to see if Bradley has finally given up his search, the clock strikes midnight, and Jake takes your face in his hands and kisses you right there in the middle of the living room amidst the explosion of cheers that welcome the new year.
You hope there is enough commotion in your vicinity to obscure the way Jake’s hands slide sensually down to your neck and then take your shoulders as he steers you through the crowd out of the room, his lips avidly devouring yours the entire time. Somehow, the two of you make it out without even looking up and, once you’re more or less alone, Jake mutters, “Your brother is getting real fucking annoying.”
You chuckle as he plants kisses along your jawline. The two of you are still moving through the house, into the darkness of the entry hall. “He’s been extra involved today,” you agree.
“He’s been fucking annoying,” Jake repeats, sucking on the side of your neck as you come to a halt in the foyer and he wraps his arms around you.
“He’s your best friend,” you remind him.
Jake presses you gently against the front door and licks your earlobe, whispering, “Who the fuck were you dancing with?” You giggle and feel his lips spread into a smile against your skin. “Oh, you think that’s funny?” he asks, and you feel his tongue on your ear again. “You think it’s funny that I had to actively restrain myself from socking him?”
“What about you?” you say, still laughing. “You were with that girl all night!”
Jake whimpers into your neck and his hold on you tightens. “All I wanted was this.” You close your eyes when his mouth finds yours once more. “My new year’s resolution is that I’m never gonna stop kissing you,” he mutters between pecks to your lips.
You giggle again and then sigh, slightly pushing him away. “What are we going to do?”
“I just told you what I’m going to do,” he says, going in for another kiss.
You turn your head and he ends up kissing your cheek. “This is how we’re going to spend the new year? Sneaking around? Hiding in dark corners?”
Jake exhales slowly, resting his forehead on your temple. “I’m going to tell him,” he assures you.
“What are you going to tell him?” you ask, hoping that this question might lead Jake to reveal the nature of your relationship as he sees it.
He leans away from you and looks you in the eye. “That I make you feel aroused, of course.” Your jaw drops in outrage and you let out a yelp that quickly turns into a cackle. Jake is grinning widely, pleased with the effectiveness of his joke. Then, he draws you closer and his face changes shape. He squares his jaw and you see the evidence of a nervous gulp in the bob of his Adam’s apple. “I’m gonna tell him that you’re the girl I told him about,” he says, his tone low but steady. You gaze at him in silence, afraid to move a muscle lest he reconsider the sudden sincerity of his words. “The one I can’t stop talking about.” He swallows again. “The one I’ve been obsessing over.” He pauses to study your reaction as though he’s afraid he might be scaring you off. “The one that I – uh” – he takes a deep breath and then lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. He takes your hands in his and weaves his fingers through yours, tugging you forward until his lips connect with the tip of your nose. “Oh god, Baby B,” he says, leaning into you affectionately. “I should probably stop talking now.”
*That's all folks! Happy New Year!*
Read Part 12
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i think this would suit lando but you being down and lando comes over later at night and takes you the park like two little kids, i can just imagine lando being a big kid at the park lmao
I’m going to need someone to love me like the fictional lando i write abt 24/7
We Can Be Kids For Right Now (LN4)
Summary: When her week has tried to suffocate her, Lando turns up at her door and forces her to remember just how worthy she truly is.
Warnings: mentions of heavy anxiety attacks, anxiety in general, language
Note: a draft bc im wrecked rn from this trip im on im so tried lol… I hate that I have to start saying this but I do not condone the reposting of my work without proper crediting or permission. If you wish to post my works elsewhere, it needs to be ran by me first by messages over Tumblr. If found that you have taken my works without my knowledge, I will report you and get my posts taken down from your blog.
Y/n never truly realized she did it until Lando, but when the man started to get close to her, he brought it to her attention that she so easily isolated herself when she started struggling. Even the smallest inconvenience and she shut down, something that irritated the hell out of Lando. Nevertheless, he loved her and the way she dealt with her emotions was something he knew she just needed to work on.
However, the problem they couldn’t get past was her ability to tell him when she was struggling. There were only so many times when he could see it written all over her face.
His comments urging her to open up to him when she was having a hard time dealing with it on her own bounced around in her head as she clutched her phone in her hands, his contact picture brightening her screen. His smile beamed back at her, almost coaxing her into tapping the call button, but her thumb hesitated. It wasn’t that she was afraid of telling him, it was that she was uncomfortable with her own emotions. Uncomfortable of leaning into them. Growing up, she was never given that ability, her parents not having the full capacity to address them head on. She never thought it truly affected her until Lando. She started realizing that he never gave her a problem to be scared, but she still was.
Her thumb had a mind of its own, though. Thankfully. And the ringing tone met her ears before she could even know what was happening. His picking up happened before she could even begin to think about hanging up the phone.
“Baby!” His cheery voice rang through the quiet room and warmed her tender heart. “What’s up? Why are you up so late? Do you want a sweet treat again?” He giggled, his TV pausing in the background.
She was silent. Her mind raced as she tried to make the split second decision of telling him or not. Though, in her silence, he began formulating an answer.
“Y/n…” He whispered, blankets rustling as she imagined him sitting up on his couch.
“Lan,” She said brokenly, albeit with an effort of trying to sound strong.
Keys rustling and his rushed, “I’m on my way, baby,” were her response.
—
Lando knew where the spare key was. It was one of the first things he asked the location of after they first said I love you. Y/n would always laugh at that memory. What she was expecting after the three words were shared was a small kiss or a hug maybe, but no, he had asked her where her spare key was. When she showed him and he very clearly took a mental note of it, she asked him what was so important about it.
“I’m your boyfriend and we’re in love. I should know where the spare key is, baby.” He had said to her so nonchalantly, as if it was societally normal to have that thought process. She just shook her head at him and took the kiss she wanted for herself. He wasn’t going to do it anyway, too entranced in the image of her spare key under her doormat. He was shenanigans bundled into one person. She loved it.
His rapping on the door pulled her from her memories. She drudged over, taking a deep breath before opening the door. He stood there in his pajamas, puffer coat thrown over haphazardly, and stared at her sympathetically. He shuffled in, arm rounding around her shoulders as he kissed her head, “Hard day?”
She sighed, “Hard week.”
He led her to the couch. The layout of her apartment was memorized in his head. “What happened?”
“I just-” She picked at her fingernails and the anxiety she usually felt when Lando asked about her worries began bubbling up. Maybe it was growth, but she thought he’s already here, isn’t he? Might as well lean on him.
So, she did. Literally and figuratively.
Lando squeezed her body as her side laid on his and she started reliving the low moments of the past few days. “Everything has gone wrong this week. I just can’t seem to win and I can’t make anyone happy.”
Tears filled her eyes and a frown appeared on her face. She cried into his shoulder when he pushed her body further into it.
Lando sat with her for a moment, rubbing her back. “That’s not true, Y/n. You make a lot of people happy. You make me really happy.”
For some reason, his comment shot fear through her body and she pulled from him. Her eyes looked anywhere other than his and the irrational idea of an expectation Lando had set for her that she did not believe in herself to meet took control of whatever plan she had to open up to him.
Lando saw it in her eyes, how distant they got. He knew this was bound to happen. It had been too easy. She had opened up to him without that much restraint and he expected a moment to come where her walls rebuilt themselves.
He just wanted her to let him in.
His hands took her face, “You deserve me. You will not let me down. You could never let me down.” He said, knowing exactly what was running through her mind.
“Y/n, look at me.” He tilted his head to meet her eyes and forced her to keep his stare, “I love you. That will never change.”
She cried harder, “I can’t even open up to you, Lan. I’m not even a good employee at a job I’m overqualified for. Yesterday, I handed in that presentation to my boss that I had been working on for weeks and when I presented it to the board of all fucking people, there was a grammatical error on one of the slides. I had confused ‘your’ and ‘you are’, Lan. It was embarrassing. They laughed and joked about it after. I can’t even fucking do my job. And I upset my mum on Wednesday. I hung up on her during an argument and now she isn’t talking to me. I’m being condemned, Lan. I can’t fucking breathe. My dad’s texting me, telling me how disrespectful I had been, but nobody hears about the parts where she called me an irresponsible adult and ridiculed me for taking a job that didn’t make me that much. Nobody wants to hear my side of the story, the part where she was so grossly unsupportive. Then, I had to cancel on Cameron on Tuesday again because I’m so fucking tired and so fucking busy. She got mad at me and now we’re in this fight because I’ve neglected our friendship. I’m a shit friend, a shit daughter, a shit worker, and it’s so obvious I’m a shit girlfriend. I can’t fucking do anything right.”
By the end of her rant, she was breathless and Lando could see she was talking herself into an anxiety attack. Her hurtful words toward herself needed to be dealt with, but he needed to stop the panic seeping into her skin.
He took her hand and kissed her head, “Come with me, my love.”
She kept crying as he led her to his car, his arm wrapped around her body securely as he whispered words of reassurance in her ear. He reminded her of how strong she was, of how much he loved her and admired her for everything she was. How wrong she was about everything she had convinced herself of.
When he softly laid her in the passenger seat, he kneeled down and kissed her shoulder, brushing her hair off the skin lightly. He looked up at her with deep green eyes filled with safety, “Don’t listen to your mind right now, baby. It’s only telling you lies.”
He lightly closed the door, running around the car to slip into the driver’s seat. When he turned the engine on, his hand settled on her thigh and began rubbing softly. He backed down and drove down the road, toward a small park at the end of her street. It was quick, maybe a minute or two, and Y/n was still crying when they parked, but it subsided momentarily when she saw where they were.
“Why are we at the park?” Lando grabbed her hand and kissed the knuckles.
He laid his cheek down on the back of her palm, murmuring, “Because it’ll be fun to be kids for right now. Not have to think about what you’re going through. We can address that later.”
A sigh of relief left her chest. The moment he had given her an opportunity to run away from it all, even for a few minutes, she almost began to feel as though she would find peace.
He always knew exactly what to do.
She gathered herself, wiping away the tears and smoothing down her hair as Lando walked back to her door, opening it and offering his hand as help for her to get out of the car. She took it. She always would. The cold air hit her body and she shivered. Lando was immediate in offering her his coat.
She shook her head, “No, I’m okay for right now.” She was just now realizing how she hadn’t gone outside in days. The cold air made her feel alive again.
Lando’s hand continued to clutch hers as they took steps toward the large structure. When she let go of his, he tensed, but he relaxed when he saw her wandering over to the slides.
She climbed up the ladder, him following behind, and found herself sat in the entryway of the whirling slide.
“Wait, wait!” Lando yelped before she could push herself down. Her head whipped around to meet his eyes.
She smiled and her body warmed when his found a seat behind her, his body consuming her and his hands wrapping around the low point of her waist. His ear right beside her ear, he kissed the top of the skin, “Now, you can go. We can go down faster, no? Seeing as I go fast for a living.”
His questionable logic made her laugh before he was pushing them off and the two were turning fast around the corner of the yellow tube. Her giggling ensued with the way he jostled them around on purpose to make the slide more exhilarating for two twenty-four year olds. And in the heat of the moment, seeing her hair float in the air and a carefree smile on her face, Lando wished she could see herself the way he did. She was superb, unbelievable. She held the strength and courage of someone so commendable. She was kind even when she had seen things and experienced trauma so young that should’ve, understandably so, made her bitter. She was merciful even when she shouldn’t be and she loved Lando in a way he had only ever dreamed of. The way she treated him, the gentleness she approached him with, was something he knew he could never let go of. She was beautiful in so many other ways than just her appearance. She was deeply beautiful and he wished she could just understand that.
When they reached the end, their bodies stopping abruptly right at the edge, Y/n laid her head back against his shoulder. He kissed her temple, “Fun?”
She nodded with a smile, “Somehow, you did make it faster.”
He shot her a look, as if to question why she didn’t believe him in the first place. He pushed her off him, sprinting to the swings and screaming for her to follow him.
“Lando! Be quiet! You’ll wake up the entire neighborhood!” She whisper-yelled at him, laughing as she ran after him.
He threw himself in the seat and began swinging his legs, no doubt gaining momentum but beckoning her over for help nonetheless.
She stood behind him, bracing herself firmly on the ground as she pushed his heavy body up off the ground. When he would meet her back on the ground, he’d lean back so his back would almost come crashing into her front. It made her laugh.
“Lando!” He couldn’t see her, but he knew how radiant she must’ve been looking. Even in his head, he continued to fall in love with her.
She kept pushing him until her arms got tired and she flopped away from him, onto the ground, in a heap of heavy breaths. When he didn’t feel her small hands on his back anymore, he jumped off the swing and joined her on the ground.
It didn’t matter how cold it was or how dirty it inevitably was, they were together and Y/n’s smile lingered on her pretty face.
Lando’s hand laced with hers in between their bodies as he softly whispered, “You’re not a shit daughter, your parents don’t know what they have and they’re too emotionally immature to realize that. You’re not a shit friend, Cameron knows that, you’re just struggling and that’s okay. You’re not a shit worker, you’re actually heavily valuable to your boss and the people around you. They’ve all told you that. And Y/n, look at me,” She turned her head to meet his meaningful ones, “You are not a shit girlfriend. You are the complete opposite. You are everything I’ve ever wanted and could ever ask for. You have no idea how in love with you I am. It’s even hard for me to understand sometimes. There is no one I have ever loved, love, or will love more than you. You are the most important thing to me, so please stop talking about yourself in this way and believing in something that has never been true.”
Everything about the moment is gentle. From the way his thumb caressed her skin to the enunciation of every word that came from his mouth, he made it clear how much love prospers for her within him every day and every minute.
She turned on her side and took his cheek in her hand, “Thank you for helping me, Lan.”
His hand squeezed her waist, “Of course, my love. You’re my favorite.”
She felt her heart blush, if that’s even possible. Maybe her face was the one blushing? She didn’t know. The way Lando looked at her as if she started life itself made her mind feel fuzzy.
Fuzzy enough to realize he was right. She wasn’t a failure or a horrible person. She was a human who made mistakes and many people loved her in spite of it. Lando being one of them.
He loved her in a way she had always craved. She both needed and wanted him. So did he. They were the beginning and end of everything for the other. It showed well that night as they held each other on the concrete of that park. It showed well because, at one am on a random Saturday, Lando had dropped everything he has doing the moment he heard the anguish in her voice. It showed well because Lando’s clear words made Y/n realize he wanted her and no one else. There was no one else like her, no one to ever replace her. Not that he would ever want that anyway. She was completely unique in the most precious way and maybe… just maybe… she was beginning to realize that too.
#mclaren#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#lando norris x reader#lando norris imagine#lando norris fanfic#lando norris fluff#lando norris imagines#lando norris fic#lando smut#lando norris smut#lando x reader#lando imagine#lando norris#lando norris x you#lando norris edit#lando norris blurb#lando norris fanfiction
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Joel Miller x F!Reader
{ Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part II: Threads }
Rating: M
Summary: Joel has a problem. Having settled into some semblance of a 'normal' life in Jackson that no longer involves running for his life and living off scraps, his clothes are getting a little… tight. Self-conscious, he deals with it the way he does most things - he ignores it.
That is until one day, the zipper on his jeans finally gives up after one too many desperate tugs, leaving him stuck. With neither Tommy nor Ellie anywhere to be found to get him out of the tight spot, Joel begrudgingly heads to the clothing store he’s seen in town for help - and a new pair of jeans.
There, he meets you.
Warnings: Spicy thoughts, sexual tension, sexual innuendos, body insecurity, some language, Joel being unkind to himself, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!Joel, no use of Y/N
Word count: 6k
Notes: I haven't written anything this fast for a hot minute. It's both exciting and terrifying, especially as Joel is so new to the fandom. So this is a one-shot as it stands, but I'll be lying if I say I haven't thought about where this story can go. Please be gentle with me, Joel is easily the most intimidating Pedro boy I've written for so far. I hope this doesn't disappoint 🥺
‘TommmMMMMMYYYY!’
His voice echoes in the empty street, gruff with irritation. He can feel eyes on him - he always does, wherever he goes in this damn place - covert stares from behind curtains, peeking out of windows from the neighbouring houses.
The polished wood thumps hollowly under his fist. Head bowed in surrender, his forehead makes contact with the surface of the door with a dull thud.
‘Fuck,’ he mutters under his breath.
Trudging back to the house that’s been allocated to him - he still struggles to think of it as his - he slams the door shut behind him so hard that the sound rings in his ears. Well, more in his left than his right.
Tossing the keys onto a chest of drawers in the hallway, he yells in a last-ditch attempt, ‘Ellieeee!’
The house is silent.
The one time he needs either of them, neither can be found anywhere. Even Maria has made herself scarce - not that he’d ask her for help for this.
This being these stupid fucking jeans.
His trusty jeans that he’s worn for years, other than on laundry days, which were few and far in between. They’ve literally seen him through thick and thin - the knees are so worn he can almost see the web of white thread beneath the denim.
Tess had gotten him these jeans. Stole them, if he remembers correctly. Once upon a time, he needed a belt to hold them up, or they’d hang down to his ass crack. By the time Ellie came into the picture, they fit well enough to render the belt redundant. He could still easily fit things into his pockets though, like a map or a switchblade.
But now -
Now he’s stuck, and he can’t get them off.
If he’s being honest with himself, the jeans haven’t fit for months. The jobs in Jackson don’t come anywhere close to the backbreaking work in the QZ or being on the road with Ellie. The food is plentiful even during the harsh winter, and as much as he looks down his ideological nose at it, Maria deserves credit for the thriving commune.
He had a late start this morning. Ellie had already vacated the house by the time he came to. He was on autopilot, distracted by his thoughts about the porch steps that have rotted and need to be replaced.
He was making plans in his head to nip down to the workshop to get the wooden planks when he started getting dressed. Stepping into the legs of the jeans, he pulled them up, hopping to stretch them over his thighs. Out of habit, he sucked in his belly to button them up, the waistband seemingly even tighter than usual.
He relegated that to the back of his mind, the same way he’s ignored the fact that the jeans have been uncomfortably tight for months - to the point of hindering his movement when he lays bricks, or cuts off his breathing when he sits down. But he’s gotten used to it, like he does everything else. He’s Joel Miller with the stiff upper lip, after all.
The zipper was next. As usual, he met resistance about halfway up. Baring his teeth, he gripped the tongue of the zipper and yanked upwards.
Except this time, it didn’t budge. Grumbling, he pulled harder, feeling the burn in his biceps -
It happened so quickly that he wasn’t even aware until he was wheeling backwards from the force, his arm flying up in an arc - and a metallic clink behind him registered faintly in his good ear.
Disoriented, he glanced down at the zipper. The slider had come clean off.
‘Fuck,’ he swore and turned to the full-length mirror on the wall to inspect the damage. Running an experimental finger along the seam, it was clear that the zipper had somehow snagged on the denim. It was stuck. Dead stuck.
Turning the house inside out, he couldn’t find a single pair of scissors, and there isn’t enough space to fit a knife in without slicing himself open, at which point he left on his ultimately fruitless search for reinforcement.
Joel scrubs a tired hand down his face. He’s never been a vain guy - Tommy is that sibling. But he’s never needed to stress about his looks either, with contracting keeping him in shape before the outbreak, and the fight for survival after - until now.
Grabbing his jacket, he shrugs it on, hyper-conscious of whether it’s a tighter squeeze than usual (fortunately not) - and heads into town.
Main Street Outfitters, the only clothing store in Jackson, sits in the middle of the high street, sandwiched between the pub on one side and the welder’s on the other. For the most part, residents come in to trade in old clothes for new ones, but there’s also a nicer selection for the occasional party that one can barter for.
You’re in the workshop at the back, the afternoon sun filling the room through the skylight.
With your skill in thread and needle, you were the obvious candidate for the job when you arrived in Jackson. Over the years, it has become your sanctuary. The walls are lined with wooden shelves, where neat - though mismatched - boxes of buttons, trimmings, thread and trinkets slot perfectly into place.
You spend the days checking over incoming clothes after they come back from the laundry, making sure they are in reasonable condition and mending those that are not. The shop also charges for adjustments and repairs, and the tasks easily fill your working hours.
It’s a Tuesday, and it’s usually quiet this time of the afternoon. If you’re lucky, you can be undisturbed until you clock off at five - which is why you’re surprised when you hear the tinkle of the doorbell.
The footfall is heavy, it sounds like a strong work boot. You hold your breath and your fingers hover mid-air as the door shuts with a slam. You hear the customer clear his throat - definitely a man - as you wait in vain for the front of house to greet him.
But of course Lucy has sneaked out again. She’s a sweet girl, but manning the counter has always been too dull for her.
‘Hello?’
The voice is deep and gravelly, and despite your reluctance, it doesn’t sit well with your work ethic to keep a customer waiting. Sticking the needle into a pin cushion, you noiselessly rise from your seat and make your way to the front of the shop.
Your first glimpse of him is his back. Standing in front of a rack of jeans, the grays in his hair catch the light streaming through the shop front windows. You study him for a minute, curious eyes running over the width of broad shoulders under a beat-up, khaki jacket. Lower, his jeans are… well-worn, to put it kindly. And from sight, a sitting a bit tight on his hips -
You must have shifted your feet without you noticing. At the minutest creak of wood, the man whips around, one hand reaching behind him in search of the butt of a loaded gun or the hilt of a knife. It’s your good fortune that you see neither on him. The intensity of his gaze is just as effective as a blade on your neck to pin you to your spot.
There’s no question that he’s a newcomer. You’ve seen the same kind of intensity in everyone who’s braved what’s out there to get here.
But even if that didn’t give him away, you already know who he is. He’s Tommy’s brother. Joel, if you remember correctly. Maria approached you for some clothes a few months back when he arrived with his kid for the second time. They’ve been the talk of town since - not that you listen. In fact, you try not to, but you can’t help it if someone talks loudly enough at the next table in the canteen to interrupt your lunchtime reading.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbles as the tension in his body recedes. ‘You’re very quiet.’
You duck your head. ‘Sorry.’
‘You work here?’
Wringing your fingers nervously, you nod and take two timid steps towards him, hoping he doesn’t hear the tremour in your voice. ‘How can I help?’
You’ve heard things about Joel Miller. The words most frequently whispered as he ambles by in town include ruthless, cold-blooded and steer clear.
You can’t exactly reconcile the man in front of you with those particular words right now.
There’s nothing that speaks to ruthlessness in the way he averts his eyes and shuffles his feet, the blunt tip of his shoes catching the wooden floor. You also find it hard to believe that a truly cold-blooded person would willingly cross the country and all its horrors in search of his brother, or take a teenager under his wing.
You might not think much of yourself, but you know that your judgement of character has kept you alive so far. And your instinct isn’t telling you to steer clear of this man - quite the opposite, in fact.
But that’s neither here nor there.
He rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable with your scrutiny. ‘Just lookin’ for some new jeans.’
‘Alright,’ you reply, taking the remaining five steps to the other end of the jeans rack, a safe distance away from him. ‘What’s your size?’
To your surprise, he huffs a sardonic laugh. ‘At least one up from whatever I have on right now.’
Sucking in a breath, you gesture vaguely at him. ‘Um, do you mind if I take a look at uh - you? So I can guess what size will fit you?’
You’re used to being the most awkward person in the room wherever you go, but this man is giving you a pretty good run for your money right now. While you divert your gaze as he unbuttons the front of his jacket, he fixes his somewhere over your shoulder to the right, grinding his teeth, as if he wishes he was anywhere but here.
Dragging your eyes back to him, you take stock of your customer as he sweeps the lapels of the jacket to the side. Underneath, the green flannel cuts off at the top of the jeans, and you see the soft pouch of his abdomen beneath the fabric. While the shirt is well-fitted, the jeans are obviously too small. The waistband bites into his sides, you can see the subtle overhang of his love handles. Even by the way he’s standing you can tell he’s uncomfortable, packed in way too tight in the denim.
And then… you really shouldn’t, but you stare at the front of the jeans. Now, you know for a fact that the fit will be just as snug there even if he goes a size up…
‘Sorry, not much to look at,’ he grunts, breaking the silence.
Taken aback by the self-derision in his voice, the words leave your mouth before they register, sharper than you mean them to be. ‘Don’t say that.’
He blinks at you. ‘What?’
You gape at him. Does he really not see? His tall, solid frame? The strong columns of his thighs? Is this man blind on top of being frustratingly attractive -?
But of course you can never say that. Instead, you pull out three different pairs of jeans in quick succession and all but throw them at him, heat prickling the tips of your ears as the disbelief that you spoke to a customer like that sinks in.
‘The dressing room is there,’ you squeak, pointing at the far corner. ‘I’ll be at the back if you need any help -’
You turn on your heels, in a hurry to get back to your workshop, but you only get halfway through the spin. It takes you three seconds to realise why - his calloused palm is on your wrist, holding you in place.
‘Actually, I do need help - I broke the zipper, and I’m stuck in these damn jeans.’
You ignore the clench of your stomach at the way he spits out the word damn. You’re not big on swearing, but the cuss word sounds good rolling off his tongue in his Southern twang.
To your horror, a giggle bubbles up your throat before you can slap a palm over your mouth.
‘I’m so, so sorry,’ you apologise profusely, heat flooding your cheeks.
You stare in consternation when those broad shoulders of his quake, a half-smile on his lips as they part in a scratchy chuckle. ‘Trust me, I’m glad I found you first. My brother or my kid would have given me a much harder time. Probably would’ve pissed their pants laughin’.’
Despite yourself, you smile back with a weak attempt at a joke. ‘I mean, I’ll try not to -’
He smirks, the corners of his eyes crinkling. ‘That’s all I can ask for.’
You lead the way to the back of the shop and Joel follows three polite steps behind, pausing by the doorway. Running practised eyes over the space, the contractor in him appreciates the well-built skylight and the sturdy furniture in the room, pieces that were clearly built to last. He places the jeans you picked out for him on the big work table, made of strong timber and aged with time.
He picked up a change in your demeanour the moment you crossed the threshold into the workshop. There’s a quiet confidence in your measured steps, the way you move speaking volumes - this is clearly your place, and you’re so much more comfortable in your skin here.
You point at the spot marked by a round, cosy rug directly beneath the skylight. ‘Could you stand there for me?’
Doing as he’s told, he startles when you march straight up to him, sliding your palms under the shoulders of his jacket to push it off. Your front brushes his chest briefly when you reach around to catch it, but not brief enough for him to ignore the soft swell of your breasts pressed up against him.
Joel is all too aware of his pulse going from zero to a hundred at the fleeting touch, the collar of his shirt suddenly a bit too tight. For fuck’s sake, Miller. It’s been an embarrassingly long time since his head has gone anywhere near there, but of course it has to happen at the most inconvenient moment.
At least you don’t seem to notice, draping his jacket over the back of a chair before retrieving a pair of tailor’s scissors from one meticulously organised drawer.
Just when he thinks he’s gotten a handle on himself, you hit him with a non-sequitur. ‘Are you wearing underwear?’
Only when Joel splutters wordlessly does the full weight of the question seem to hit you. You stutter, ‘Oh god, I didn’t - I mean - I only asked because if push comes to shove, and I have to cut through the jeans, I don’t want to ruin any underwear you’re wearing -’
You trail off, and it’s his turn to stammer, scratching an invisible itch on his elbow as he struggles to remember what he usually does with his hands.
‘No, no, I get it. I’m ahem -,’ he pauses with a cough. ‘I’m not actually wearin’ any underwear right now. Not out of habit, it’s just that I’ve been barely squeezin’ into the stupid jeans even without it.’
His honest answer seems to put you at ease, and you purse your lips. ‘Sounds uncomfortable.’
He shrugs. ‘Have been for months.’
‘I’m sorry.’
He arches an eyebrow. ‘What for?’
‘That you’ve been uncomfortable. That’s one thing clothes shouldn’t be.’
Not quite knowing how to answer you, he watches you grab a velvet cushioned footstool from under the work table and place it squarely at his feet. Then, without further preamble, you sink onto your knees in front of him, knocking the air clean out of his lungs.
As he stares down at the crown of your head, your nose at the level of his waistband, he muses that he hasn’t seen this view for a long time, a very long time. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he closes his eyes, fighting the base instinct to cup the back of your head in his palm and to pull you close -
He breathes out hard through his nostrils and clenches his jaw, casting his gaze heavenwards through the skylight as he actually prays for the first time in years.
Don’t you fucking dare get hard, Miller.
You chew on the inside of your mouth as you consider what’s before you. It’s tricky. The jeans are unbuttoned and zipped up most of the way, but the denim has been caught tight in the metallic teeth, and the handle of the zipper yanked clean off.
Cocking your head to one side, you think out loud. ‘I think we should at least try and unsnag the zipper before cutting. But we’re going to need some lubrication, and we’ll need to give it a really good, firm tug -’
The man chokes on nothing above you, and you frown up at him in a question.
Clearing his throat loudly, he asks through gritted teeth, ‘Do we have to?’
‘I mean, I can just cut open the jeans, but then you’ll definitely have to trade in something extra to cover the costs of the repairs -’
He interrupts, ‘That. Let’s do that.’
‘Alright, your call,’ you say with a nod. ‘Can you hold up your shirt?’
You try not to gawk when he draws up the tails of his flannel, revealing his soft stomach underneath. The mid-rise jeans cut off beneath his belly button, and you eye the trail that sneaks full and dark under the waistband. He’s obviously sucking his tummy in, and you catch yourself wishing he doesn’t feel like he has to.
You bite your bottom lip. ‘Do you think you can fit a couple of fingers into the waistband so I can slide the scissors in? They’re sharp, I don’t want to cut you.’
You watch as he tries, first his index finger, then his middle, but he can barely squeeze in beyond the nail, which turns completely colourless from the pressure. He sighs in surrender. ‘Mfraid you’ll have to, sweetheart.’
You have to close your eyes for a moment, your head swimming. You’re not sure whether it’s from the sweetheart, or the fact that he wants you to stick your hand down the front of his pants.
Well, not exactly that he wants you to. And not your hand. But still.
You squeak. ‘Do I have to?’
He pins you a sarcastic arch of his eyebrows. ‘Well, if you’re sure that you won’t cut my dick off -’
Your face heats up at his blunt words, falling back onto your haunches. ‘Great, now you’ve got me worried -’
Palms up in apology, he shrugs. ‘Sorry -’
‘No, no, you’re right. I don’t want to accidentally castrate you,’ you sigh. ‘Are you - um - well adjusted in there?’
‘I’d go down the right side of the zipper,’ he answers diplomatically.
Taking a deep breath, you ask, ‘Ready?’
‘Whenever you are, sweetheart.’
The first contact is the brush of your knuckles against his stomach, the skin warm and soft on the back of your fingers. You don’t dare look up, but you can feel his eyes on you as you burrow your index finger under the waistband. Though it’s a squeeze, you manage to wriggle in nail side down, creating a small gap - still not quite enough to get the scissors in without nicking him.
Talking more to yourself, you mumble, ‘Better safe than sorry. Let me just get one more finger in -’
Joel chokes so hard that you almost jump back in fright, frowning at him as he catches his breath. ‘Are you okay? Do you need some water?’
His voice tight, he shakes his head. ‘No, I’m fine.’
You wait a beat to make sure he doesn’t go into another coughing fit. When the coast is clear, you gesture at his jeans. ‘Can I just -’
‘Get one more finger in?’ he finishes your sentence in his raspy baritone.
You finally hear it when he says it like that. And oh god, your ears burn as you stare up at him, lips parted, torn between outrage and a very disorienting arousal. ‘You - you -’
A wicked smirk tugs unexpectedly at the corner of his mouth. ‘I already tried, sweetheart. My fingers are too big to fit inside.’
The touch of playful condescension in his tone has your jaw going slack, and your brain practically short-circuits at the thoughts of where else they are too big to fit inside of -
So as it turns out, you’re brave, or just downright stupid, when you’re turned on. Next thing you know, you hear yourself telling him off. ‘I could just leave you in those jeans you know.’
Joel smiles wider, and retorts, ‘I don’t think you would.’
‘Just because I’m shy doesn’t mean I don’t have a mean streak,’ you shoot back.
He seems pleased to have lured you out of your shell, grinning down at you. ‘Believe me, I’m shakin’ in my boots, sweetheart.’
It’s really unfair that he looks this good from where you are on your knees. His eyes are hooded, curls flecked with grays sweeping his forehead. Even though the apocalypse has left its marks on him in wrinkles, frown lines, and smudged bags under his eyes, it has clearly not taken away from that proud nose or plush lips -
Steadying yourself with a deep inhale, you shake yourself out of it. With an in, it’s slightly easier to push in your middle finger into the waistband to widen the gap. Happy with the quarter inch of space, you hold up the scissors. ‘I’m ready to cut if you are.’
He nods his acquiesce. ‘Do your worst.’
Opening up the scissors and carefully fitting the blade beneath the denim, you carefully begin snipping away. They are sharp, but the fabric is tough and you’re conscious of the very tight fit, so you take it slow.
You pause when you’re a couple of inches in, when Joel lets out a groan of relief. Absent-mindedly, you run a soothing thumb over the angry, red indents the waistband dug into the soft pouch of his tummy, sending a shudder through him.
‘Sorry,’ you squeak, snatching back your hand as if he burns you.
Too preoccupied with the relief of being able to breathe, Joel shakes his head. ‘Don’t be. Just keep going. Please.’
Why is that one word - six letters - making your breath hitch?
Gripping the top of the now open fly and pinning it against his body so you don’t accidentally see anything you’re not meant to see - whether you want to deliberately is a completely different matter - you hunker down and keep cutting along the zipper.
Each snip gets easier as the jeans release their death grip on him. The right side of the fly falls away as you cut, the denim peeling back slowly to expose the skin underneath. Your eyes drift to the curve of the pubic bone that’s now completely in view, and it’s taking everything you have to not lean over and run the broad of your tongue along it -
How long has it been since you’ve been with a man? When was the last time you had someone stand before you, pants unzipped and hanging open -
With tremendous fortitude, you tear your eyes away to check on him, ‘All good?’
The grunt of respite that he lets out is almost guttural, going straight between your legs. ‘Feels so fuckin’ good to breathe.’
‘Before I keep going, do you want to - uh - rearrange yourself?’
You expect him to turn around, or at least give you a second to turn around to give him some privacy, but he’s obviously been too deprived of oxygen to think straight. One big palm snakes down his front, right in your face, and he cups himself through the denim.
You stop breathing, eyes wide as he adjusts himself.
Holy fuck.
When he’s done, he gives you a thumbs up. ‘All good.’
This is it. You’re not making it out of this alive.
You can barely get the words out, your throat suddenly drier than sandpaper. ‘Can you, um, hold up the other side of the fly?’
When he does, you stare at his hand next to yours. How is it so big? The veins are prominent on the back, leading down to thick fingers, the nails neatly trimmed and clean - but you bet there’s residue gunpowder underneath.
There’s still a slither of skin peeking through the V of the fly as the scissors slice through the denim, following his happy trail. The lower you go, the thicker and darker the curls, and goddamnit - what is wrong with you - all you can think about is burying your nose right in there, nudging through the hair, lower and lower and lower still -
A sharp pain on your left finger makes you yelp, the scissors falling from your other hand to the floor with a loud clang. A small bead of blood wells up on the tip where the sharp blade nicked it, and in a panic, you let go of his jeans.
‘Shit,’ Joel curses and covers himself up quickly, his brow furrowed in concern. ‘You okay?’
You nod in embarrassment while you get on your feet. ‘I - my hand just slipped. It’s nothing, the smallest cut, I’m fine -’
Well, to be fair, you were fine - until he grabs your left wrist, brings your hand up to his face and sucks your bleeding fingertip into his mouth.
As if it’s the logical thing to do.
Your knees buckle, and you collapse into his front, but he doesn’t even budge, as if you weigh nothing. Taking a deep breath - wood smoke, simple soap and man fill your lungs. Peering up at him through your lashes, you spot the silver flanking the hinge of his jaw, leading down to a peculiar bare patch on the left side of his beard.
He watches you back as he releases your finger with a wet pop. Tracing his bottom lip with his tongue, he pronounces, ‘Just a small cut. You’ll live.’
Will you though? Because it feels like you’re on the verge of expiring from breathlessness.
He glances down at his front, which he’s still holding up. ‘I guess I can get out of these now.’
It takes you three seconds to catch up before you stumble backwards. ‘Yes, of course. Sorry.’
‘Thank you for freeing me,’ he says with a lopsided smile.
You duck your head, unable to meet his gaze all of a sudden - hypocrite, you had no problem perving on him a minute ago - and nod at the jeans on the table. ‘Why don’t you try those on?’
He clears his throat. ‘I, uh, should probably put on some underwear first.’
You barely manage to hold back from smacking yourself on the forehead. ‘Of course. We do have some in stock. Boxers or briefs?’
He looks amused. ‘What do you think, sweetheart?’
You hesitate, but you force yourself to be brave and venture a guess. ‘Boxers.’
He winks, and you grin back.
Joel hovers uncertainly in front of the mirror in the fitting room, having exhausted all the angles he can see twice, and wonders if he’s been dithering for too long. He’s not even sure what he’s looking at anymore, so he bites the bullet and draws back the curtain.
‘How do they feel?’ you ask.
He was counting on some hint from you, but you give nothing away. So he shrugs, hands on hips. ‘I honestly can’t tell you.’
‘May I?’
At his nod, you step into his space, and he watches as you hook your fingers into the belt loops on either side of the jeans and pull them up, as if gauging the size. He holds his breath as your hair grazes the front of his chest.
‘They’re a bit loose, to be honest,’ you tell him.
He scoffs self-decrepatingly. ‘Probably not for long at the rate I’m going.’
You take a step back and level him with a glare. ‘Stop it.’
He frowns, hackles rising. ‘What?’
‘Stop putting yourself down.’
That he didn’t expect. He protests, ‘I’m not putting myself down -’
‘Yes, yes, you are,’ you interrupt him with a boldness that has his eyebrows reaching for his hairline. With fire in your eyes, you go toe to toe with him, poking him in the chest with a firm finger. ‘You’re alive, you’re safe here, and you’re fit as hell. If you’re going to make fun of yourself for putting on a bit of healthy weight, you can go ahead and get out of my shop.’
Warmth blooms in his chest as Joel stares down at you, breathing heavily after your little speech but showing no intention of backing down. You don’t know him, but for some reason, you’re fighting his corner.
That shouldn’t feel as good as it does.
Pursing his lips, he towers over you as he teases, ‘You think I’m fit as hell, sweetheart?’
With a roll of your eyes, you walk backwards to the shelves, rummaging through the sizes before returning with a pair of dark wash jeans. You quip, ‘Don’t fish for compliments, it’s unbecoming.’
You snap the curtain shut in his face with a flick of your wrist before he can answer, and he chuckles to himself as pulls on the jeans you picked out for him.
When he pushes open the curtain again, Joel doesn’t miss the way you pause as you stare.
The waistband sits on his hips without cutting into his stomach, and he’s pleased that he can comfortably slide his hands into the pockets. The denim wraps firmly, but not tightly, against his backside, holding his thighs comfortably and falling straight down to the ankles. The wash is dark and flattering, smarter than his old ones.
When the silence has stretched on long enough, Joel shifts on his feet and asks, ‘Well?’
You turn the question back at him. ‘What do you think?’
He shrugs. ‘They’re alright, I guess.’
With a tilt of your head, you prompt, ‘You can say it, you know.’
‘Say what?’
‘You can say that you look good.’
Joel huffs, shaking his head and catching his reflection in the mirror as he does. At your look of insistence, he reluctantly parrots back, ‘Alright. I look good. Happy, sweetheart?’
Then you smile, really smile, and he feels himself soften - his eyes, his face, his mouth, his fucking old, rickety knees -
Suddenly, the bell over the door rings and a woman bustles in. ‘I’m so sorry, Pin! I know I’ve been gone a long time, but I got your favourite tea to make it up to you -’
She stops abruptly when she spots him. ‘Hey! You’re Joel Miller, aren’t you?’
Before he can answer, she crosses the shop in a bundle of energy, sticking her hand out. ‘I’m Lucy, I’m a friend of Tommy and Maria’s. It’s so nice to finally meet you.’
He lets her shake his hand, then she continues without skipping a beat. ‘How are you settling in? You got that house in the street near the stables right? It’s great, it’s quiet but not too far from everything -’
Since she doesn’t seem interested in his participation in this conversation, he doesn’t. But he notices, with regret, the way you start to retreat, the shyness making a return in the shadow of her clearly more outgoing friend - like a bad habit.
He’s suddenly aware of a lull, and that Lucy is looking at him expectantly, like she’s just asked a question that he didn’t hear.
‘Yeah sure,’ he replies dismissively, stopping you with a hand on your wrist just as you try to slink away unnoticed. ‘Hey, wait a second -’
To Lucy’s credit, she picks up on the snub and the energy between the two of you at the same time. Instead of taking offence, she gives you a knowing look and points towards the back diplomatically. ‘You know what Pin, I just bumped into Maria and she asked me something about our fabric inventory, so I better go check it out. I’ll see you around, Joel.’
With a wink in your direction, Lucy makes herself scarce, leaving the tea on the counter for you.
Joel’s quiet for a beat when you’re left alone again. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to run off your friend, but I just wanted to uh - thank you. For all this.’ He pauses, then adds, ‘Like she said, I’m Joel. Probably should’ve introduced myself before I asked you to cut me out of my jeans.’
You quip, ‘There’s always next time.’
He chuckles, and asks, ‘Did your friend just call you - Pin?’
‘It’s just a silly nickname,’ you explain. ‘As in pins and needles, for obvious reasons.’
Then you give him your real name and your hand, his palm warm and calloused against yours as he shakes it firmly. When he lets you go, you notice the watch on his wrist, the veins of broken glass on the face catching the light.
Nodding at it, you ask, ‘Do you need that fixed? There’s a repair guy down the road who can fix anything.’
Confused for a moment about what you’re referring to, Joel pauses before realisation dawns on him. His answer is suddenly polite, a stark contrast to the light-hearted conversation just now. ‘No, I - I like it this way. But thanks.’
You don’t miss the emotional weight behind his words, and the air thickens with unspoken meaning, but you know better than to ask.
‘I understand,’ you say simply.
Everyone has something like the watch is to him. God knows you do. A moment of quiet understanding passes between you, one that needs no words.
Breaking the silence, he says, ‘So, you mentioned I’ll need to trade in something else for these jeans -’
You dismiss that notion with a wave of your hand. ‘Oh no, it’s ok. I got it.’
‘You don’t have to -’
You shut him down. ‘It’s not a big deal, it will take me two minutes to replace the zipper.’
He hesitates. ‘And the boxers -’
Passing him his jacket, you insist, ‘Seriously, Joel, don’t worry about it.’
His fingers brush yours when he takes it from you and shrugs it on. You try not to look too conspicuously when the bottom of his shirt draws up, flashing a bit of tummy, but it’s gone too quickly. With a nod, he concedes reluctantly, ‘You really shouldn’t, but thank you. I owe you one.’
You roll your eyes with no real exasperation as you walk him towards the exit. ‘I know you haven’t been here for long - that’s just how things work around these parts. We do things for each other, you don’t owe me anything.’ Pulling the door open, you give him one last grin. ‘Welcome to Jackson, Joel.’
‘Thanks, Pin,’ he says as he crosses the threshold. He pauses on the porch and looks around the high street slowly, as if he’s taking it in for the first time. He then turns to you with a parting wink that is charged with easy confidence. ‘I think I’ll like it here.’
You linger by the door, leaning against the frame as he jogs down the front steps with a swagger, watching in appreciation at the way his new jeans frame his backside. You smile when he slides his hands into his pockets as he walks away, the afternoon breeze ruffling his curls and the sun warming his broad shoulders.
You think you’ll like him here as well.
Notes: As I was writing this, I couldn't help thinking that it reminded me of Grays 🙈 What can I say? I want to give middle-aged men in need of self-love all the reassurance that they need. I hope you enjoyed Pin and Joel's meet-cute, I'm honestly so nervous about this fic I had to stop myself from compulsively over-editing.
Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated as always 🥰
P.S. Apparently, there is a Main Street Outfitter in the game, so I ran with it.
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
#tlou fanfiction#the last of us fanfiction#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x fem!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller fic#joel miller imagine#joel miller oneshot
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