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pearlessance · 11 days ago

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Cupid's Chokehold — part three!

SUNSHINE & SYNCHRONICITIES

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summary: Joel sends you and Uncle Tommy on a road trip for a work consultation. Tommy begins to wonder if what he feels for you is more than a craving.

pairing: step uncle!Tommy Miller x f!Reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, stepcest, age gap, heavy praise, dom/sub undertones, oral (f!recieving), like probably too much idc the miller brothers are eaters argue with a wall, dirty talk, unprotected piv, hand kink (hand anon...now u know damn well what ur doing), marijuana consumption, light angst, exhibitionism (kinda), begging, creampie, cum play, brat taming (god i'm so sorry to my loyal readers i can never escape this tag), physical violence but not towards reader or tommy, no beta

note: helllooooooo!!! long awaited part three!! i hope you all enjoy this one just as much as the other two parts. i'm so sorry it's taken me so long to finish this i was distracted by the fortnite battle pass and i wish i was lying but that shit is so good this season. i plan to start writing the next part tomorrow so stay tuned for that in the next few weeks! love u all so much <3

wc: 14.7k

[series masterlist] [main masterlist] [AO3]

When Tommy pulls up to the job site early Monday morning, Noah’s leaning against the metal door of the trailer with a cigarette in one hand and a coffee in the other. Which is strange for only two reasons.

The first is that Tommy’s never once seen Noah break off from the group. He’s always the first to brag about the women he’s met over the weekend and all the things he’s done to them. So, seeing him ten feet away from the half-awake gathering of men in hard hats awaiting Joel’s instruction is out of the ordinary.

The second is the fucking coffee in his hand.

Noah has never, not even once, shown up to work with coffee. Has always taken his caffeine in the form of bubbly energy drinks. The ones that taste like battery acid and leave you crashing by four in the afternoon unless you have another.

Tommy promised you he would be cool about this. Promised not to tell Joel about the way Noah had you so afraid at the bar on Friday night that you’d hidden in the restroom and called for safety. Up until this very moment, he’d had every intention of keeping that promise.

But Noah is waiting for you. He’s waiting for you, and that coffee is most likely yours, and Tommy’s hands pale around the steering wheel.

You and Joel are talking about some client up in Stratford, bickering back and forth. You only continue your argument when you climb out of the truck, speaking animatedly. Joel waves Tommy off and says, “Let everyone know we’re starting on the drywall today. Give us a minute.”

And he’s thankful for it. Truly. Because it gives Tommy a head start.

He bypasses the group of guys entirely and approaches Noah with a tremble in his hands. Doesn’t say hello, doesn’t give a warning. Tommy just pulls his fist back and bashes it against his jaw.

It lands hard enough to send Noah stumbling, coffee steaming as it splashes against the steel steps leading into the trailer. “What the fuck, Tommy?!”

“Told you what would happen, huh? Didn’t I?” He wants to say more. Wants to tell him that this is what happens to men like him who get off on scaring little girls. Wants to tell him that the biggest mistake he ever could’ve made is scaring you.

But Tommy can already hear Joel shouting from behind him and knows there’s no time for monologues or explanations.

So he just says, “You know good an’ well what this is for.”

This time, when Tommy’s fist strikes him, Noah stumbles to the ground. His eyes are crossed, and blood drips from his bottom lip.

It’s not right to kick a man when he’s down, Tommy knows. So he grabs hold of Noah’s neon vest and pulls him back to his feet.

And then he hits him again.

He won’t get another one in, even though Noah deserves it. Because Mike is on one side of him and Joel’s on the other, shoving him back, standing as a shield between the two of them.

But it’s not necessary. Not really. Tommy hadn’t made the decision impulsively. Hadn’t let his actions be influenced by emotion. His head is calm and level before and after he threw the first punch. He just did what needed to be done.

When he turns his head and his eyes find yours, they’re wide and full of worry. You’re concerned. Not for Noah, Tommy realizes. Even though he’s got blood on his shirt and still struggles to stand.

You rush to Tommy instead, one hand on his elbow while the other gently examines his fingers. His knuckles are covered in the evidence of his revenge in your name, crimson splattered up to his wrist. “Shit,” you mutter under your breath. You take the hem of your black t-shirt and use it to soak up the blood, uncaring of the permanent staining. “Does it hurt?”

The sunlight hits you just right, yellow and orange hues dancing along your skin. It makes Tommy’s heart forget its regular cadence. It’s sort of like stealing a glimpse of heaven. As if God had told him to close his eyes and Tommy’s reward for disobedience is a look at inconceivable splendor.

He thinks this might damn him. Thinks that you will be his ultimate undoing. But how worth hell is, for the tenderness of your touch.

Tommy says, “Nah. Not anymore,” and doesn’t miss the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth.

He likes being taken care of by you. Likes that in all the chaos, you immediately seek him out before anyone else. Your concern is genuine, and there’s no undertone of anger or disappointment.

The same can’t be said for Joel, however. And Tommy knows it’s probably because he’s used to this by now. Annoyed because he has to bail his little brother out of a bad situation for the millionth time. And Tommy thinks he has every right to be angry. He’d made promises to Joel, too.

He takes the two of you aside, just out of earshot, while the rest of the crew tries to get Noah cleaned up. He asks Tommy, “What the fuck happened?”

“Kid’s got a big fuckin’ mouth,” Tommy says. “Doesn’t know when to quit.” And when Joel presses for more information, he remains silent. Doesn’t trust himself enough to form a convincing lie.

Tommy thinks that’s the end of the interrogation.

But then Joel turns his sights on you.

With a furrow in his brow, he says, “Why do I feel like you’re somehow involved in this?”

You burst into disbelieving laughter, looking at Tommy, your hands, the dirt beneath your sneakers—anywhere but Joel’s face. “What? No, I don’t know anything. Why would you think that?” Your tone is full of mock surprise, but it’s that fucking grin on your face that gives you away.

Tommy would find amusement in your complete failure of an attempt, if it weren’t for the sharp, splintering pain beginning to ripple through his knuckles.

“Oh, no. ‘Course,” Joel says sarcastically. He braces one hand on his hip and waves the other between you and Tommy. “'Cause it’s not like you two do fuckin’ everything together or anything. Right.”

“Joel, dude,” you say with a scoff, throwing your hands up in the air. “Who the fuck even is Tommy Miller? I’ve never met the man in my life.”

Tommy’s not sure what makes him laugh harder—the complete fucking absurdity of your lie or the look on Joel’s face when you call him dude. His barely contained laughter earns him a glare, but Tommy just can’t help himself.

“Alright, look,” Joel says, squeezing his jaw. “Just…tell me. He deserve it?”

“Yes.” The answer comes in unison. Timed perfectly in sync, your voice laced with Tommy’s.

Joel scoffs. He’s so tired of the two of you already today that the vein in his forehead visibly throbs. “Jesus Christ,” he grumbles.

Tommy knows the drill by now and isn’t surprised when Joel sends him home for the day without pay. They’ve been through this a time or two. Joel will fire Noah for the disruption, but can’t let Tommy off the hook pain-free.

He promises to swing by a little after seven to pick the two of you up, but Mike offers to give you a ride home instead. Tommy’s not quite sure how he feels about you sitting in another man’s back seat, but he reminds himself that Joel will be there, too.

Tommy spends the day working on his truck inside Joel’s garage to keep himself busy. Maintenance, mostly. Something to keep his hands occupied enough to keep him from going through your room.

You make him feel a little like a crazy ex-boyfriend, Tommy thinks. He wants so desperately to feel like he has this hold on you. Wants to feel needed, desired, tied to you in a permanent way.

It’s an unattainable task, though. Because no matter how much he wishes and no matter how hard he prays to keep you, the truth gnaws at him like an insect buzzing behind his ear.

You’re not a woman to be kept in any capacity. You’re too young, too wild, too carefree. Like a fire that burns bright in the late summer evening, warming those around you, keeping the joy thruming despite the descending darkness.

Tommy knows standing this close will burn him, but he likes the heat too much to step away.

What he feels for you is wrong. What he does for you, what he does to you, is wrong.

That’s the bottom line. And there’s no true way to discount it. It’s always clearer to him when you’re apart.

It’s a little after seven thirty when Tommy hears the familiar sound of tires against gravel in Joel’s driveway. The sun persists despite the late hour, painting the sky pale pink and orange.

Normally, he’d drop everything to greet you. Tommy would ask about your day, make sure you had a good lunch, and consumed more than just caffeine. He’d listen to you talk for as long as you needed, unloading the weight of the day off your shoulders.

Except, right now, he’s lying on his back beneath his truck. Motor oil drips down his long fingers as he strains to loosen the old filter.

He can feel your nearness before he glances down to see you standing at the side of his truck. He tries and fails to keep his mind out of the gutter as he watches you lower yourself to your knees.

The oil pan steadily fills with thick, black liquid as he watches you crawl beneath the metal body of the truck and claim the space at his side. You lay your hands on top of your belly and give him the sweetest, happiest smile. Like there’s no place you’d rather be than here, lying on the concrete beside him with the thick scent of automotive oil in the air.

He glances down to see your legs resting beside his, lying flat on the ground, while he has one knee propped up at an angle. You’ve got your feet crossed at the ankles, and you sway them back and forth casually. His heart pinches in his chest at the sight of it; your well-loved sneakers and light wash, boot-cut blue jeans beside his oil-stained denim and battered cowboy boots.

Tommy wishes he could see your sneakers beside his boots at the door of his apartment. Wishes he could buy your favorite snacks at the grocery store to stick in his pantry. He wishes your shampoo bottle would exist beside his in the corner of his shower, and wishes the last thing he’d do every night is wash your favorite coffee mug in the sink so it would be clean for you the next day.

He’s never wanted those things before. Never wanted softness or slow mornings or to have his existence threaded so heavily with someone else’s that there’d never be any untangling it. Not until now.

Not until you.

“Teach me what you’re doing,” you say, nodding to his hand that’s still wrapped around the blue cylinder of the oil filter. “Talk me through it. I know how good you are at that.”

Tommy laughs and shakes his head. He presses his elbow into your ribs playfully and says, “Fuckin’ pervert.”

“You love it,” you say. And he does. With that too familiar, troubling smirk, you lean in close with a scalding sort of heat behind your eyes. You whisper, “It takes one to know one, Uncle Tommy,” in a way that sends shivers down his spine. He knows that lilt to your voice. Knows you’ve arrived home today with a craving for chaos, the devilry in your blood taking precedence over all else.

Tommy licks his lips and lets out a slow exhale. “An oil change,” he finally explains. “Supposed to do it every twenty-five thousand miles. I’m a little late. But you ain’t got no reason to know how to change your oil long as I’m around.”

He thinks it’s awfully funny how you wait until he’s twisting the filter hard enough that the veins in his forearms swell before you ask, “What if I get a boyfriend?”

Tommy finally pries the filter loose, and your words catch him off guard enough that he drops it into the oil pan with a crude sound, splashing the liquid over the lip onto Joel’s driveway.

“What if he wants to do my oil changes?”

“Then he oughtta be better than me in every way of the fuckin’ word,” Tommy says quickly, agitation in his voice. He knows you’re provoking him. Goading for a reaction that he gives you all too quickly. “Better know how to take a punch, too.”

With a laugh, you say, “What, like Noah?”

Tommy scoffs and picks up the new filter he’d bought just this afternoon. “Did it look like that kid could take a punch?”

You shrug as he twists the filter on. “Maybe you just hit hard.”

He tries to fight the smile your words evoke, tries not to feel proud. But he does anyway. It’s not a compliment, not really, but it makes him feel the way a compliment would. Warm. Admired. “How pissed was Joel?”

“Oh, I got an ear full,” you answer with wide eyes. “You would’ve thought I was the one who’d cracked his tooth in half.”

Tommy laughs at that. Imagines that snot-nosed motherfucker explaining to the dentist that he’d gotten his ass beat in an avoidable altercation. Tommy had warned him what would happen, after all. But he’d never meant for you to take the brunt of the consequence. And so once his enjoyment fades, he says, “I’m sorry you had to put up with it. I never meant一”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, waving your hand in dismissal. “It’s what we do for each other. You take care of me, I take care of you. Right?”

An easy smile finds its way to his face. “Yeah,” he says. “Right.”

Once the oil has completely drained, Tommy replaces the cap and slides out from beneath his truck.

You follow suit, and he extends his hands to pull you back to your feet. “I wasn’t serious, by the way,” you tell him. “About the boyfriend thing.”

“I figured,” Tommy says flatly.

Because he knows you. Knows you just like to see him squirm, to see his desire for you on full display.

But he does you one better. Lays the truth bare when he says, “S’alright. We both know you’re my girl.”

Your reaction is beautiful, Tommy thinks. An instant flush of your cheeks, a shy turn of your head. He delights in your wide smile and mirrors it, letting your warmth sink deep into his weary bones.

When he rounds the truck and pops the hood open, you lean over and try to watch his movements. But you’re a little too short and just out of view, so he opens one arm and says, “C’mere.”

You move instinctively. Like it’s completely natural to let him envelop you in his hold, and Tommy supposes it is by now. He stands behind you like a looming presence at your back, close enough that he pushes the front of your thighs against the bumper.

It would seem innocent enough if someone were to walk by you now. They’d only see an uncle teaching his niece how to do an oil change, making sure she knows the ins and outs thoroughly enough to do it on her own next time.

Tommy extends his hands on either side of you. “See this here?” He points at the symbol on the oil cap. “This is what you wanna look for. Emptied it already an’ replaced the filter. Now we’ve gotta fill her back up.”

He can’t see it, but Tommy can feel that smirk on your face, can hear that filthy joke before you even ask, “Me next?”

Innocence gone, the moment fills with a different sort of energy. One that feels more authentic, more like you, and more like him. More truthful, more honest.

He chuckles, shaking his head. His mouth is only an inch from your ear as he says, “Bet you’d like that.”

Your breath stutters as your lips part. Your mom and Joel are just inside, likely discussing dinner plans or how the day went. Joel’s probably talking about how Tommy had caused a real ruckus, and Sarah will be home from her classes at the community college any minute—and here Tommy is with his lips against your throat.

Making you nervous for a change.

He finds that he enjoys this a little too much. He shouldn’t feel his blood sing when you suck your bottom lip into your mouth and drag your teeth across it. His cock shouldn’t stiffen in his jeans when he leans forward the smallest bit to twist the oil cap off, but it just rests so perfectly against the decadent swell of your ass that he can’t help it.

It’s wrong, and he knows it, but Tommy thinks the obscenity of it all only amplifies his longing for you. And what seals the deal is that the two of you share this perversion like you share every fucking thing else. It’s not just him that gets you off, it’s the fact that he’s your Uncle Tommy.

You turn your head to face him, mouth so close to his that he can feel the heat of your breath. So gently it’s almost undetectable, Tommy feels you arch your back, pressing yourself even harder against him. “Only one way to find out,” you say.

He takes your chin in his big hand and turns it forward. “Pay attention, now, sweetheart. This is important.”

The faintest whimper escapes from someplace deep in your throat. A needy sound that makes Tommy feel satisfied in an entirely new way.

Is this what it’s been like for you these last few months? Teasing him, constantly prodding for a reaction, indulging in the fall when he inevitably loses the carefully found balance on that thin line you’ve drawn.

It’s a whole lot nicer on this side of things, Tommy thinks. A whole lot more manageable when you’re the one at his mercy and not the other way around.

Tommy sticks the end of the funnel into the uncapped opening and picks up the five-quart container of motor oil. He explains, “Fully synthetic blends are best. Better for the engine, and it’ll last longer. Worth the price.”

Your attention is zeroed in on his fingers, oil-stained and calloused, with deep purple bruises blossoming across the knuckles of his right hand in defense of you. “I can feel how hard you are,” you say.

But Uncle Tommy pays it no mind. He’s too focused, too determined to teach you this lesson. “Cars are all a little different,” he says. “Different makes and different models need certain kinds of oil. Smaller engines need less. We need about seven quarts.”

He tips the container and watches the amber liquid spill into the funnel he’d placed perfectly with one hand, and slides the other firmly down the center of your thigh, no doubt leaving grease stains in his wake on that pretty blue denim. “Please,” you whisper, and it almost does him in.

Almost.

“Shh. We’re almost done, baby. You payin’ attention?” He knows you’re not. Knows the soft sigh that slips between your lips is another plea. Tommy squeezes the inside of your thigh hard before moving his hand upwards, right between your legs, fingers pressing against the seam of your jeans.

Your head falls back against his chest and your eyelids flutter closed, but Tommy won’t have it.

He pulls his hand away as he empties the last of the oil from the first container. He steps away completely to grab the second and chuckles when your shoulders drop dramatically in frustration. “Hey,” he says. “Nuh-uh. No throwin’ tantrums. When has Uncle Tommy ever let you down, hm?”

“Never,” you say, and the answer comes so quickly that it warms his heart.

“Exactly. Now, c’mon. Let’s finish this up.” He comes up behind you again, cock heavy and aching as he presses it against the small of your back. Tommy breaks the seal of the new carton and tips it up, pouring two more quarts of oil. And then he sets the remainder on the garage floor, retwists the oil cap onto the reservoir, and lowers the hood.

There’s so much hope in your eyes as you turn in his embrace and ask, “Are we done?”

“Not just yet. Patience, sweetheart.” Tommy steps back and opens the driver's side door of his truck. “Get in, start her up,” he instructs.

And you do as told. Of course you do. His pretty, desperate girl.

The engine roars to life as you turn the key in the ignition, while Tommy kneels down and crawls beneath the truck. “Always gotta check for leaks,” he explains. “Cause if the seal’s bad on the filter, you’ll be leaking oil for god knows how long and could fuck up your engine real bad real fast.”

He waits a few minutes, double and triple checking that he’d done everything right. And when he’s satisfied, Tommy comes to stand between your spread thighs. “Last step,” he says. “The most important one. Wanna guess what it is?”

“I…” You stop. Close your mouth just to open it again. “I don’t know.”

Tommy smiles. It’s a corrupt sort of amusement he finds in your innocence. “Unbutton your jeans an’ I’ll show you.”

You’re thumbing down your zipper before he even finishes getting the words out.

Tommy hooks his long fingers around the denim waistband and pulls your jeans and panties down to your knees. The driver’s side door, propped open, shields you just enough that there’s no fear in him when he pushes your thighs back, leans forward, and slides his tongue through your wet heat.

You moan in tandem一you at the feel of his lips on your clit, him at the heady taste of you. Tommy knows it’s wrong and knows there’s no good ending for the two of you, but when he has you like this he doesn’t fucking care.

Because you’re everything he’s ever wanted in all his life. He flattens his tongue against you, leaving no part of your pretty pussy untouched, and groans when you slide your fingers into his thick hair and tug lightly at his curls.

“God一you…I can’t believe you did that for me today,” you say, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch him devour you. “You…fuck, that feels so good. You knew it would be bad but you did it anyway.”

He doesn’t know how to explain that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you. Doesn’t know how to make you understand there’s no line he wouldn’t cross, no consequence he’d be unwilling to conquer, no aftermath he wouldn’t face when it comes to his very favorite girl.

Tommy circles your clit with a pointed tongue, savoring the ambrosia taste of you. Your slick coats his face一dripping down his chin, wetting the scruff of his facial hair that’s two days too grown out. He presses your legs back further and hums against you, grinning when the vibrations have your spine bending.

It’s only been a few weeks since he’d been here last with his face pressed between your thighs, but Tommy feels like a man starved. He’s insatiable for you and supposes he always has been, greedy hands reaching out to take everything you’re willing to give. His bruised knuckles have turned an ugly shade of purple now but they hold your pretty skin so tenderly.

His mouth waters as he laves his tongue between your folds, saliva mixing with the wetness that drips down onto his leather seats. Tommy likes the sight of the shiny leather more than he should. “Filthy girl,” he murmurs against your sweet pussy. “Makin’ a big fuckin’ mess for me.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair. “Fuck, I’m一I’m close, I’m一hmm.”

He knows just how much you love when he talks to you real nasty, and so he doubles down, words muffled through the wetness of his tongue against your clit. “Yeah…that’s right,” Tommy says. “So wet, baby. You fuckin’ needed this shit, huh? Needed Uncle Tommy to kiss it better.”

“Yes, yes yes一!”

With a low laugh, he uses one hand and clamps it over your mouth. “Shh. Don’t want anyone to hear you now. Don’t wanna end it before you get a chance to feel real good, do we?”

“No, no, please,” you beg, your voice bleeding through the spaces between his thick fingers. You slide your hands through the soft curls in his hair, pressing his mouth harder against you. “I want一please, I need it. I need you.”

He knows you do. Tommy sucks your clit gently between his lips and focuses his efforts there. Knows you’re right on the edge when your legs begin to tremble on either side of his head. “Go on now, baby,” he says. “Uncle Tommy’s got you.”

Your breath halts, just for a single moment, and then an onslaught of moans begin to vibrate against his hand.

“That’s it. There you go, shh.” he licks up every drop of your release, tongue curling over your sensitive clit. You taste like heaven, like the rest of his life, so good he whimpers against you.

Your spine bends and your chest heaves with each shaking breath, and it feels like release. Like redemption. Just seeing you fall apart beneath him, feeling your clit pulse and throb beneath the heavy pressure of his lips, it’s enough for Tommy to feel satisfied.

He doesn’t stop until your breathing evens out. And even then, he cleans the mess between your legs with his tongue, smiling real wide when you flinch at the overstimulation. Your fingers are a little nicer now, stroking gently through his thick hair instead of pulling at the roots. “S’better now,” Tommy says. “Right?”

With a soft giggle, you nod and say, “Much better.” You lift your hips just enough and Tommy helps you pull your jeans back up those pretty thighs of yours.

His cock aches, heavy and wanting, but he knows this isn’t the time. Knows that the indulgence he’s allowed himself already is too much, too risky. And that assumption is quickly confirmed, because before you can even twist your thumbs around the silver button, Sarah’s car is pulling into the driveway right behind his truck.

“Shit,” Tommy hisses. “Can you一?”

Before he even has a chance to finish his sentence, you’re stepping in front of him. You say, “Yeah, I got it,” and Tommy begins to wonder if there’s anyone in the entire world who has made worse decisions than him today.

Cracking the tooth of a boy ten years younger than him. Working up his pretty little niece until you beg him for release. Indulging in you until he’s left standing in the front yard with his dick painfully hard and on full display.

For what it’s worth, you handle the uncomfortable transition with ease. Sarah gives Tommy a wave but doesn’t engage him much further than that, thanks to your attempt at conversation. He can hear the two of you babbling on about that same girl from Sarah’s biology class. Something about a comment she’d made on Sarah’s Instagram post一Tommy couldn’t keep up.

He waits outside until the swell of his cock goes down. Cleans up the mess he’d made doing the oil change, closes the door to Joel’s garage, and walks through the front door just in time for dinner.

You’ve saved a seat for him, like you always do. Your mom has made a fancy, braised chicken dish with tomatoes and capers. She’s left the olives on the side, knowing Joel and Tommy hate them.

But he knows you love them, and so he piles them on his plate anyway. Sarah talks about how her classes went, and you talk about a potential client up in Stratford you’ve been emailing back and forth with who lives up in Stratford.

You pluck the olives off Tommy’s plate one by one, eating slowly as you talk. He doesn’t quite understand why he loves it so much. It’s something trivial. Just olives for Christ’s sake. But you move so naturally, so familiar.

Tommy’s self aware enough to know that this…relationship you’ve created is doomed to fail.

It’ll likely blow up in his face. You’ll be caught red-handed, because nothing else could ever tear him from you.

Joel, Sarah, and everyone else he cherishes will look at him in a new light. He’ll be outed as the immoral man he is, unable to deny your wicked temptation.

But he hopes that you’ll still save a seat for him at the dinner table when the inevitable happens. Hopes that you’ll still look at him with those starry eyes and laugh at his stupid jokes and sing along to his favorite songs.

Tommy hopes that, no matter what, even in all the aftermath, you’ll still pick the olives off his plate.

After dinner, Joel pulls him aside. Tommy smokes a cigarette on the back porch while Joel explains about the woman in Stratford. “One of those rich folks who wanna give back to the community instead of giving their money to a corporation. I don’t want to take it, to be honest,” he admits. “It’s a complete remodel. One of those big ass mansions on the border that was built in the eighties. The house right now is worth ten million. With new floors, new plumbing, new wires…we’d double it, easy.”

Tommy inhales deeply and flicks the ash on the end of the filter over the side of the porch. “How much would you make, after material cost and labor an’ everything else?”

“Half what it’s worth now,” he says, and Tommy’s eyes widen because they’ve never been offered a job that big. “Original quote was one million, but she fuckin’ talked them up and now they’re willing to pay five times the price.”

“Joel,” Tommy chokes. “Are you fuckin’ serious?”

Five million for a single job.

He’d always known that the work they do is good. Better than half the contractors in Texas. Worth that kind of money, but with no access to the clientele. With you behind that company email instead of Joel, though…

This one job could change everything for them.

Tommy could move out of his shitty apartment. Could find some land out in the boonies and make a home out of it. Could build himself a house that’s all his own, have a possession to his name that’s worth something.

He could be worth something.

He could be more than just Joel’s fucked up little brother. More than someone to bail out of every bad situation he gets himself into. He could be someone worthy of you.

“You have to take it,” Tommy says. “Right? I mean…fuck, Joel. Five million.”

“Jesus, Tommy,” he grumbles. “I know, alright. I’ve heard it from her all fuckin’ day. But Stratford is almost ten hours away. If we worked every day from dawn till dusk, we’d be gone, what? A month? And we’d have to account for temporary housing. Hotel rooms for all the guys willing to go that far. And we’d have to feed them, too.”

“So that’s what? A hundred thousand if we don’t share rooms? Christ. Even after all that, the profit is worth it.”

“I just…I don’t trust it. I don’t know these people, and a month?” He points to the back door. “All three of those girls would be here alone. And if something were to happen…”

The hesitation makes a little more sense to Tommy when Joel puts it into perspective like that. Because he’s right. Eight hours away isn’t exactly around the block. Tommy couldn’t just come pick you up. Couldn’t run lights and blow stop signs to get to a bar when you feel unsafe.

“Have you done a consultation yet?”

Joel shakes his head. “She was tryin’ to set one up for this weekend, but I’m…I’m busy. Takin’ her mom out for an important dinner Saturday night. Actually, I was wonderin’ if maybe you could…you know. Go with her. She’s awfully optimistic about this, and I don’t want her to get ahead of herself.”

It’s a bad idea, and Tommy knows it the second the words leave his brother's mouth.

Alone. With you. For an entire weekend.

Talk about a fucking bender.

“Look,” Joel says. “I know it’s a lot to ask. But she’s a little girl an’ I don’t want her up there alone. I trust her to make the right decisions for the company, but I don’t trust her to be meetin’ people she doesn’t know by herself. Wouldn’t ask it of Sarah, wouldn’t ask it of her.”

He wants it, he does, but already knows good and well what’ll happen if he’s alone in a hotel room with you.

Tommy takes a long drag off his cigarette. Can still taste you on the tip of his tongue. He says, “I don’t know, Joel. I’ll…get back to you.”

But by the time Friday afternoon rolls around, Tommy finds himself with a packed duffel bag in the back of his truck like any true addict would.

You’ve got a backpack slung over one shoulder, and Tommy hovers behind you on the front porch.

Joel stands just inside the door with that signature scowl on his face. He pulls his worn leather wallet out of his back pocket and digs out a shiny, black credit card. He says, “For necessities. Gas, food, hotel room. Alright? No bullshit.”

You’re so excited you’re practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. When you reach for the card, Joel pulls it just out of reach.

“I mean it,” he insists. “Necessities. You understand me?”

It feels a little bit like getting cash from your parents before they turn you loose for the night at the fair, Tommy thinks.

“O-kay,” you tell him, plucking the card from his hands and passing it to Tommy over your shoulder. And then you’re turning to him with your eyes alight with mischief and that troublesome smirk on your face. “You hear that, Uncle Tommy? Joel said we can buy hookers and blow on the company card.”

“Wagyu steaks and caviar for dinner, too. S’what I heard,” Tommy adds with a laugh.

Joel doesn’t find the humor in it, though. Grumbles about canceling the whole consultation until he can go his damn self. Says, “You two spend too much fuckin’ time together. Two peas in a dumbass pod. Gonna rack up my bill ‘til I have to take this job just to pay it off.”

But he doesn’t mean it, and you both know it.

You toss your bag in the back seat, and Tommy opens the passenger door for you. He lets you pick the music, and you settle on some poppy ballad by the Neon Trees that he hasn’t heard in half a decade.

With the windows rolled down, you let in the pine-scented summer air while you sing the lyrics in the wrong key, and Tommy Miller falls in love with you in a whole new way.

You’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. The wind ripples through your hair, and the midday sun caresses your face and turns your soft skin golden.

But it’s not just the way you look that steals the breath from his lungs—it’s the way you kick off your shoes and prop your feet up on the dash. It’s the affectionate look in your eye when you turn away from the passing scenery to give him one of those sweet smiles. It’s the way you scoot to the center of the leather seat to be closer to him, and the familiar weight of your head resting against his shoulder.

It’s the way you trust him that chokes Tommy up. Thoroughly and without so much as an ounce of doubt. As if you’ve known each other for your entire lives and not just for the last year since you’ve moved into Joel’s spare bedroom.

The only thing anyone has entrusted Tommy Miller to do in his entire life is to fuck things up. And maybe his being here with you, resting his big hand on the inside of your thigh, is a testament to that. But it’s awfully hard to care what anyone else thinks when you wiggle your toes to the beat of the radio and press an easy kiss to the side of his broad shoulder like you’ve never been happier than to be here beside him.

You make him feel loved. Cherished. Adored.

He pulls off the highway a couple of hours into the lengthy drive. Stops at one of those gas stations that doubles as a rest area for truck drivers. There’s a car at every pump and a little mom-and-pop style diner within walking distance with a full parking lot. “You hungry?”

“Starved,” is your answer. You stand beside him while he slides Joel’s shiny black card and fills up his tank. With a nod in the direction of the diner, you ask, “Think they have decent French toast?”

Tommy nods. “Breakfast for dinner is always better at places like that. Probably have waffles with all those fancy fixin’s too.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, eyes alight. “Do you think they have banana and chocolate chip?”

He shrugs and returns the nozzle to the pump. “Only one way to find out.”

It’s exactly as he expected. Busy, but with only a low hum of chatter. There’s an old bar that houses the grumpy-looking regulars and an inoperable jukebox in the corner. Booths line the outside walls of the diner and are made of worn red leather seats and chipped, brown laminate tables. The scent of stale coffee hangs heavy in the air, and the soft melody of a nineties country song plays on the overhead speakers.

An older woman with blue eyeshadow and too much of that white diamonds perfume introduces herself and brings you to a booth in the corner of the room. She compliments you on the sequined star pattern on the back pockets of your denim shorts as she lays out two menus.

When she leaves to let the two of you decide what you’d like to eat, Tommy jokes, “Linda oughta keep her eyes to herself, starin’ at your ass like that.”

You giggle and shake your head. “What, like you don't stare?”

“Ain’t a moment we’re in the same room an’ I’m not lookin’ at you, darlin’,” Tommy answers. And he means it. Always has an eye on you, admiring the way you bend and stretch and the rise and fall of your chest with each breath. Even loves that nervous tick you have of adjusting the way your jewelry sits around your smooth neck. He says, “Such a pretty little thing,” and grins when that flush he loves so much crawls up your cheeks.

The diner doesn’t have chocolate chip and banana waffles, but Linda promises to hook you up with milk chocolate drizzle both on the inside and on the outside of your breakfast pastry. Tommy orders an all american burger with extra fries on the side because he knows you’ll want some, too.

“How do you think the consultation will go?”

Tommy can sense your nervousness. “It’ll be fine,” he promises. “Gotta treat it the same way you’d treat any of the others.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just my first one without Joel, and I don’t—I don’t want to disappoint him, I guess.” You take a slow sip of your sweet iced tea. “Is that stupid?”

The two of you have talked about everything under the sun, but you rarely have a conversation like this one. One that’s heavy, weighted, raw. You always make light of every situation, incapable of being serious around each other, and so Tommy takes your fears to heart. “Not stupid at all,” he says. “To be honest, I think my brother trusts you to make those decisions more than me.”

“Liar,” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“Nah. I mean it.” He leans back against the red leather seats. “I’ve made a lot of bad choices,” he explains. “Gotten myself in a lot of shitty situations. Joel’s pulled me out every one of ‘em my whole life, so I think there’s a part of him that will always look at me like I’m just his kid brother.”

You listen while he speaks. Really listen, as if you’re hanging onto each syllable. It makes him feel warm. “I don’t think that’s true,” you say. “There’s a reason he sent you with me instead of sending Mike or pushing the consultation out a couple of weeks until he could do it himself. Joel trusts you just as much as he trusts me.”

He’s not quite so sure. And what’s worse is that Tommy knows whatever faith his brother has in him will be blown to pieces the moment he finds out the things he’s done with you. To you.

There’s no real way to explain it, he thinks. No way to make you understand how precarious these relationships are with the people he loves most.

But Tommy doesn’t get a chance to even try before Linda returns with plates and wrapped silverware in hand.

Your eyes go wide, and you giggle happily as she sets your waffles in front of you, covered in chocolate syrup, sliced banana, and a mountain of whipped cream.

The food is delicious, just as Tommy expected. You eat happily together, trying things off each other's plates and making god awful jokes about sticky fingers and toasted buns. Tommy laughs until his side aches, even though no one else would find them half as funny.

Once, you set down your fork and fill your unused spoon with a small dollop of whipped cream. You turn it towards him and bend the mouth of the utensil back with your index finger. Tommy warns, voice filled with jubilation, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare. Linda will take you over her knee an’ teach you a lesson in table manners.”

You say, “Linda sounds like a freak, Uncle Tommy. Want me to get her number for you? I know you like ‘em like that,” and then you fling the whipped cream, aiming right for his head.

But it misses and hits the back of the leather booth beside him with a wet plop, and the sound sends you both into rambunctious laughter. Your face flushes, and you sink so far down into your seat that you have to grab the edge of the table to keep yourself balanced.

The moment is so light, filled with so much joy that it makes Tommy’s ears ring. He struggles to find composure because once his mirth begins to fade, all it takes is one look at you before it starts up again.

He’s never felt this way with anyone before. So close, it’s like you share some sort of secret language that only the two of you are capable of understanding. It’s this that he loves the most. The thing he cherishes.

Such a strange feeling it is to be understood in such an absolute way, Tommy thinks.

He’s almost done with his burger when you set your utensils down for good, pancakes half finished, destined to end up in a styrofoam box. You look up at him with a soft smile, and he feels the energy shift. “How do you want this weekend to go?”

“What do you mean?”

“With us,” you clarify shyly.

Tommy knows what you’re trying to say despite the lack of words. Knows that you see the opportunity at hand the same way he does. Just the two of you for nearly three days, all alone in a town full of people who don’t know you.

But each time he relapses, the recovery hurts just a little more than the time before. Tommy has long since given up trying to deny you. You’ve irreversibly captivated him, changing the very basis of his DNA. But he worries that eventually, there won’t be anything left of him to give.

Worries that the push and pull takes a sliver of his soul each time he loses balance. Chipping away at him slowly over time.

But when his eyes meet yours, all consequences become nothing but smoke in the air. Because Tommy wants to hold you, to wake up beside you, to have that slow morning he’s dreamt about for months now. He wants just one day of normalcy with you.

A single day where there’s no need to pretend that he doesn't love you more than an uncle should.

Except in this, he’s not so sure what you want. And for Tommy, your desires and your happiness supersede all else. They always have. “It can go however you want it to go, darlin’.”

Your mouth curves up at the corners. “We might never get a chance like this again,” you say. “I don’t want to spend it feeling guilty for what I want.”

“And what is it that you want?”

“You.”

The way you say it steals the breath from his lungs. There's no hesitation. It’s raw and real and honest. Tommy thinks he’s never met someone so open as you. Brave in a way he’s never been.

But you make him want to be.

And so he curls his calloused fingers around your jaw, leans over the table, and presses a kiss to your syrupy lips. It’s the first one you’ve shared in public. Broad daylight. There are a handful of people in the room, and not a single one of them looks in your direction.

His stomach ties in knots as your lips move against his, tasting the salt on his tongue. He can feel your smile begin to take form, and the thought crosses his mind that everyone likely just assumes you’re two people hopelessly in love. So hungry for one another that you can’t keep your hands to yourself for a single meal.

Tommy thinks they wouldn’t be far off.

He finally pulls away but lingers. Just a little. Tastes your air, breathes it in like oxygen. Savors it. Savors you. “You’re everything to me,” he says. And good fucking God, he means it down to his very bones.

Your smile widens, and your eyes turn all starry in that way he loves. You open your mouth to speak, but before you get a chance to say what’s on your mind, Linda approaches with that leather bound notepad and a pen.

She calls the two of you lovebirds as she places the check on the table.

Tommy pays with Joel’s black card, and as you leave the diner, he laces his fingers through yours. He opens the door to the passenger side of his truck for you, but doesn’t bother buckling you in because he knows you’ll just slide to the center of the cab to be nearer to him anyway.

The rest of the drive is slow. Tommy would never admit it, but he goes five under the speed limit the rest of the way to Stratford for no reason other than the warmth of your thigh beneath his fingertips and the way you kiss his cheek every few miles.

You play more of those high-spirited indie pop songs you love while the sun sets beneath the horizon, and Tommy feels like the richest man alive.

By the time you make it to town, it’s nearly midnight. He finds one of those half-decent hotels right off the interstate, and you cling to him in the air-conditioned lobby, hands wrapped around his bicep.

It makes him feel warm. Protective, even. When the receptionist behind the desk asks if you need a room with one king or two queens, you’re the one who answers. You say, “Just one for me and my husband, please.”

The air in Tommy’s lungs gets stuck. Knocked out of him as if he’d been struck dead center in his chest. He doesn’t like playing pretend with you, but this he could get used to.

You laugh when you look up at him, and he knows it’s because of that face-splitting grin of his, but he just can’t help it.

Husband.

Christ. What a fucking idea.

When the receptionist leaves the desk to grab your room key, Tommy leans in close and mutters against your ear, “You keep that shit up an’ I’ll fuck you right through that king sized mattress. Good luck explainin’ two grand worth of hotel damages to my brother.”

Your face heats, but your troublesome smirk makes its appearance, and Tommy knows right then and there that the whole thing was intentional.

He takes the key for room 314, thanks the receptionist, and grabs your bags from the back of his truck before locating the room.

It’s on the third floor, nearly at the end of the lengthy balcony. In front of room 307, there’s a rowdy group of young men—half his age, if Tommy had to guess. They’re drinking and smoking and having a good time, laughing together and passing a bong back and forth.

Which wouldn’t bother Tommy usually, except you're with him. He’s in an unknown town, and these are unknown people, and the one in a black graphic t-shirt with the sleeves cut out stares at you a little too long for Tommy’s comfort.

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you to him. You fit so perfectly there, right at his side, and it makes that delusional part of him wonder if his body was crafted with you in mind. The arch of his shoulder that you find easy shelter beneath, the dip between his ribs and hip that your curves fit against like puzzle pieces, the size of his hand that slides effortlessly into the arch at the base of your spine.

Nothing else makes sense to him. Nothing else but you.

The hotel room is far from glamorous. Exactly what he’d expected. There’s dated maroon carpet and bleached white sheets and a small television set mounted to the wall across from the bed. It’s a little too cold—the thermostat is set to a crisp sixty-two degrees and blowing icy air through the vents.

But it’s clean, and Tommy considers that a win.

Across the room, there’s a wide window. He sets your bags on the floor beside the bed as you draw back the heavy curtains.

“There’s a pool,” you say as he comes up to the window to join you.

The hotel rooms were built in a U shape, all three floors overlooking the underground pool in the center of the courtyard. It’s dark out and the lights are low, clearly closed for the evening, but the water glows just slightly in a greenish hue.

Tommy kisses the back of your neck. “Gate’s not too high,” he states, mirroring the smirk that forms on your face as you turn to face him. “You wanna go?”

“I didn’t bring a bathing suit,” you say, moving past him and towards the door. “So try not to perv too hard, Uncle Tommy.”

He chases after you, laughing a little too loudly as you try and fail to escape. The room fills with your lighthearted giggles, and he fills with love. Tommy wraps his arms around your waist and lifts your feet off the ground. “Such a brat,” he says with a shake of his head.

Tommy opens the door for you, double-checking he has the room key in his back pocket, and the two of you make your way to the courtyard.

The wrought iron gate around the pool is covered in chipping white paint, and he can smell the chlorine from outside of it. There’s a placard screwed into it that reads, NO DIVING. POOL HOURS: 9-9.

You hold tight to the metal edge of the sign as Tommy gives you a boost so you can pull yourself up.

“Careful gettin’ down,” he says as you toss one leg over the top of the iron fence. “Concrete might still be wet.”

You snort. “What, you think it’s my first day out here or something?”

No, he doesn’t. You agreed too quickly, knew just where to leverage your feet, pulled yourself over to the other side of the barrier with too much ease for Tommy to believe this is your first time hopping a fence.

Tommy follows suit, jumping up and ove. When he lowers himself to the other side, his voice is teasing as he asks, “You mean to tell me this ain’t your first time bendin’ the rules?” He clicks his tongue playfully. “You’re trouble, girl.”

“This is light work,” you say with a dismissive wave of your hand. “You want trouble? Give me a minute.”

And then you’re climbing back over the gate, this time with no help from him at all. “What in the hell are you on about now?”

You call over your shoulder before disappearing into the darkness, “Just—wait a second. I’ll be right back.”

Tommy’s left sitting on the edge of one of those cheap plastic chaise chairs that are at every hotel pool, confused and curious.

The humidity is thick, and sweat quickly forms at the back of his neck. The sound of crickets and cicadas fills the space around him, and Tommy takes a second to send a quick text to Joel. Lets him know you’ve arrived safely, and promises to call right after the consultation to tell him how it goes.

You’re not gone long. And when you haul yourself back over the pool gate, there’s a grin on your face. You kick off your shoes beside him and say, “C’mon.”

Tommy stands and follows you to the edge of the pool. You sit on the concrete lip and stick your legs into the dimly lit water, sending gentle ripples across the surface. He sits beside you, shucking off his work boots and pulling up the denim of his jeans just enough to feel the cool water against his skin.

“Need your lighter,” you say. It’s only then that Tommy sees the joint in your hand. Rolled to perfection, made with practiced fingers.

He knows you likely got it from those guys in front of room 307, and a part of him wants to reprimand you. Wants to remind you how dangerous it is for a girl like you to approach men you don’t know. Especially an entire group of them.

But you’re here, and safe, and your boldness might just be the thing he loves the most about you. Trouble, certainly, but full of life and free of regret. So he just chuckles lowly, shakes his head, and pulls the chrome Zippo out of the front pocket of his jeans.

You hand him the joint, and he lights it easily. The heady smell hits quickly, but it’s far from unpleasant. He offers it to you between pinched fingers and says, “Ladies first.”

But you just shake your head. “You know how to waterfall, Uncle Tommy?”

He hears the echo of that first conversation he ever had with you in Joel’s kitchen. He’d tried to keep his distance that day. Truly, he had一but as he poured that whiskey into your mouth, you’d just looked so fucking pretty. Tommy thinks he’d been doomed from the damn start. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he says. “I got you.”

When he presses the joint to his mouth and inhales deeply, Tommy finds he doesn’t mind the taste. A little fruity and a little peppery, but not bad. The smoke burns his lungs, but he holds it in deep.

You part your lips and lean in so close that he can taste the remnants of your cherry lip gloss. It makes him feel dizzy in the same way it had been that very first time.

He exhales the smoke into your mouth, and you breathe it in, pressing a kiss to his lips at the very end. You hum softly and say, “Mm. You taste so good.”

The corners of his mouth turn up at the compliment. It’s innocent, technically, but he thinks about the way you’d licked his release off your fingers not too long ago on the kitchen floor of his apartment, and those obscene images get stuck in his brain. “Yeah?”

You take the joint from his fingers this time when he passes it to you, holding it between your lips to take a hit. “I think about stuff like that all the time,” you tell him. “Small stuff. Not just the sex but…everything else. The way you taste. The way your hands feel on my skin. The sound of your voice.”

Tommy knows he could tell you anything and you wouldn’t judge him. Knows, too, that you’ve come to the same conclusion yourself. But this is another first. One of those conversations you’ve never had. Honest in a way you’ve never been before. He takes the joint when you pass it to him, inhaling the smoke deep into his lungs.

“It’s never felt like this with anyone,” you continue. “Never been this good. It’s like…I don’t know. I don’t have to ask you for anything because一”

“You just know,” he says, finishing your sentence. He reaches a hand up and strokes the side of your cheek. “I know what you mean, baby. S’okay. Don’t gotta try to explain it to me.” He takes another short hit and passes the joint.

“Do you really think they’d be that mad?” Your voice is timid when you ask the question. Soft and full of quiet concern. “I mean, it’s not like we’re actually…you know. Related. Or…whatever. And there has to be some part of them that knows, right?”

Tommy hates the fear that builds in your voice. Wishes he could will it all away, wishes to keep you his favorite, carefree girl forever. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “Maybe.”

Except he does know. Knows Joel will hate him for this. Knows it’ll bring tears to your mother's eyes, and it’ll prove the very thing Tommy’s denied his whole life.

He’s no good.

You take your last hit, the joint in your fingers burning to near completion. You stub the cinders out on the concrete beside your thigh, pocket the remains, and rest your head against his shoulder. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” you say.

The high slowly creeps in. A lightness takes hold of his limbs, and his brain becomes fuzzy. “Thinkin’ about something that happened when I was a kid,” he tells you. “Nothin’ important.”

“Well, I wanna know anyway.”

Tommy tries and fails to not let those four words mean too much to him. “My old man was a cop,” he begins. “Don’t know if Joel’s ever told you that or not. Real mean old bastard. Ran a tight ship, always wanted things done a specific way and by a specific time, even though he was gone most of the day and too drunk to know left from right when he was home. I did a stint in juvie when I was thirteen. Stole a bike that belonged to some kid who lived down the block. An’ when he came lookin’ for it, we got into a pretty nasty brawl. Broke his nose, gave him a concussion. Fuckin’...” Tommy scoffs. “Fuckin’ stupid, s’what it was.”

You lay your hand on his knee, palm up and open. Tommy traces the curving lines and wonders if this moment of quiet in all the ones you’ve shared of chaos was written there. Wonders if it’s fate or whatever the hell people call it. If some witchy, old lady who smells like patchouli and incense were to trace the lines in your palm, Tommy wonders if she’d see his face.

“Anyway,” he continues. “I’m sure you can imagine how embarrassing it was for my old man, a cop, to have a kid serve time. It wasn’t long, just a month, but…still. Knew he’d be pissed when I got out. Honestly thought he was gonna beat the hell out of me an’ I’d have deserved it.”

“No,” you say, a tone of finality in your voice. “Doesn’t matter what you did, Tommy. You’d never deserve something like that. You were just a kid.”

His breath stutters. Tommy’s not a father, so he knows he doesn’t exactly understand the weight of such a title. But he likes to think that he played a decent hand in raising Sarah. And she’s a thousand times better than Tommy ever was, but even if she were somehow worse, he can’t imagine ever speaking to her with even half the malice his father’s voice held.

And yet, still, in all his years, no one has ever said it so boldly. Not until now.

Until you.

Just a kid. Tommy inhales shakily.

“Yeah, well…I don’t know.” He swallows down the intensity of emotion that swells in his throat. “He didn’t end up punishing me at all. Didn’t even show up the day I got released.” Tommy shakes his head and laughs softly, but there’s no true amusement in it.

You press a kiss to his shoulder, and it grounds him. Allows him to feel the self-hatred this memory always brings without fully drowning in it.

“Joel was there, though,” he says. “Waited all day in the front office ‘til they processed me and let me out. An’ when we got home, there was a brand new bike waitin’ for me on the front porch. Found out he mowed every lawn on the block and walked every damn dog in town just to buy it. I coulda’ done the same thing, but instead I took the easy way out. An’ I think…I think that was the first time I ever let him down. I mean, really let him down.”

Tommy can still clearly recall the look on Joel’s face that day. Relieved to see his little brother released, but harrowed in a whole new way.

He sighs softly. “Whole life’s just been a series of memories like that ever since. Got…I don’t know. Bad luck. Bad blood, maybe,” Tommy explains, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’m supposed to be somethin’ a little different to you than what I am. Somethin’ better. An’ I think if my brother were to find out that the only woman I’ve ever loved is the same little girl he cares for like she’s his own?” He huffs. “I don’t think he’ll just be mad, sweetheart. I think he’ll finally see me for what I am.”

“Which is what?”

“A disappointment,” he answers with finality. He pulls at the loose thread on the pocket of his jeans. “There won’t be any comin’ back from that one.”

You grab hold of his hand. Squeeze your fingers tightly around his. The touch sends electricity skittering up to his elbow and somehow calms him at the same time. Both shock and soothe. You lift his knuckles to your mouth and press a kiss there. The sweetest, softest touch.

And then you’re standing to your feet, and Tommy watches from the ground as you pull your t-shirt over your head and drop it on the concrete beside your feet. He knows, but still asks, “What are you doin’?”

“Taking my clothes off,” you say as if it’s obvious. You unbutton your denim shorts and shimmy them down your legs, leaving you in nothing but your pretty lace bra and a pair of violet colored panties.

You make his mouth water. Even though you’re not putting on a show for him or playing your hand at seduction, Tommy can’t help but want you. You’re beautiful in a way he’s never experienced before. But it’s different now compared to those first few weeks after he’d met you. Less fiery supernova, less burn, and more like the warmth of the hearth. Beautiful like…like home. A feeling he’s never known existed before you, yet has craved all his life.

With a running start, you jump right into the cold aquamarine waters, droplets splashing him in the process. And when you crest the surface, running your hands over your hair, wiping the water from your face, it reminds Tommy of a painting Sarah had written an English paper about once called The Birth of Venus.

You look like something fucking holy.

The water ripples as you swim to him, hands on the concrete edge of the pool on either side of his hips. You push yourself up, water dripping off your smooth skin and onto his jeans. You say, “Kiss me,” and Tommy thinks it’s a request he’ll never be capable of denying.

He leans in close, lips a breath away from yours, and then you move back, pushing yourself back into the water with your feet against the pool’s cement wall. “Brat,” he mutters.

Your soft giggles echo in the night air. “Guess you’ll have to come get me,” you say, swimming to the very center of the water. You float on your back, arms extended.

When Tommy stands to his feet, his balance sways. His head is cloudy and he knows the high has taken full effect now. Everything feels slow, movements delayed, sounds syrupy in his ears. He tugs his shirt by the collar and drops it in the pile you’ve started. He discards his jeans, takes one last look at you to cement this memory in his brain, and then he dives in.

The water’s cold as it rushes up to greet him. But his body adjusts quickly, and Tommy glides easily through the water to meet you in the pool’s center. The water’s shallower here, enough so that he can stand flat-footed on the bottom and still keep his head above water.

You cling to him as if it’s instinct, wrapping your limbs around him.

When he finally kisses you, your lips taste like chlorine and sugar and you. A lethal combination.

You cradle his face in your hands. Hold him like he’s worth something. With more certainty in your voice than he’s ever heard, you say, “You’ll never disappoint me, Tommy Miller.”

And it steals the breath right from his lungs. Is damn near painful to hear. Because he doesn’t believe it. Knows good and well that eventually he’s going to do something to let you down the same way he always does, and when he catches a glimpse of that disheartened look in those starry eyes, Tommy thinks it just might break him.

But he can try, can’t he? To be everything you want him to be. To be everything you need. He wishes he had gotten himself together years ago. Wishes he were better for you now and not later. But you understand him in a way no one else ever has, and if you’ll have him just as he is, how could he ever deny himself of that?

Tommy thinks that just might be the bravest thing of all: loving him before he becomes the man you deserve.

He kisses you hard. Breathes you in like air, tasting your tongue, hoping you can feel the way he worships the ground you walk on.

When you pull away, it’s slow. Reluctant. And then you say, “Tell me another memory.”

He laughs. “M’afraid none of them are very interesting.”

“They are to me,” you explain. “They are if it’s you.”

Maybe it’s just the weed, but Tommy feels high on your saccharine words. Had never realized until now just how badly he wanted to hear them.

So, he does. Tells you all about his partner during Desert Storm named Owen. Explains that Owen was the kind of guy who could always find something good to talk about even on their worst days. “Could make the crowd at a funeral laugh,” Tommy says. “You kinda remind me of him in that way.”

You smile when he says that, eyes crinkling around the corners, and Tommy wonders if you’re aware of the impact you have on those around you. How you light up every room you enter.

He tells you Owen was a real momma’s boy, and how in Christmas of eight-seven he went all out. Came into some extra money and got her a brand new car—one of those Dodge Caravans to haul the grandkids in. Blue, just like she wanted. And Owen’s momma was grateful, of course—but he’d gotten her a poinsettia for Christmas every year since he was nine, and just so happened to forget in eighty-seven.

“Told me she was so upset about that damn poinsettia it brought her to tears,” Tommy explains with a laugh. “Said he would never forget after that.”

He smiles sadly, and Tommy thinks you know what’s coming before he explains that Owen went on a scouting mission gone bad one day and never came back to camp. Your arms around his neck embrace him just a little tighter when he says it.

“Anyway, I…I‘ve never told anyone this before. But when I got home, I went lookin’ for his momma. Found out she lived in some podunk town in Indiana. An’ I wanted to talk to her. But I just…I couldn’t bring myself to. An’ I got real nervous every time I tried, so I never did. But I sent her a poinsettia every Christmas until she passed a handful of years ago.”

You twist the curls at the nape of his neck in your fingers, and he’s not sure if your desire to be constantly touching him now is because of the weed or if it’s simply the magic of the moment. “You’re a good man,” you say.

But he shakes his head. “Nah. Anyone woulda’ done it.”

“No, I don’t think they would have.” You kiss him gently, nuzzling your nose against his. Water trickles down the side of your cheek. “Do you ever think that sometimes you’re meant to meet people? I mean, what are the chances that Owen would have you as a partner of all the men and women there? And because it was you and not someone else, his mom never went another Christmas without a poinsettia.”

Tommy’s never really put much thought into it, truly. Has never believed in things like that up until recently. “Some parts of our lives might be mapped out, sure. But you can be handed something an’ still fuck it up. It’s what you do with what you’re given that counts.”

You nod contemplatively, rolling his words over in your brain. “Yeah, I can agree with that.” The words are timid. Almost shy.

And Tommy knows there’s something you’re not saying, so he lifts your chin with his index finger and traces the outline of your pretty bottom lip with his thumb. “Tell me, sweetheart.”

“It’s kinda…I don’t know. Kinda bad,” you confess.

But he would never judge you for anything, and he thinks you know that.

So, you continue. “Do you ever think we were meant to meet each other? I mean, what if…and I know this is so—so selfish, but what if it’s not my mom and Joel who were meant to meet. What if it was us?”

It feels a little like betrayal just to consider it. Like a knife right in his brother's back. Because Tommy doesn’t think Joel has ever been as happy with a woman as he is with your mother, but he wonders if you’re right. How else would any of this make sense?

If he wasn’t meant to meet you, then why does he feel like he’s going to find you in every lifetime? After his death, when the worms eat him down to the bones, when even they turn to ash, Tommy Miller would fucking find you.

In the way he knows the comfort of his bed waits for him after a terrible day, he knows you wait for him in this place and the next.

“They love each other,” he says dismally. “And Joel deserves it. All that love she’s got for him.”

“I know, but…where am I supposed to put all of mine? If I’m not supposed to love you, then why is there so much of it?”

Tommy hates that there’s the faintest trace of pain in your eyes. Your voice remains calm, nothing but curious. A plain question. But he knows you. He can see it.

He swallows hard. There’s no answer he can give you. No way to ease your ache. But what he can give you is this. Him. Today.

So, he takes your small hand in his and presses it flat against his bare chest, right over his beating heart. “Right here, baby,” he says. “You put it right here, an’ you don’t worry about anything else. You let me carry the rest.”

You nod slowly, the tension bleeding from your shoulders. The way you trust him so easily, instinctively, warms him from the inside out. And Tommy decides right then and there that he’ll never jeopardize your faith in him.

Even if it means taking the complete fall for this, even if it means losing his brother and his niece and you in the process, he swears he’ll keep you safe. Keep you happy to the best of his ability. He presses his mouth to yours and knows the high has taken full hold of him now because the taste of you leaves his lips tingling.

Your tongue is soft against his. Slow but deliberate. Tommy can feel the love there. Wonders if his soul has always known yours.

It isn’t until you’re breathless that he hesitantly pulls away. Gives you just a little room to breathe, only for the corners of your mouth to pull up into a happy smile. “I bet I can hold a handstand longer than you can.”

Tommy laughs. “Got a few years of practice on you,” he says, swimming just far enough to put some distance between you. “Let’s see if you can keep up, youngin’.”

Your giggles are music to his ears. Sadness and fear vanished from your eyes. Tommy learns quickly that when it comes to pool games you’re a god damn cheat. Can feel the ripples of your movements as you topple out of your underwater handstand, but suspiciously, you’re still in position when he comes back to the surface.

He doesn’t think you close your eyes even once during Marco Polo, and when he tosses a handful of change from the front pocket of his jeans into the shallow end, you’re diving for the coppery coins before he’s even back in the pool.

But he lets you win every round without protest because he loves the way you demand three kisses after each game for your prize. A very specific number, and you want each one in very specific places.

After the handstands, all three of your prizes are on your face. Your forehead first, and then your cheek, and then that pretty mouth of yours. And then it’s your chest一your collar bone, your sternum, the valley between your breasts. Your torso follows. One to the curve of your left hip, one to the space between your ribs, and the other just below your navel.

Tommy catches on to the theme after your second round of Marco Polo. Knows what’s coming long before you pull yourself out of the pool and rest on the concrete edge. You lean back on your hands outstretched behind you, and say, “You pick for the first one.”

“What, like a pity reward?” Tommy teases with a snort. “Nuh-uh. Ain’t no sore loser. Tell me where you want it, sweetheart.”

The flush that crawls up your wet skin is beautiful, Tommy thinks. Painfully so. You touch the top of your thigh, lifting your legs out of the water just a little more to make it easier on him.

Tommy kisses you there, mouth hot and wanting. He tilts his head just a little, looking up at you. “Next?”

Your throat bobs as you swallow. He can see the desire steadily building in your eyes come to the surface with full force now. You spread your legs and he finds home between them, pushes them just a little wider to compensate for the width of his shoulders. You touch the inside of your thigh this time, just inches away from the edge of your panties.

When Tommy kisses you this time, it’s heavier. He goes back for seconds and thirds. Licks the water from your smooth skin and squeezes the supple flesh of your thigh between his calloused fingers. Groans against you and says, “Mm. So goddamn sweet.”

His cock has already grown hard at the taste of you. But it pulses in his boxers when you shoot him that troulesome smirk that he loves so much, and slowly slide one hand down the center of your body. “Last one,” you say. “So make it good.” And then you touch your center, directing him right where he knows you need him most.

Tommy places a hand above yours. Strokes his thumb up your slit over the top of your panties. “Here? Or…” And on the down stroke, he hooks his thumb beneath the wet fabric, right over your clit that’s slick in an entitely different way. He smiles when your breath stutters. “...here?”

“There,” you answer, spine arching the smallest bit.

For a second, Tommy thinks about denying you. Thinks you’ve deserved some teasing after the way you’d cheated him out of every well-deserved win tonight.

But he’s nothing if not greedy for you. And so he gives you exactly what you want. Tugs your panties to the side and leans in to press a soft, featherlight kiss right against your swollen clit. Your thighs part just a little wider, and Tommy sinks further into the pool to press his mouth to you even hard.

He slides his tongue through your slit and palms his cock with his free hand, moaning against your wetness. There’s nothing in the world he loves more than this, he thinks. Was fucking made to worship you.

You keep yourself propped up with one hand and thread the other through his hair, guiding him right where you want him. And Tommy is all too happy to oblige. He licks feverishly at your folds, needing it almost more than you do. His mouth waters, his saliva mixing with your arousal. He sucks your clit into his mouth and smiles at the way you shiver and shake.

He wants to slide his fingers into you. Knows he’d encounter no resistance. You’re just so fucking wet for him. But his cock is so hard it aches, beggind to be inside you, to feel you. He’d been able to keep his composure in Joel’s garage enough to not fuck you right in broad daylight, but the sun has set now and there’s no one around.

Tommy thinks he could fuck you right here. Right here, when all it would take is for some insomniac to open their hotel window to see the two of you. But he needs it. Needs you.

He pulls away, face hot and breath heavy. Says, “Got somethin’ else that wants to give you a kiss.”

You laugh, but it’s overtaken by a moan when Tommy slides his tongue inside of you. He thinks he likes the sound of that more than anything else. “Oh, God一fuck. Fuck, okay. Here? Now?”

He circles your clit with his thumb and peppers kisses up your torso. “Yeah, baby. Right now. Lean back.”

There’s no protest to be had. You do as he says with a smile on your face, and Tommy slots himself between your spread thighs. Pulls his cock just over the elastic band of his boxers, heavy and wanting, and presses his tip to your clit with your panties pulled to the side. He rocks his hips against you, cock sliding through your wet folds. You moan his name and your hands find his shoulders, seeking support that he gladly gives.

“S’alright, baby,” he promises. “M’right here. Wanna love you from the inside, too.”

He lines himself up with your entrance. Kisses you hard, and waits for the impatient rocking of your hips before he pushes into you.

You feel like ecstasy. Soft and wet and so fucking warm. He finds a fast-paced rhythm, thrusting deep. His movements are needy. Desperate. Fucking his fist to the thought of you these last few nights just hasn’t cut it.

The sound of your moans only spur him on, cock splitting you open, hammering against that soft spot inside of you that leaves your legs shaking.

But he slows, just a little, when you say, “God一please, please, I need一mmm.”

Tommy cradles your face in his big hand, holding you just below your chin. “Tell me, baby,” he mutters. “Tell me what you need an’ I’ll give it to you.”

He half expects you to tell him to slow down, to be gentle. But instead you say, “Fuck, more. Touch me more.”

It leaves him dizzy and breathless. The Earth moves slowly around him in a way that has nothing to do with the weed and everything to do with you. Well and truly addicted with no sobriety in sight.

He thrusts into you harder, hips rocking against yours. He drags his rough hands down your throat, feeling the shape of your collar bones and the way you arch your back up into his palms.

He says, “You’re so fuckin’ sexy, baby. This pussy was made for me. Made just for Uncle Tommy, hm? Say it. Tell me how much you love this dick.”

“I do, I fucking一yes, right there. I love it,” you whimper. And then, “I love you.”

If he wasn’t at your mercy before, he certainly is now.

His cock throbs inside you. Hearing it like that, all shrouded in desire and lust, nearly sends him over the edge. Tommy slides his hand beneath your panties and circles your clit, ratcheting your pleasure higher and higher. Wants to feel you fall apart for him, but knows he’s running out of time.

With the flat of his tongue, he licks the water droplets from the curve of your throat. A groan escapes from somewhere deep in his chest at the taste of chlorine and you.

“Gonna fill you up, sweetheart,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. “My favorite girl. Got no idea what you do to me. Make me feel…Christ,” he hisses, his orgasm rapidly approaching. Your warmth pulses around his cock, sucking him in deeper. But Tommy doesn’t dare stop. “Make me feel so goddamn special. Got me wantin’ to…shit. Wantin’ to be a better man. Say it again.”

And you do, without any need for clarification, the words whimpery and your voice soft. “I love you, Uncle Tommy.”

Pleasure twists down his spine, molten and heavy and intense. He paints your insides with sticky white ropes of cum, so much of it that it spills out around his cock, staining the fabric of your panties.

He keeps up the pace for as long as he can. Doesn’t pull out of you until his cock is so sensitive it hurts. And when he does, he slides two fingers into you and curls them upwards, finding that spot he loves so much. Sets the same rough, punishing rhythm. Says, “S’right there, ain’t it?”

“Yes, yes God一!” Your legs tremble around his hips. He knows you’re close, can feel your pretty pussy squeezing tight around his fingers.

“Such a dirty girl,” he mutters. “Lettin’ your uncle touch you all nasty. Right out in the fuckin’ open, too.” He clicks his tongue. Loves the way his fingers grow even slicker at his filthy words. “Filled you all full’a me. Should see the way it looks when I’m pushin’ it right back in. Mm. So god damn pretty.”

You reach for him, hand gripping his strong bicep, nails digging into his skin. “I’m so一so close一”

“Give it to me,” Tommy demands, voice low and dark. “Show me just how much you love your Uncle Tommy, baby.”

Your spine bends, and he pushes your legs wider with his free hand on the inside of your thigh. Knows you’ve reached the summit not by the way your walls twitch around his fingers or the sound of those filthy curses as they fall from your lips. Tommy knows it like some twisted sixth sense.

“There you go,” he murmurs, a satisfied mile tugging at his mouth. “Good job, sweetheart. So fuckin’ good for me.”

He fucks you through it, presses hard against that sweet spot inside of you. Doesn’t stop until every muscle in your body pulls tight and relaxes beneath his touch. And even then, he only slows the pace of his fingers. No longer thrusting them in and out of your entrance, but just massaging. Caressing. Loving.

When he does ease them out of you, they’re covered in a mixture of you both. You take his hand in yours, bring it to your mouth, and lick his fingers clean while staring right at him with those starry eyes.

It makes him hard all over again.

He grins, and you giggle with his fingers still in your mouth. “You’re fuckin’ crazy,” he says, but it’s filled with nothing but admiration. “You know that?”

“We, Uncle Tommy,” you correct. “Takes crazy to know crazy.”

It makes him laugh, but he hears the truth in your words the moment they reach his ears. He says, “At least we’re together.” An echo of that first night you shared. This moment feels somehow even more extraordinary. Untainted by shame, filled with nothing but tenderness.

Your eyes soften, and you press the palm of his hand to your delicate cheek and nod. “Yeah. At least we’re together.”

When you rise fully to your feet, you offer him your hand and help pull him out of the pool. The night air has cooled considerably, chilling him as the wind touches his wet skin.

You gather your things, but when you pull on your t-shirt Tommy notices the shiver in your shoulders and tosses you his, too. “Here,” he says.

He waits as you pull the too-large fabric over your head and pick up your shoes. You toss them over the fence into the grass, and he helps you up and over the iron railing.

Tommy goes to follow you once you’re safely on the other side, but stops when he catches a flash of the silver chain wrapped loosely around the pool gate. He snorts. “Hey, look at this.”

Your brows furrow. “What?”

He walks the short distance to the gate, wraps a hand around an iron bar, and pushes it right open without an ounce of resistance.

Tommy walks right on through with a dramatic prance and you burst into obnoxious laughter, doubling over with your hands on your knees. It’s not even that funny, but your mirth sends him into a spiral with you.

By the time you make it back to your hotel room on the third floor, Tommy’s laughing so hard there are tears in his eyes. The responsible part of him knows he should be concerned about noise complaints, but his heart feels so childish with you. Silly and fragile and good.

He sets an alarm for less than five hours from the time his head hits the pillow, but Tommy doesn’t close his eyes until long after you’ve started snoring.

Instead, he savors the way you cling to him in your sleep. Memorizes the pattern of your slow breathing and the weight of your head on his chest. Fights off the shame when it threatens to trickle in.

Tommy lets himself have this weekend. Lets himself have you.

Because he knows, when you return to Austin, he’s going to fall the fuck apart without you.

taglist; @theretrofuturista @chuutu @gabymalikk @nana90azevedo @alidiggory92 @marisemonteiroo @ivyinthesun @hollowgracie @moyavsemoya @feliciahardysgf @polkadotsocks1993 @malewifejoelmiller @mmmunson @ssssc0m @skye-44 @tateypots @joelscowgirl69 @dbs5647 @cuntyhunty22 @thaliagracesgf @whossbunny @jamespotterismydaddy @whatdoyoumeanhesnapped @rainydayathogwarts @urfavhanna @subconsciouscollapse @worhols @joyridinginzombieland @emmaaas-posts @millers-girl @strawberrytreecake @atjlovverr @magicxmiller @reidswifeyyyyyy @avaluna @joelsslutt @krystal---meth @bbhfilms @virginesquee @njdluvr @royaltyinlife

note: let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! and pls let me know what you think about part three! i love talking to you guys about the dynamic between these two. whether it's through dm's or asks, it's my fav thing ever so PLEASE HIT MY LINE lmfaooo okay love u bye <3

for visuals, @feelherlove has made a tiktok edit inspired by part three which you can watch here! it's beautiful, TRUST. everyone say thank you stephanie!!! <3

[divider by @bernardsbendystraws]

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starkeymeow · 2 months ago

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PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT rafe cameron x reader au, blood, violence, murder, manipulation, grief, hallucinations, intense survival situations, just the hunger games sobs

main masterlist | tag list | post-games idea | edit

prologue — “rafe cameron and y/n y/l/n, this year’s tributes for district two!”

reaping ceremony; district two is coming. and it’s already soaked in red.

chapter one — “i don’t plan to die.”

the train ride to the capitol; the parade; rafe and reader step into the arena of public eyes, and they already know it’s all a game.

chapter two — “if anyone was gonna die, might as well be me. someone who at least knows what they’re walking into.”

the night after the parade; reader and rafe find each other on the balcony.

chapter three — “rise and shine, sweetheart.”

the first day of training; reader and rafe show each other what they’ve got. sneak peak to district fours tributes.

chapter four — “y/n y/l/n, with a score of . . .”

the rest of training week; the private sessions loom, and every tribute sharpens themselves into weapons, including y/n.

chapter five — “i don’t think he ever really saw me. just some idea of who he wanted me to be.”

caesar’s interview, the world watching; on the final night before the arena, rafe and reader tear down their last walls and find something almost human in each other.

chapter six — “win.”

the bloodbath; steel, blood, and desperate survival, reader and rafe fight their way out, but not everyone makes it.

chapter seven — “they could’ve fucking killed her.”

the birch forest is not all what it seems. an ambush shakes the group; kie’s injured.

chapter eight — “you think it’s a trap?” “everything’s a trap.”

the group finds some new solid ground to camp on; y/n finds the roses. y/n and topper come across their first mutt of the arena.

chapter nine — “just you ‘n me for right now, huh?”

rafe and reader are alone; reader finds out about the rose thorns toxins. they share a moment before their first sponsor gift comes.

chapter ten — “you’ve got that hero edit shit going for you.”

rafe and reader reunite with kie and jj again, but it doesn’t last long.

chapter eleven — “i’m not dying for their cameras.”

the gamemakers open up a feast at dawn; devastated with the loss of kie, jj makes a sacrifice.

chapter twelve — “do you trust me?”

the final fights; glory, victory. rafe and reader make a decision that puts them down in history.

part thirteen — “make it worth it.”

reader wakes up from weeks of being in a coma; enobaria gives y/n a talk. y/n sees rafe for the first time in weeks and someone she never expected to see so soon.

part fourteen — “i don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

collection of imagines: rafe and reader move into victors village. y/n’s mom visits. snow proposes that rafe and y/n move into the same house together. reader has a nightmare.

part fifteen — “she’s good. the kind of good that makes you want to be better. even when you’re sure you can’t be.”

caesar’s interview with panem’s new victors; rafe and reader get closer.

part sixteen — “you’re owned, my dear.”

the victory tour commences; rafe and reader join together in the capitol for a victory ball to wrap up the tour. y/n finds something shocking about her victory.

part seventeen — “snow’s gonna kill me.”

collection: aftermath of reader refusing being sold. reader finds out rafe has to take her place, but while out one night, rafe comes back home to reveal he finally broke.

part eighteen — “we’re in the same boat now. might as well get used to each other.”

rafe and reader meet 18-year-old finnick odair the following year. headcanons and ideas of their dynamics and how post-quell plays out.

part nineteen — “i wanna be more than that.”

rafe confesses his love to reader who’s avoidant; reader lets rafe touch their back for the first time since the implants.

part twenty — “may we meet again.”

the 74th hunger games commences. rafe and reader must mentor cato and clove; y/n is devastated to find the victors are falling into the same footsteps as her and rafe.

chapter twenty-one — “even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the capitol.”

catchup of post-74th; president snow announces the quarter quell three months before the reaping.

chapter twenty-two — “i volunteer as tribute.”

enobaria has to decide whether to stand for or stand down when it comes to who will be reaped into the games; rafe volunteers.

chapter twenty-three — “you’re different than i thought you’d be.”

haymitch finds you and rafe on the train ride to the capitol about the rebel plan; you meet katniss before the tribute parade that night.

chapter twenty-four — “anyone can swing an axe, but not everyone knows how to make one from twigs and wire.”

day one of training; you spar with johanna. everyone gets to see katniss work her magic up-close.

chapter twenty-five — “if it means she gets out of this alive, i’ll let her charm every last person in this damn place.”

days two and three of training; you find a new ally in peeta mellark.

chapter twenty-six — “she’s the only thing left i believe in anymore.”

rafe and reader help to try to take down the quarter quell at caesar flickerman’s interviews; they spend time together for the rest of the night.

chapter twenty-seven — “i promise you that the next time you see me, the world is gonna be different.”

the quarter quell has begun.

coming soon.

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pitlanepeach · 28 days ago

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The Long Way Home I Chapter Five

Oscar Piastri x Harper Grace (OFC)

Summary — When Harper, a kind girl with a guarded heart, meets rising karting star Oscar Piastri at their English boarding school, sparks fly.

It only takes one silly moment of teenaged love for their lives to change forever.

Warnings — Teenage love, growing up together, falling in love, teen pregnancy, no explicit scenes when the characters are underaged (obviously??), strong language, manipulative parents, past death of a parent, dyscalculia, hardly any angst, slice-of-life basically!

Notes — I listened to Never Be (5sos) exclusively while writing this chapter. Make of that what you will.

Wattpad Link | Series Masterlist

They sat in one of the smaller meeting rooms off the admin hallway. Too clean. Too bright. Harper sat stiffly on one side of the table, Oscar next to her, foot bouncing under the chair. Chris sat across from them with his hands folded in front of him.

Harper thought Chris looked like Oscar — or, she supposed, Oscar looked Chris.

Chris was just older. Somehow calmer than her stony faced, rarely phased boyfriend.

Although that wasn't hard right now — she wasn't sure Oscar had been calm since she barged into the boys dorms four days ago, all wide-eyed and panicked.

Chris cleared his throat gently. "Okay. First things first—you're both fine. No one's angry at you. We're not going to panic. We're just going to figure this out."

Harper nodded once. Her hands were fisted around her skirt and her shoes tapped against the floor with every nervous motion.

Chris looked between them. "That said, I'm going to ask you both some questions that might feel a little uncomfortable, but they're important. Okay?"

Oscar groaned softly. "Dad..."

Chris gave him a dry look. "You don't get to be squeamish now, mate."

Harper actually let out a breath of a laugh, but it sounded more like a cough.

Chris turned to her gently. "Harper. Have you seen a doctor, or just taken the pregnancy tests?"

"Just the tests," she told him. "I—uh, I don't have a GP here. My mum takes me to doctors all over the country. Private clinics. Some in London, some in Geneva. It just... depends where she is."

Chris nodded slowly, absorbing that. "Okay. That's fine. We can sort that out. But you do need to be seen by someone soon — someone consistent. I'll speak to your mum, just to make sure you're healthy and everything's progressing safely—"

Harper's head snapped up.

"You'll speak to my mum?" Her voice was sharp, incredulous. Her eyes were wide now, panic blooming behind them. "No. No, no, no. You can't speak to my mum. She'll lose it. She'll be even angrier if I let someone else tell her."

Oscar shifted beside her, already on edge. "Dad—"

Chris held up a hand, not unkindly. "Alright. I hear you, Harper. I do. I'm not going to call her out of the blue."

"She'll think I'm doing it to humiliate her," Harper went on, fast now, tripping over her own words. "Like I'm trying to ruin her reputation or something. She'll go nuclear. She always does when she doesn't feel in control. And this—" she gestured vaguely to her stomach, her voice cracking, "this is like her worst nightmare."

Chris watched her for a long moment. Then he leaned forward, elbows on the table.

"Okay," he said gently. "Then we make a plan. You'll be the one to tell her. In your own words. On your terms. But we can't avoid this, Harper. She's your mother. She's part of this, even if it's hard."

Harper nodded, small and quick, but her hands were shaking now.

Oscar slid his hand over hers under the table, gave it a quick squeeze. She didn't look at him, but she didn't pull away either.

Chris remained calm, his tone steady. "I also need to ask—are either of you, um, involved with anyone else? Right now or before? I don't need names or details. It's just about making sure you're both medically okay."

Harper flushed red, heat creeping from her collar to her cheeks. "No," she mumbled. "Only ever Oscar."

"Only ever Harper," Oscar echoed, a beat late and way too loud.

Chris gave a small nod. "Okay. That's good to know. But we'll still need to get you both checked out. Full screenings, just to be safe."

"My mum's going to want us to see someone on her books," Harper said under her breath, eyes flicking away. "For... confidentiality reasons."

Chris blinked. "Confidentiality?"

"She—she's kind of a big deal," Harper admitted. "She founded La Ruche. It's a fashion label."

Chris's eyebrows rose, just slightly.

"And my dad was... J.J. Whiatt."

Chris leaned back, exhaled slow. "Jesus. That complicates things."

Harper's bottom lip wobbled. "I'm sorry."

Oscar shifted, dragging Harper's chair closer to his, one arm sliding protectively around her shoulders. He whispered something just for her — soft and steady — and she nodded, breathing a little slower.

Chris sat forward again. "Look, I don't want to overwhelm you. I know this is scary. But you need to tell your mum, Harper. Nothing can happen here until she knows, and things need to start happening." He stared at them for a beat. "I'll give you until tomorrow morning. If you haven't told her by then, I'll do it myself. Okay?"

There was a pause.

Then Harper whispered, "Okay."

Chris gave her a gentle smile. "Thank you. You're part of this family now, Harper. Our family. That means than I'm going to look out for you, same as we do for him."

Oscar looked up, throat tight. "Dad?"

Chris met his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Oscar said. "Neither of us meant for any of this to happen."

Chris nodded. "I know. But it did. And now we handle it — like adults."

Oscar didn't respond right away. Then he reached across the table and hooked his pinky around Harper's. Held it tight.

Chris noticed. Didn't say a word. Just flipped open his notebook.

"Okay," he said. "Let's make a to-do list."

—

They sat outside Oscar's dorm window, backs against the brick wall, knees bumped together. It was stupid cold, but neither of them cared. Harper was wearing his blazer — it was two sizes too big on her and covered her skirt and made it took like she wasn't wearing anything underneath it.

She was quiet. Had been for a while.

Oscar kicked a loose stone. "You okay?"

Harper shrugged, but it wasn't a real answer. Her arms were wrapped around her knees.

After another minute, she muttered, "My mum wasn't always like she is now, you know."

Oscar looked over. She wasn't looking at him.

"She used to laugh at my jokes. Braid my hair for ballet. We used to bake Christmas biscuits together and she'd make my birthday cake every year from scratch."

He didn't say anything, just listened.

"When I was nine," she said, voice weirdly flat. "Me and my dad went on a ski trip. He thought it'd be a good bonding experience — just the two of us."

Oscar turned his full body toward her, heart sinking. Something about the way she said it made his stomach twist.

"There was a helicopter," she said. "We were flying off the mountain. There was a storm. It wasn't — nobody expected it. And we went down."

Oscar stared at her. "Wait, what?"

She nodded. "I don't remember us actually going down. I just remember waking up. I was so cold. I couldn't feel my legs. My back hurt. And my arm was... all messed up." She looked down at her hands. "Everyone died. The pilot, his co-pilot, and my dad. But I just... didn't."

"Jesus," Oscar whispered.

Harper gave a weak little smile. "Yeah."

He didn't know what to say. He didn't have the right words for helicopter crashes or dead dads. So he just sat there, panicking quietly.

She didn't seem to expect anything, though. "I've got some scars," she said. "On my back. From the crash. I usually hide them." She smiled at him, a bit wry. "I guess I got good at it."

Oscar frowned and shifted closer to her. "Wait, like... real scars?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, fake ones."

He blushed, and she sighed. Then, carefully, she tugged the back of his blazer and her white shirt up. Just enough to show him. A couple of pale, rough-edged marks trailed across her lower back, like lightning marks carved deeply into her skin.

Oscar's heart thudded at the sight of them. His throat thickened. "Shit," he said, because what else was there?

She pulled her shirt back down quickly and looked away. "It's gross. Whatever."

"No," he said fast. "No, it's not. It's not gross, it's... I dunno." He raised his hand to touch her and then dropped it again with a flush in his cheeks. "Sorry. I just — I can't believe I never noticed."

That made her snort, just a little. "It's fine. My mum didn't even visit me until three days afterwards," Harper said with a shrug. "When she did, she acted more like she was visiting some stranger in hospital than her daughter. I was crying in pain and she that I needed to suck it up because I should've just been grateful to be alive. And then she said that my crying was making people uncomfortable."

Oscar clenched his jaw. "She sucks."

Harper smiled at that, but it was a sad kind of smile. "She started treating me different after that," she said. "Like I'd made her life harder by surviving."

Oscar reached out and bumped her knee with his. "You didn't."

She sniffed. "Feels like I did."

"I can't believe you survived a helicopter crash," Oscar said after a bit, eyes still on the horizon. "You might be the luckiest person I know."

She gave him a look. "Osc. I'm pregnant. At fifteen."

He grinned faintly. "Okay, yeah. But still."

Harper choked on a laugh. "Right. Thanks," she mumbled.

"For what?"

"For not saying something stupid."

Oscar shrugged. "Just wish I could make it all better for you."

"Yeah," she mumbled. "Me too."

—

Oscar slipped out of the library after study-hour and ducked behind the music building, phone pressed tight to his ear. He already knew what was coming. His dad had warned him. Still, nothing prepared him for the moment her voice broke through.

"Oscar."

It was sharp. Cracked down the middle. He flinched.

"Mum—"

"I trusted you." Her voice rose — not angry, exactly. More stunned. Wounded. "I trusted you to go to England and be smart. To focus. To take this opportunity seriously."

"I am taking it seriously."

"Clearly not seriously enough if you're knocking up boarding school girls in your dorm—"

"Mum." He winced. Cut her off. "Please don't talk about Harper like that."

There was a pause. A huff. Not quite crying. Not yet. "I'm not talking about her. I'm talking about you. My son. The one I thought had more sense than this."

Oscar pressed a hand to his forehead. The wall behind him was cool against his back. "I didn't mean for this to happen." He felt like a broken record. "Neither of us did."

"No one ever means for it to happen." Her voice was tight, clipped. "And now what? What do you think happens now, Osc? A fairy-tale ending?"

"No." He was quiet a second. "No. I think we just have to deal with it."

Another pause. When she spoke again, her voice was smaller. "I feel like I don't even know you right now."

That one hurt more than anything else. He stared out across the courtyard, eyes stinging. "I'm still me, Mum."

"Are you?" she snapped. Then softer, more pained. "God. You're still a baby yourself. You're fifteen."

"I know."

"You're fifteen, Oscar. And I've seen fifteen. I was fifteen. When I was your age all I cared about was Billy Joel and which shop would sell me my next pack of cigarettes."

He breathed through his nose. "I know."

Nicole didn't answer for a long time.

When she did, it was quiet. Flat. "Your father's there now?"

"Yeah."

"So, what's the plan, Oscar?" She asked on a sigh. "Are you going to raise a child together at boarding school? Split custody between the boys and girls dorms?"

"We haven't even decided anything yet."

"God," she muttered. "Oscar, I just—" Her voice cracked. "I wanted so much more for you."

He swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"Jesus," she breathed. "Okay. Okay. I need to... I'll call you later. I'm not—I'm not in a good place to say anything else right now."

"Okay." He hesitated. "Mum?"

"What?"

"I really am sorry."

Silence.

Then, "I know, Osc. I know."

She hung up.

Oscar leaned his head against the wall, the guilt crawling under his skin like it belonged there.

He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and stared at the astroturf where the year eights were playing tackle rugby.

And he sat there until the next bell rung.

—

Harper sat on the cold stone steps just below the landing outside the girls dorm — the one spot on campus where phone reception was always strongest. Her knees were pulled to her chest, Oscar's racing hoodie baggy and warm on top of her school uniform. She'd been staring at her phone for ten minutes.

The screen glowed.

Mummy (Victoria)

She tapped the call icon before she could think too hard.

It rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times—

"Harper?" Victoria Whiatt's voice was sharp, brisk. "It's a school night. Why are you calling?"

Harper's voice caught in her throat. She tried to swallow it back down. "I — Hi, Mum," she whispered. "Can you... would you be able to come to Haileybury, please?"

Silence.

"It's just that... I need you," she said, the words tumbling out. "Please. Mum—Mummy, please." She closed her eyes tightly, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I need you to come. I'm scared and I don't know what to do."

"Harper," her mother said, voice clipped with impatience. "What's going on? Have you done something wrong? Are you in trouble? God, do I need to call my lawyers?"

Harper pressed the heel of her palm to her eye. She didn't want to say it like this. She'd planned to be calm. Clear. Strong. But now her whole body was shaking and she was begging her mother — calling her mummy out-loud for the first time since she was eight — and it had all turned into a big mess.

"I'm pregnant," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen. But I need help. I don't know what to do, and I'm scared, and—"

"You're what?" Victoria's voice was suddenly thin. "God. Jesus fucking Christ. Harper Grace — tell me you're joking."

Harper's breath hitched. "I'm not. I just—Mum, please. Please come. I need my mum. I need you."

The silence was suffocating.

When her mother finally spoke, her voice was tight. Controlled. "How far along?"

"I don't know. A few weeks. The test said three plus. I need to see a doctor but—"

Her mother cut her off with a low curse. "Christ. You're fifteen. Fifteen, Harper. You're still a child!"

"I know," Harper said, her voice breaking. "And I promise that I didn't mean for this to happen. But it has and I know that I'm stupid and an idiot and all of the other horrible things you want to call me right now — but I'm scared and alone and I need you to help me, mum."

Her mother didn't respond right away. Harper could hear something rustling — maybe papers, or her mother's laptop.

"Mum?" She whispered.

"I'm in Milan," Victoria said stiffly. "I have a show tomorrow."

"I don't care about your show." Harper's voice rose, desperate. "Please. Please just come."

A long pause.

"I'll be on a flight tonight."

Harper let out a tiny breath, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Is it his? The kart boy? Is it his baby?" She asked.

Harper nodded. "Yeah. Yes. I — Yeah. It's his baby."

"Right then. I'll be there at seven a.m. tomorrow morning." Was all her mother said. And then she ended the call.

Harper curled tighter into the stairwell wall, phone still clutched in her hand.

And then the crying started — not the quiet, clenched kind she'd perfected over the years.

But loud, messy sobs that racked her chest and made her shoulders shake.

Jane found her less than a minute later.

She didn't ask questions. Just dropped to the step beside her, wrapped both arms around her like she could hold her together, and pressed her cheek to Harper's hair.

Harper sobbed into her shirt.

Five minutes later, Oscar rounded the corner in his uniform — blazer unbuttoned, tie crooked. He paused mid-step when he saw them. Just froze.

His breath caught.

Harper, curled in on herself like something broken. Jane holding her. The echo of her crying bouncing up the stone walls.

Oscar's stomach dropped.

"Shit," he whispered, voice barely audible.

Then he moved.

He jogged the last few steps, dropping to his knees on Harper's other side. His bag hit the floor with a dull thud.

"Hey, hey," he said gently, reaching for her, brushing her hair back. "I'm here."

Harper turned blindly into his chest without thinking, her sobs still shuddering through her.

Jane shifted, giving him space, her face tight with worry.

Oscar pulled Harper into his arms, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other steady at her spine. He didn't ask what happened. He didn't have to.

He just held her tighter.

"Love you," he whispered, barely more than a breath.

"Love you too." She hiccuped.

—

The classroom was cold despite the sunlight cutting across the desks in crooked lines. Harper sat with her arms folded over her notebook, pen resting in the crease of the spine. She wasn't writing. Just breathing.

Her eyes were still red and swollen.

Oscar slid into the seat beside her, spinning his pencil once before leaning close.

"You good?" He murmured.

She didn't look at him. "Not really."

He was quiet for a second, then said, in a low, overly serious voice, "The eagle is landing near the river tonight. Nest secured. Feathers ruffled, but holding."

Harper blinked at him. "What?"

"It's code," he said, a bit flustered. "My dad. Staying at the hotel near the river. He's had the heads up that he'll be meeting the Mothership tomorrow."

She winced. "Please don't call my mother that."

"Operation Parental Peace Summit is a go. He said he'll be there when she arrives. You, me, him, Queen Doom herself — roundtable discussions. Treaties. Diplomacy."

She gave a faint, exhausted laugh. "You're so ridiculous. I don't know what you're saying, Oscar."

"Code is effective," he whispered. Then he smiled at her, all teeth — and she realised that he was just messing around. Trying to make her smile.

It'd worked.

Harper hesitated, staring at the lined page in front of her. "I think..." she started. "I think the idea of not keeping — it — makes me feel worse than I thought it would."

Oscar's expression softened immediately, his eyebrows coming together. "Okay." He said quietly.

She kept her voice low. "I'm not saying I've decided. Just — I get this tight feeling in my chest when I imagine... not going through with it."

Oscar nodded slowly. "Okay."

Before either of them could say more, the teacher turned from the whiteboard.

"Mr. Piastri. Miss Whiatt. Something to share with the class?"

Oscar straightened, fake smile already in place. "Just discussing international conflict resolution, sir."

"Save it for Model UN." The teacher glared at them.

Harper hid a smile, ducking behind her hair. The teacher turned back to the board.

Oscar passed her a note under the desk.

I'm on your side whatever you decide.

Harper traced the edge of the paper with her thumb.

—

The next morning, Harper waited just outside the school reception, blazer buttoned unevenly and hands fidgeting with the hem of her pleated skirt. The courtyard was grey and thick was early morning mist, the kind that clung to skin and made her hair frizz no matter what she did to try and stop it.

She'd been up since five. Couldn't sleep. Could barely even manage the breakfast bar that Jane had shoved at her. She'd brushed her teeth twice and still felt sick.

Her fingers trembled as the black town car pulled up — sleek and silent.

The suit-clad driver stepped out and opened the back door.

Victoria Whiatt emerged like she was stepping onto a runway. Designer coat, dark glasses even in the morning haze, heels clicking across the old stone. She didn't look like she'd spent the night on a plane. She looked like she was ready for a press release.

Harper stood up straighter without meaning to.

Her mother's eyes scanned her. Once. Head to toe. "You look haggard."

"Hi, Mum," Harper said quietly.

Victoria took off her sunglasses slowly. "Is that really what they make you wear here? I don't remember it being so — juvenile."

Harper blinked.

"Your skirt is creased. And the buttons on that blazer — God, Harper, how hard is it to dress yourself like a normal, respectable person?"

"I—I didn't sleep much." She managed.

"I should think not." There was a long pause. Victoria looked around at the school buildings like they were beneath her. Then her eyes snapped back to Harper. "So." Her voice was sharp. "Where is he?"

Harper's fingers clenched around the strap of her bag. "He's with his dad. They're—waiting for us to go to meet them at the hotel he's staying at."

Another pause.

"I don't want a performance out of you," Victoria said coolly. "I don't want tears or sentiment. I want honesty. I want facts. And I want to know how you could possibly be this irresponsible!"

Harper flinched. But she nodded. "Yes, Mum."

"Fix your blazer," Victoria muttered, already turning away. "And get in the car. Which hotel?"

"The nice one. The one you stayed at when I first moved here," Harper said, forcing her voice to stay even.

Victoria exhaled slowly. "Of course. The one with the mediocre wine list and the doorman who talks too much."

She opened the passenger door with a perfectly manicured hand. Harper moved around to the other side, heart pounding against her ribs.

They sat in silence for a moment as the driver pulled away from the school gates.

"So, they've got money then?" Victoria asked, eyes still on the road ahead. Her voice was light, sharp as a needle. "That's nice. I'm sure it'll make this a lot easier."

Harper turned her head slowly, looked at her mother. The way her profile was all angles and detachment, like she was discussing stocks or seating charts — not the life growing inside her daughter.

"I want to keep the baby," Harper said.

The words landed like a brick dropped into a still pond. The ripple of them filled the car.

Victoria blinked.

Then blinked again.

Her head turned, slow and deliberate, until her eyes locked with Harper's. "What did you just say?"

Harper held her gaze. "I said I want to keep it. The baby."

Victoria stared at her like she was speaking another language. "You're fifteen."

"I know."

"You're going to ruin your life."

Harper's throat tightened, but she didn't look away. "Like I ruined yours?"

Victoria's lips parted, then closed. She looked out the window again, something flickering behind her eyes. "This isn't a dog, Harper," she said finally, voice thin and brittle. "You don't just get to decide that you’re going to keep it. You're still a child — you're not old enough to make that decision. God, imagine it, Harper Grace. Imagine what people would say? Your father's name—"

Harper swallowed, hard. "Dad would've understood. He would've hugged me. Told me he loved me. He might've been disappointed — but he wouldn't have treated me like you are right now."

Victoria's jaw tensed. Her fingers curled against her lap, white-knuckled. "You don't get to invoke him," she said, low and venomous. "Not when you've made a circus out of everything he built for you."

Tears burned the corners of Harper's eyes, but she didn't let them fall. "I'm not trying to hurt you, mum," she whispered. "I'm just trying to do what feels right in my gut. For me. For Oscar. His dad—"

"Oh, wonderful," Victoria snapped. "The 'pit crew' is standing by." She made physical quotations around the words.

Harper flinched again. Looked down at her hands. "Please, Mum. Please don't shut me down like that. I'm scared, alright? I know that this was my fault, mine and Oscar's. But we've talked, okay? We've talked about it, about keeping it or not. And we — we both agree that it feels right to keep it."

Victoria was silent.

Then she sighed, the long, tired kind that Harper remembered from fittings and fundraisers and end-of-term reports that were anything but a 99 or above.

"I'm not shutting you down. I'm here, aren't I?" She bit out. "God knows why I even bothered. We could've done this over the phone."

Harper knew that was the closest thing to an "I love you" that she was going to get.

NEXT CHAPTER

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ggukivrse · 2 months ago

Text

THE ART OF PRETENDING - JJK | 01

summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend.

but somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings, you start to wonder if letting go was ever the right choice at all.

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre/warnings: exes to lovers, fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, angst, fluff, (eventual) explicit sexual content, swearing, ft. seokjin, namjoon, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, yoongi + four female ocs

word count: 4.9k

notes: the first chapter is here!!! i ended up cutting this into two parts so everything that’s going to be in chapter two was originally planned to be in this chapter loll. tysm to my bae @page-isa for beta reading and putting up with me :> as always, feedback, likes, comments, reblogs and asks are so so appreciated, like i love yapping on here loll. enjoy reading my angels <3

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⤷ chapter one — the way things go

and there’s too much on my mind that i don’t even want to try / guess it’s not far from the ordinary, they do say love is blind

The road stretches out ahead, long and quiet, humming under the tires. You lean into the car door, forehead pressed against the glass, fingers mindlessly tugging at the threads on the hem of your shorts.

Summer air seeps through the half-cracked open window, warm and heavy with the scent of trees and sun-baked asphalt.

You should be excited. Everyone else is.

A full week away — just your group, no classes, no work shifts, no group projects hanging over anyone’s head for the first time in four years. A final trip before the “real world” starts to pull everyone in different directions.

But your stomach’s been tight since the moment you packed your bag. And now, with every mile you put between yourself and home, it just gets worse.

“You’re really quiet,” Kiara says, glancing at you from the driver’s seat. She’s got one hand on the wheel, the other flipping the volume knob down on the music. “Like... unusually quiet. Do I need to be concerned?”

You shake your head without looking at her. “Nah. Just tired.”

Kiara makes a sound like she doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t press, and you're grateful for it.

You glance over at her. She’s in an oversized T-shirt, dark brown hair falling in curls past her shoulders, sunglasses balanced on top of her head instead of over her eyes.

“I thought you’d be in full DJ mode by now,” you say, nodding toward her phone. “Where’s the summer playlist?”

She smirks. “I’m easing you into it. Jimin says my music tastes give him whiplash.”

“He has a point.”

She scoffs. “Please. Hoseok says my music’s amazing.”

“He says that about everything you do," you say with a smile.

She shrugs, casual. “He’s not wrong.”

It’s adorable how hopelessly smitten they are. Even after a year together, Hoseok still looks at Kiara like she hung the stars.

You remember when they finally got together, after years of dancing around it. Everyone in the friend group had seen it coming — everyone except them.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Kiara laughs, and you can’t help but join in. For a second, the knot in your chest loosens. Just a little.

"Speaking of Hoseok," you start, glancing over at her. “How come he's not coming with you?”

She sighs. “Shift at work. He tried to switch but his manager’s being a dick. He’ll drive up tomorrow morning.”

You nod. “That sucks.”

She hums in agreement, but you’re already half-lost in your thoughts.

As much as you feel bad for Hoseok, you're quietly grateful Kiara asked you to come with her. The idea of doing this drive alone — just you, a quiet car, and way too much time to sit with everything you haven’t let yourself feel — would’ve made the weight in your chest unbearable.

She hasn’t said much, but she’s always had good timing. Maybe she didn’t even realise how much you needed the company. Or maybe she did.

“Lucky me, I got upgraded,” you say lightly.

She grins. “Damn right you did.”

The playlist switches songs, something soft and nostalgic. You stare out the window again, at the lazy sway of trees and the occasional flicker of a passing car.

“I can’t believe we actually pulled this trip off,” Kiara says, after a beat. “Twelve people committing to anything at the same time? Miracle.”

You nod. “Taehyung’s been talking about it since first year.”

“Yeah, and threatening to disown us if anyone bailed.”

You huff out a small laugh.

Back when this trip was just an idea tossed around during late-night study sessions and half-finished group projects, you'd been genuinely excited — borderline giddy, even. The promise of a full week at a fancy resort with your closest friends had felt like the perfect reward after years of deadlines, breakdowns, and pulling all-nighters on cheap coffee and instant noodles.

It was one of those plans that didn’t feel real at first — the kind of thing you talk about just to survive the semester — but then slowly, it started taking shape. Rooms were booked. Deposits paid. Group chats flooded with outfit ideas and packing lists.

You remember counting down the months, then the weeks. You’d imagined bonfires and inside jokes, sunsets by the water, slow mornings in a warm bed.

Back then, this trip had felt like the light at the end of a very long tunnel. Something to look forward to. Something certain.

Now, you can barely keep the dread from crawling up your throat.

“You sure you’re good?” Kiara asks again, gentler this time.

You blink, pulled back to the present. “Yeah. Just... a lot on my mind.”

Again, she doesn’t push. Just gives you a side glance and says, “Well, don’t overthink it. We’ve got a whole week of sun, overpriced cocktails, and probably at least one group fight. You’ll be fine.”

You offer a small smile. “Yeah, you're right. I’ll be fine.”

But your stomach’s still a mess, and the name you’ve been avoiding thinking about drags itself right back to the front of your mind.

Jungkook.

You haven’t seen him in a month.

Not since it ended.

And in about an hour, you’re going to be standing under the same roof as him — spending an entire week in the same space, breathing the same air, pretending it doesn’t feel like your insides are still bruised from the last time you spoke.

A small, irrational part of you hopes he won’t show. That something will come up. That he’ll decide it’s not worth it.

But you know him. He’ll be there.

Of course he will.

Kiara says something — probably teasing, probably meant to distract you — and you laugh on instinct. Keep the smile on your face, even as dread pools low in your gut.

This was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime.

You glance out the window again, the road narrowing in the distance.

Now, a part of you can't stop looking for the nearest exit.

You and Kiara are the first ones to arrive.

She pulls into the sandy lot just off the coastal road, the tires crunching softly over sunbaked gravel before the car settles into park. The air smells like salt and sunscreen, and the soft hiss of waves reaches you even before you open the door.

You step out slowly, blinking against the late afternoon sun. It’s warm but breezy, the kind of weather that clings just right to your skin.

The place looks exactly like the photos Namjoon sent in the group chat months ago — quiet, tropical, and beautiful.

Curved thatched-roof villas nestle into thick palm trees, wrapped around a smooth wooden deck that opens to a private pool. Soft lights glow under the railings, giving the whole place a warm, cosy feel. White umbrellas shade loungers facing the ocean, just a few steps off the deck and onto clean, untouched sand.

Seokjin had pulled a few strings to make it happen — his aunt owns the place, a family-run beachside resort tucked just far enough from the touristy areas that it still feels private. He managed to get the whole property reserved just for the twelve of you for the week. No strangers. No noise from other guests. Just your group, the ocean, and time that doesn’t need filling.

It's quiet. Calm.

You breathe in, hoping the calm will seep into you too. It doesn’t.

Kiara rounds the back of the car and stretches with a loud groan, sunglasses pushed up into her hair. “This is so cute,” she says, scanning the view. “God, I’m so glad we actually made it.”

You nod, eyes skimming the road. She leans against the car beside you, and for a while, neither of you say much.

The parking lot doesn’t stay quiet for long.

Taehyung and Yasmine roll in first, their white SUV kicking up dust as it slides into the spot next to Kiara’s. The engine barely cuts before Taehyung pushes open the door and steps out.

You’re already walking over but he gets to you first, greeting you with a wide boxy smile and outstretched arms. You let him pull you into a warm hug that's just dramatic enough to be on-brand.

Yasmine climbs out slower, adjusting her sunglasses with one hand while tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She beams at you, dimples on display.

"God, I haven't seen you in forever," Taehyung sighs as he steps back. "Thought I'd catch you at Ari's birthday but you weren't there."

"I've just been busy."

It's not quite a lie, but not the complete truth either.

"Quite being such a workaholic, yeah? You have all the time to do that once summer ends

Yasmine laughs softly under her breath. “You cannot be talking right now, babe."

You snort as he playfully rolls his eyes.

Yasmine steps forward and pulls you into a hug of her own — tighter, less showy than Taehyung’s, but no less sincere. “We did miss you though. Go MIA on us again and we will track you down,” she says simply.

“I missed you guys too,” you murmur. The smile on your face has started to hurt your cheeks, but you can't stop grinning. It's been too long since you've genuinely felt so content, and the trip hasn't even properly started yet.

A familiar hatchback glides into the lot just as Yasmine and Taehyung pull Kiara into matching hugs, loud and overlapping. You squint into the sunlight, shielding your eyes until you catch the unmistakable sight of Ari behind the wheel — one arm slung casually over the open window.

The sun glints off the gold hoops in her ears, the fine chain around her neck, the chipped red polish on her fingers tapping the side of the door. She parks smoothly with one hand, and a wide smile curls across her features the moment she spots you.

Namjoon climbs out of the passenger seat with a long, slow stretch, like he’s waking up from a nap.

“Finally,” you call out, grinning, arms already out.

Ari steps out and shuts the door with her hip. “Bro, we passed the same creepy fruit stand three times. I was ready to fight the GPS.”

She strides over, pulls you into a hug that’s tight and real. She smells like grapefruit body spray and road trip exhaustion. “God, you’re alive,” she mutters into your shoulder. “I was convinced you bailed.”

You laugh. “I thought you would. You hate driving longer than thirty minutes.”

“Don’t remind me. Namjoon promised vibes and delivered car sickness.”

“I heard that,” Namjoon says, pulling you into a side hug of his own. He’s warm and solid, and his smile is small but real. “Still made it before sunset. That’s what counts.”

“Barely,” you mutter. “Kiara drove.”

“I heard that,” Kiara calls from behind the SUV, dragging her bag out with one hand and an iced tea in the other. “And we didn’t even get lost.”

You’re about to fire back a reply when the loud, familiar hum of a motorbike engine reaches your ears.

The sound hits like muscle memory — instant recognition, not even a second of doubt.

You don’t turn. You don’t have to.

And still, your body goes tense. You keep your gaze low, focused on the faded scuff mark near the toe of your shoe, but your ears are tuned in with brutal clarity.

The engine cuts.

Then boots hit dirt.

“Hey,” a voice calls out — easy, warm, annoyingly smooth. “Sorry I’m late.”

You finally look up.

Jungkook pulls off his helmet, a lazy sort of grin spreading across his face as he scans the group. His hair’s slightly flattened from the helmet, but it somehow works — messy, effortless, and still irritatingly pretty. He adjusts his shirt with one hand, and the fabric clings to the lines of his chest like it has a personal vendetta against your peace of mind.

He looks… fine.

Normal.

Like nothing’s weird. Like there’s no history. Like he didn’t once hold your heart like it was breakable and then drop it like he didn’t even notice.

“Look who’s finally here,” Namjoon calls, smiling like Jungkook isn’t at all late. “Took you long enough.”

“My bad,” Jungkook says, laughing a little as he walks toward the group. “GPS had me driving everywhere but the correct place.”

He makes the rounds casually — daps up Taehyung, hugs Yasmine and Ari in turn, nods at Kiara with that friendly chin-tilt he always does. When he reaches Namjoon, they exchange one of those quiet, guy-coded, half-shoulder embraces.

And then his eyes flick to you.

For half a second, his smile doesn’t change. It just softens at the edges — subtle, like a reflex.

Your stomach tightens.

“Hey,” he says.

You manage something that feels like a nod. “Hey.”

That’s all. No hug. No small talk. Not even eye contact that lasts longer than it needs to.

He doesn’t push it.

You try to focus on the group again, on Ari saying something about which rooms have outlets, but the back of your neck is hot. You’re not sure if it’s the sun or him or both.

You think that’s it — that maybe you’ll be able to forget he’s even here for a bit — when suddenly, from just across you, his voice cuts in again.

“Oh— I brought that thing you left at my place, by the way.”

You blink. For a moment, you’re sure he’s talking to someone else — but when you look up, he’s already looking at you.

“What?”

“That thing,” he says again, like it should be obvious. “You left it last weekend. I figured you’d want it back.”

Your brain stutters.

Last weekend?

You haven’t been to his place in weeks. You’ve barely even texted since the breakup. You definitely didn’t leave anything there last weekend because you were nowhere near there.

He says it so casually. So matter-of-fact.

You look at him — really look — and for the first time since he arrived, you see something behind the relaxed exterior. It’s quick. Too fast to name. But it’s not nothing.

“What… what are you talking about?” you ask, quietly.

He just jerks his head toward the bike. “C’mere for a sec. I’ll show you.”

And just like that, he’s already turning, walking back toward the motorbike like this is completely normal.

You don’t move at first. You just stand there, frowning, trying to make sense of what he said.

You didn’t leave anything. You know you didn’t.

So what the hell is he doing?

You glance back at the others — still busy, still loud, still completely out of earshot. No one even seems to notice that Jungkook is beckoning you away like it’s just another part of the day.

You hesitate.

Then, against your better judgment, your feet move anyway.

The gravel crunches beneath your shoes as you follow him, the group's voices turning to background noise — laughter, zippers, the thunk of a cooler hitting the ground. Faint but fading.

He stops near the bike, facing away, like he’s waiting for you to say something first.

You take the bait.

“What the fuck are you on about?” you say, sharp, not bothering to soften it.

He turns then. Slowly. His face is tighter now — still calm, but the easy smile from earlier is long gone. There’s something clipped in the way he exhales.

“You didn’t tell them?”

You blink. “Tell who what?”

“The group,” he says, like it’s obvious. “You didn’t tell them we broke up.”

You stare at him.

A breeze cuts through the clearing, rustling the edge of your shirt. You feel it but don’t move. Your brain is still catching up.

“I thought you told them,” you say finally, frowning.

He huffs a short, disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “No. I didn’t. Clearly.”

Your stomach sinks.

You shift your weight, eyes flicking toward the group — still too far to hear, but not far enough to not feel it.

“So,” you say slowly, “you’re telling me… they all still think we’re together?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer immediately. He just gives you a look. A quiet, restrained yes.

You blink again, the weight of that landing hard and uneven in your chest. Your thoughts start tripping over each other.

“That’s fine,” you say quickly, stubborn. “I’ll just tell them. I’ll— we’ll clear it up.”

“No,” he says, almost before the words leave your mouth. His tone is firmer now, more certain.

You narrow your eyes. “Why not?”

He looks at you, and for a second, he seems like he’s debating whether to say anything at all.

Then he sighs and leans back slightly, arms crossed.

“Because I’m like eighty percent sure Seokjin’s planning to propose to Haeun at the end of this trip.”

You blink.

“What?”

“He asked me about ring sizes a month ago. And he’s been weirdly nervous in the group chat. You didn’t notice?”

You hadn’t. Or maybe you had and just didn’t register it. You're mind has been hazy for the past few weeks, and the person to blame is standing opposite you.

Jungkook shakes his head like it’s obvious, then gestures vaguely toward the resort. “He’s gonna do it. Probably by the beach. Probably with fireworks or some corny shit. It’s gonna be a big thing.”

You stare at him, arms crossed now too, trying to piece it all together.

“And if we drop this whole breakup bomb now,” he continues, “that’s all anyone’s gonna talk about. Not the proposal. Not the memories. Just… us. Ending.”

You don’t answer right away.

Because he’s not wrong. You know he’s not wrong.

You can already picture it — the weird silences, the whispered side conversations, the heavy tension whenever someone says “remember when—” and then catches themselves. All of it looping back to you two. To what used to be you two.

And Seokjin — the guy who makes toast like it’s a grand gesture, who once cried at a dog food commercial — he doesn’t deserve that. Not on his big moment.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Fuck.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything.

You look at him again.

And there’s a flicker of something you can’t name on his face. Not smugness, not satisfaction. Just… tired honesty.

Neither of you wanted this.

But here it is.

And now you have to deal with it.

You cross your arms tighter, trying to ground yourself with the weight of them. The sun’s lower now, casting long shadows behind the bike, and you can hear the faint sound of Kiara yelling something, probably about food or wine.

But none of it matters.

Not when your very existence here suddenly feels like a live wire.

You glance at Jungkook again, brows drawn. “Okay… so what are you planning to do?”

He hesitates — just a breath, but you catch it.

Then he gives you a look. One you know too well.

That don’t be mad look.

“...You’re gonna hate me for this,” he says, almost like he’s bracing for impact, “but I think we should just… pretend. For the week.”

Your head jerks back a little, eyebrows raised. “Pretend?”

“Yeah,” he says, quickly, like speeding through it might make it sound less insane. “Just for now. Just until the trip’s over.”

You stare at him like he’s grown another head.

“Jungkook.”

“You already said it — you were gonna tell them anyway, right?” he shrugs. “So you’re not lying, technically. You’re just… delaying.”

Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. “We broke up one month ago.”

“Yeah. I know. I was there.”

“And now you want us to pretend that we’re still dating.”

“For one week,” he says, holding up a finger like that somehow makes it reasonable. “We dated for four years. What’s one more week gonna do?”

You blink at him.

Hard.

A part of you still doesn't want to believe that you spent four years in a relationship that ended up leading to nothing. All of your college years spent focusing on you and Jungkook, just for everything to just end so abruptly.

“This is not the same as being together for four years.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“You’re actually being serious.”

“I am serious,” he says, voice exasperated. “Look, the rooms are already organised. All the couples are paired up. If we tell them now, we'll have to crash someone else’s setup and that'll just ruin the trip more.”

You hate that he’s thought this through.

You hate even more that he’s not totally wrong.

You groan under your breath, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. “God. This is so dumb.”

“I know.”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“Yeah, well… you did.”

You drop your hands, exhaling hard. Your eyes meet his again. His face is calm, but there is a flicker of tension behind his eyes. Like he’s holding something in. Like this is costing him, too, but he’s choosing not to show it.

You want to fight it. You should fight it.

But then you think of Seokjin’s dumb soft smile, the way he talks about Haeun like she built the stars, and how excited everyone is to be here together.

You can’t ruin that. You won’t be the reason this trip turns into a bad memory.

So you sigh. Heavily. Like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the ground.

“Fine,” you mutter.

You don’t meet his eyes when you say it. You just brush past the stubborn knot in your chest and take a step forward.

Jungkook shifts his weight, then holds out his hand toward you like it’s nothing. Like this is casual. Normal.

“Okay,” he says, almost too breezy. “Hold my hand.”

You blink. “What?”

“C’mon,” he says, like you’re the one being weird. “We’re walking back. We’re gonna act like a couple, or someone’s gonna know something’s up.”

You stare at him.

Because it’s not that he’s wrong. It’s that he said it so simply. It annoys you how easy this seems to be for him — to just pretend to be in love with you again.

It makes you wonder if he had been putting up an act for the entirety of your relationship.

You open your mouth to argue, but then close it again. You guys were never lowkey when you were together. You didn’t do subtle. If you suddenly walk back ten feet apart and barely acknowledging each other, someone will notice. Probably Ari first. She always knows when something is up.

You exhale, slow and resigned.

“God, we were so annoying with the PDA,” you mutter, almost to yourself.

Jungkook snorts. “Yeah. That’s kinda on us.”

You eye his outstretched hand, hesitate for another second. And then — with every ounce of reluctance you can physically manifest — you slide your hand into his, fingers fitting between his like muscle memory.

He curls his fingers around yours automatically, warm and easy.

Too easy.

You stare at your joined hands for a second longer than you mean to.

It’s ridiculous how fast your body remembers this. How natural it feels — the shape of his hand, the calloused pads of his fingers, the way his thumb always rests along the side of yours without even thinking.

You look away quickly.

Your chest does something strange and quiet, and you shut the door on it before it can speak.

It’s not real. Not anymore.

The sound of tires on gravel cuts through your thoughts.

You glance up just as a car eases around the bend, pulling into the last open spot in the lot. It's Seokjin’s car — you recognise it immediately — and the moment it comes to a stop, the passenger doors swing open in near perfect unison.

Jimin hops out first, stretching like he’s just stepped off a ten-hour flight instead of a two-hour drive. He runs a hand through his blonde locks, a smile enveloping is features the moment he spots you all.

He’s dressed like he put thought into looking effortless — loose tee, chain glinting at his collar, a wrist stacked with bracelets that clink faintly when he moves to grab his bag from the seat.

Yoongi follows behind him, slower, more deliberate. He slings a canvas duffel over one shoulder and shuts the car door loudly.

You watch as they start walking toward the group — Jimin already waving, Yoongi just nodding at someone — and then the driver’s door creaks open.

Seokjin steps out with one hand braced on the roof, blinking against the sun. His shirt’s a little wrinkled from the drive, but his hair is neat, like he smoothed it down at the last gas station stop. He circles the car, pulls open the back door, and starts hauling out bags with a quiet sort of efficiency.

Haeun steps out more carefully, eyes scanning the scenery, one hand smoothing the back of her hair. She adjusts her sleeves, then quietly shuts the door behind her. No big entrance — just a soft, polite smile as she approaches the group a few steps behind Seokjin.

"This isn't bad," Yoongi says, giving the area a once-over as he adjusts the strap on his shoulder.

Jimin grins, throwing a look back at him. “You sound almost impressed.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Just expected more bugs.”

“There will be bugs,” Kiara calls from the trunk of her car, holding up a bottle of bug spray like a threat. “But I brought protection.”

“Of course you did,” Jimin laughs.

Jungkook steps in, releasing your hand briefly to clap Jimin on the back before pulling him into a hug. “Good to see you, dude. You took your sweet time getting here,” he says.

Jimin just grins. “Fashionably late.”

Without looking, Jungkook reaches back for your hand and finds it on instinct, fingers sliding back between yours like he never let go in the first place.

Taehyung slings his hands around Yoongi dramatically, even to his standards. Yoongi lets it happen for about three seconds before grumbling, “You’re clinging.”

“You love it,” Taehyung says, squeezing tighter.

“I tolerate it,” Yoongi corrects, deadpan, though the corner of his mouth twitches upward.

Taehyung lets go with a satisfied grin, already reaching for his bag, and Yoongi just shakes his head, muttering something under his breath as he adjusts his duffel.

Jimin’s halfway through complimenting Haeun — something about how her top matches the sky, or the sea, or maybe both — and she just smiles, quiet and a little bashful, before mumbling a thank you and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Seokjin glances over at the exchange with a faint smile but doesn’t say anything, just lifts something from the trunk with a grunt.

It’s starting to annoy you how in love all your friends are. It feels like the universe mocking you — like every laugh, every shared glance, every easy touch is some private joke you’ve been left out of.

Yasmine resting her head on Taehyung’s shoulder, Namjoon glancing over at Ari every time he makes a joke just to watch her eyes crinkle into crescent moons, Jimin and Yoongi refusing to admit that they like each other despite the constant glances and smiles that everyone notices.

None of it is loud or showy, but it’s everywhere. Quiet affection humming underneath everything.

And the worst part? No one’s doing anything wrong. They're just happy. Which, somehow, makes it worse.

Namjoon scrolls through something on his phone nearby, then looks up just in time to catch Seokjin trying to drag three bags at once.

“You good?” he calls.

“I’m thriving,” Seokjin says, winded. “But I won’t be carrying anything else for the rest of the trip.”

A few laughs ripple through the group. The sun’s dropped just low enough to cast long, soft shadows across the lot, golden waves illuminating against everyone's skin.

“Alright,” Namjoon says, raising his voice just enough to cut through the chatter. “Let’s grab our stuff and head in. Hyung, you've got the keys, right?”

You all look over at Seokjin, who holds the keys up briefly.

Everyone moves back to their own cars, reaching for bags, slinging backpacks over shoulders, tugging at zippers and slapping closed trunks.

You slip your hand from Jungkook’s and head to Kiara’s trunk, digging out your backpack and slinging it over your shoulder. When you walk back, he subtly extends his hand toward you — a quiet invitation.

You don’t take it. You just keep walking.

You told yourself you'd only do what was necessary — the bare minimum to make it believable. Holding hands in front of others? Sure. Smiling for the occasional photo? Fine.

But extras, like this — when no one’s watching — felt like the kind of thing that could make you slip up without meaning to.

Ari falls in beside you, and without thinking, you hook your arm through hers, quickly falling into an easy conversation.

Behind you, you faintly hear him sigh.

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clockwayswrites · 2 months ago

Text

A Hill to Die On Chapter 5, part 3

masterpost tiny short bit. please no concrit/editing. life is hard enough right now

“Next outfit, next outfit,” the group chanted. Their ability to ignore the side eye from the sales woman was impressive. Maybe it’s because they knew if she tried anything with them, Cass had the Wayne card to pull out. Dick did too, of course, but it was a hit or a miss if he would use it. Not because of how he was dressed, of course, but it would depend on if Cass seemed willing. He liked to see her stand up for herself, they all did.

Caroline fussed with her hair for a moment before stepping out of the dressing room. It she was more of a blusher, she’d have flushed brightly with the newest string of compliments. Obeying Dicks hand motion, she did a little twirl. A camera went off if she did so.

“Sending this to you to send to Danny, because this? This is totally date night material,” Babs said.

“Or,” Stephie said, drawing the simple word out as long as she could. “You could just put him in a group chat with us and we can sent them ourselves!”

“I don’t think you quite understand the not scaring him away part of earlier,” Caroline said as she brushed a hand over the the skirt. It was a lightweight, pleated fabric that faded from opaque black to a sheer red. She loved how it move.

“Ashamed of us,” Cass said somberly.

“No!” Her head shot up as she assured them quickly. It was a joke, mostly like, but if it wasn’t… She tugged at the black top where it barely hung onto her shoulders. “You’re all amazing. And I don’t really think you would scare Danny away, after all, he put up with us, but do you know how special that is? To not only find someone who doesn’t mind what we are, but to embrace it? And above that what I am? Or rather, what I’m not, I guess. I just…”

“You just aren’t ready for the meet the family and friends,” Dick finished kindly. “I get that, especially when it’s us. You want more time for the two of you first. Ah—I mean three of you. Maybe four.”

Caroline let out a relieved breath. “Exactly. And I really think that all of the family should know about me first. Which is already moving much quicker than I might have planned. Not that I’m not glad for this, I’ve enjoyed today, but it is… a lot.”

“Okay,” Dick said. His eye were that sad sort of kind that knew they should expect him to show up at the apartment again soon. He’d want to give them, and especially Tim, a chance to talk.

“Was teasing,” Cass said.

“Yeah, same,” Steph said, an apology in her smile.”

“I wasn’t,” Babs said, “This outfit it absolutely date night material. Now go try on the last few things. We still need shoes and bags.” She paused before adding, “And lingerie.”

Dick grimaced slightly. “I’m going to learn things about my little siblings I don’t want to know, aren’t I?”

“You could always leave,” Steph pointed out with a smirk.

“But girls night!” Dick whined.

“Exactly,” Babs said. “So we have to talk about cute boys and or girls. You’ll live.”

“Rude,” Dick said with a sniff as he flopped dramatically over the arm of the sofa they were occupying.

Caroline held back a laugh and disappeared back into the dressing room.

It was a lot, but it was a good a lot.

#dp x dc #a hill to die on #danny/sysTIM #Danny/tim

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cutebat · 11 months ago

Text

Yandere Batfam x Neglected, but Defiant Reader

The First Page

Warning(s): Neglect, emotional abuse, physical abuse, mind break (There are no yandere themes yet, but will be in another chapter)

(This chapter is basically the first part of the prologue and some things fixed)

~~~~~

10 years old.

You were only 10 years old when the Gotham's billionaire, Bruce Wayne, entered through the doors of the orphanage that you lived under of.

You could remember the owner holding your hand as she lead you to the man who is going to be your father.

You remember when he placed his hand on your head as he introduced himself to you and promised that he'll give you a great life.

You remember when you came to the manor as he introduced you to your new family that consists of four new older brothers, one new older sister, and a butler.

You remember when everyone would talk to you and welcome you with loving embraces.

You also remember a few days foward when Bruce gave you a costume that resembled a white dress with pink details, which earned you the title of Batgirl.

And after all of that, it's like it never happened.

~~~~~

You are now being ignored by everyone.

Nobody gave you a glance, made excuses, and basically beat the shit out of you. Well, not exactly.

For example, there was one day when you came up to Bruce with a flyer in your hand.

"Um, hi, Bruce... I know you're busy right now, but... I'm going to have a school play and I got the main role. So... I hope you can stop by and watch."

You tell him in the nicest way possible.

However, Bruce was so focused on his paperwork that he didn't give you a glance. All he said was...

"Hm? Yeah, I'll go check it out if I finish all of this."

And suprise, suprise, he never showed up.

This resulted in you crying in the girl's restroom all alone in your costume.

~~~~~

There was also a time when you felt like you needed to train more, so you did it by going up to Dick who seems to be training with Damian.

"Um, guys? Can I join you two?"

You ask as you smile awkwardly as your two older brothers turned to you.

Which is why you became surprised when Dick smiles.

"Sure! But, do you mind if you wait until me and Damian are done with this sparring session? It won't take too long."

He said with a chuckle as Damian looked like he was glaring at his little sister.

You didn't want to be rude, which is why you just nodded before you went over to the corner and watched your brothers train.

As an hour passed, Dick and Damian stopped, which made you take the chance to finally train with them.

However, you seemed confused when you saw the two turning around and walking out of the batcave.

"He-Hey, Dick? I thought you and Damian were going to train with me."

You speak up in a timid tone, which the two clearly heard.

"Oh, about that. Sorry, (name), but we were already planning to go to the cafe for a break. Maybe tomorrow, okay?"

Dick said with an 'apologetic' expression before he leaves with Damian.

Because of this, you never asked him to train with you again.

~~~~~

These were all easily common, but there were some moments when it scarred you.

One time, Tim was basically forced to bring you to a mission along with his friends.

As the patrol went on, you seemed to get distracted a bit when you spotted Conner having some trouble.

Because of this, you left the scene and quickly dived in and fought alongside the teenage Kryptonian. Thanks to you, everything was handled.

Conner thanked you before someone yelled out your name. This made you jolt as you turned to see an angry Tim storming over to you.

Before you can say anything, he cuts you in.

"What on earth were you doing?! I told you to stay where you are, and you just had to ignore everything I say, don't you?!"

He yells as if someone murdered his close family member.

This made you so shocked as Conner was stunned. When Cassie and Bart came over to the spot, they were both shocked to see their friend, yelling at his little sister.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Calm down, Tim. (name) didn't do anything wrong. I was the one who called her over to help me."

Conner defends you, but of course, Tim doesn't listen.

"Don't even try to defend her! She knows what she did! Oh, I am SO going to report this to Batman, so don't even try to cover yourself up!"

Tim said in a frustrated and angry tone towards you before he used his grappling hook and swooped down, leaving you behind with his friends.

"Hey, what the hell, asshole!"

Conner shouts out at his friend as he was shocked to him this angry.

He lets out a sigh before he looks over to see Cassie and Bart, comforting you as you are crying in their arms.

~~~~~

Yelling wasn't the only thing that you had to endure.

You even went through moments when things got a little too... physical.

It all happened when you were just trying to help someone in need.

You were walking down the hallway during the night as you just wanted a cup of water. As you were wandering down the hallway, you noticed some voices from someone's bedroom.

Jason's bedroom.

This made you curious as you got close to the door to hear Jason talking amongst himself as he sat on the edge of his bed.

He kept muttering stuff out of his mouth, which made you worried.

That is when you made a mistake by going inside.

"Jason...? Are you okay?"

You ask in a timid voice.

At that moment, Jason snaps his head towards you before everything starts to go blur. All you remember is him grabbing something like a pole type object before it was brought down towards your head.

And then, you woke up in your own bedroom, except you have a bandage wrapped around your head.

When you sat up, all you saw was Alfred, the family's loyal butler. No sign of your other family around, concerning about you.

Luckily, you recovered, and the wound went away after a month.

And, of course, Jason never apologized for what he did to you.

~~~~~

A few months was in, and no improvement has been made. You were always ignored. They made excuses of not wanting to spend time with you, and some of them actually hit you a few times.

All of that happened to your ten year old self.

But, did you give up on that spot? Nope.

You discovered on the internet what you can do to please your family to gain their attention. There were a lot of results, but the one that kept popping up the most was trying to reach your best achievements, which would result in them showing you more support from them.

And that's what you did.

You started to join in many after-school activities and studied all your might. It was tiring, and you almost passed out from exhaustion, but you kept going because you wanted at least your family to notice you.

The problem is that they never did.

They never congratulated you, celebrated on your accomplishment, and most of all, they didn't even give you a glance when you showed off.

All of that for nothing. Damn.

~~~~~

The breaking point wasn't because of all that. It was when someone else entered the family.

Duke Thomas.

A metahuman teenager whose parents died from the Joker Venom.

You thought that they might treat him the same way that they had treated you.

But, nothing.

Duke was showered with love, attention, and even praise.

The things that you never got when you came here.

Whenever you pass by whatever event that they're holding, you will always see them together. Being all happy, chatting, and laughing with one another.

They never do that when they're around you. Even on your birthdays. Actually, when was the last time they all celebrated your birthday?

At that moment, something inside you just snapped. Like, a loud crack echoes through your head that makes a loud ringing sound, kind of like a wake-up call.

Then, it all clicked.

They never cared about you.

They never even liked you.

The only reason why Bruce adopted you is because nobody wanted to.

~~~~~

The thoughts kept running through your head as you walked into an alleyway with a trash bag in hand.

Earlier today at school, you dropped out the clubs that you absolutely hated and pretty much just purposely laid back in your classes.

You feel empty.

When you finally reach the dumpster, you got on top of some stacked boxes because of your height and open the large lid.

You could only stare inside that had a lot of black colored trash bags. Your eyes were blank as you stared down inside.

That's when you muttered out.

"Why even bother...?"

With that, you tossed the trash bag that you were holding on into the dumpster.

After what it felt like hours, you finally got off of the boxes that you were standing on top of before you walked out of the alleyway.

As you walked away, something fell out of the trash bag that you threw out.

It was a white bat eared helmet.

The accessory that once matched with your costume.

That's right.

You were no longer Batgirl.

You never were, anyway.

•

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#yandere #yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #batfam #batfamily #yandere x reader #yandere platonic #neglected reader #platonic #yandere dc

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millersfinest · 5 months ago

Text

untethered⁵ | e.w

00s!ellie williams & 00s!miller!reader

wc: 10.6k

series: chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five (you're here!)

blurb: it’s been awhile since you’ve been back home; in upstate new york where you’ve spent most of your life waking up early and tending to the animals that moo’d and meh’d. after graduation high school, and then college, the city life has stolen most of your attention. enabling you to visit only a handful of times through the years. when your lovely adoptive parents (tommy and maria miller) invite you back for a thanksgiving dinner—a troubled old flame from your childhood manages to get your attention, despite its explosive ending.

cw: lmao flip phones, r and ellie NOT beating the cheating allegations, more use of y/n then i would prefer, she/her pronouns, vulgar language, some angst (not on ellie’s watch tho), fuckgirl!ellie (kind of), the millers, r is a writer (she doesn’t write much in this ch wink wink 3.0), using fuck as a conjunction word, ellie needs the reader bad, a few arguments sprinkled in, elements of longing, ellie is #1 lesbian yearner in the world, some early 2000s references, thanksgiving, r is very anxious, hella angst, the CAT may be out the bag (can mean many things), some adoption related turmoil, emotional cheating (from ellie), cute mother daughter moment, repressed emotions, lots of angst in this chapter, ellie is mean when she don't fw you, not a lot of reader x ellie in this ngl.

note: finally the 5th installment, hope it's worth the wait my lovely readers!!! i'm gonna be honest tho... this wasn't the most fun chapter to write (maybe cause the reader and ellie aren't as horny as i would prefer lmao), but the narrative shall prosper regardless of my feelings. this may or may not be the second to last chapter of this series. idk yet, i'm still planning right nowwww. i might post a poll soon to help decide. anyway, thank you guys for being super patient while i wrote this chapter, so without further ado... thousands of bisous ofc <3 and please enjoy this angsty ass chapter!!

Stood before you was a very disappointed looking Joel. His deep brown eyes squinted with fatigue and restlessness; arms crossed over his chest. At the alert of his presence, you shut your eyes trying to come up with some way to save yourself—even though there was none. It was laugh worthy, really.

I don’t wanna assume nothin'… So, I suggest you start explainin’ what in the hell’s bell’s is goin�� on here.

You were unsure if his southern accent was stronger because of his disappointment, or if he just sounded like that when he was tired. But, either way, the question was valid. What the hell was going on?

He called your name, snapping you from the rushing thoughts in your head. “Huh?” Those words came out of you more like a sound than words and letters. you were a child all over again, struggling under the fist of authority. Followed by a deep sigh, walking toward the counter, leaning your hands on the cool, smooth marble top. “Ellie and I are… Just catching up. S’all there is to it, Joel.”

He echoed a sigh, running his hand over his dark, graying hair and beard—he didn’t believe you. Not that you even tried to come up with a good enough lie that would be believable. “Now, Bug…” Joel began, shaking his head. “I know you’re not a liar; Tommy and Maria sure as hell didn’t raise you to be one—“

“Joel, please—“

“If I heard what I think I heard… In that bedroom of yours. You and Ellie were doin’ a lot more than just catching up!” He whisper-yelled, careful not to disturb your parents upstairs. The man could barely keep eye contact with you, pointing his finger, accusingly. “She has a girlfriend who is in that guesthouse—“

“I know, I know—“

“Then, what the hell were you thinkin’?”

You solemnly sigh, having your actions thrown back in your face. It sucked because he was right. “We… We have unfinished history. It just happened.”

Joel scoffed, averting his brown eyes. “Things like that don’t just happen…”

He was right—sex doesn’t just happen. There are steps that lead to that pleasurable event; it doesn’t just happen, and you knew that. But it was easier to say it that way. As if the two of you sleeping together, kissing each other was all acts of fate and prophecy. Something you had no control over. Even though, control was never stricken from you. If anything, you were always grasping for it.

You chose to invite Ellie into your room, into your body, into your mind—you wanted her more than anything.

That was something you couldn’t be sorry about.

“Please, don’t tell my parents.” You almost squeaked out, looking up at him like a child charged with punishment. If Maria and Tommy found out about this, she’d have your head! And Tommy will be trying to talk her down—it would be a mess. At twenty-five, it wasn’t that you were afraid of your parents; you just didn’t want to disappoint them. “We need some time to figure this out…” The fear that they would regret bringing you into their life weighed heavy on you.

With a raised eyebrow, he pursed his lips in thought. “Does Ellie plan on breaking things off with Cat?”

“Yeah, not right away, but yeah.”

“Not right away?”

“Thanksgiving— she doesn’t wanna do it today with everything goin’ on. And they live together, so she has to arrange a few things…” You trail off, deepening your eyebrows with worry. “Oh, my God… Is she two-timing me? Is Ellie two-timing me?” Slapping your hands to your forehead, you squeezed your eyes shut. What the fuck. What the fuck. You repeated curses in your mind. You were spiraling yourself into a stupor.

Joel walked around the corner, stabilizing you by placing his hands on your shoulders. “Ellie is many things, but she’s not a two-timer… All I’m saying is to handle this with caution. You’re hurting another person doing this—“

“Fuck, Joel, I know… I don’t need the reminder.”

“I’m gonna talk to her about this… About resolving this.”

You look at him with a pointed glare. “Resolving— there’s nothing to resolve. If everything goes according to plan—“

He grunted, rolling his eyes. “Things like this never go to plan. Come on, Bug, you’re smarter than this… You know better.” Joel told, narrowing his eyes. He walked around the counter to you, to squeeze your shoulder. But that didn’t change the fact that his words stung.

You know better.

You did know better, but you acted anyway. Perhaps, it was a mistake; it was a mistake you were willing to ride on until it met its end. Which could be one of two things: complete and utter destruction, or… Happiness. Why was there such a large gap between those two endings?

“Ellie,” He began, shaking his head, filling you with insecurity. “You know how she can be… Impulsive at times.” Joel pressed his lips into a line, looking past you, in thought. “I’m not even sure if she realizes the gravity of what she’s doing to her or you— not until it blows up in her face, which it will if you two keep it up.”

So, the both of you just had to work harder at hiding it. For now, at least.

He rubbed his hand together, glancing his eyes up the stairs. “I won’t say anything to your parents… Just do a better job of keeping this to yourselves, please.” The older man prepared to head back up, but he looked at you one last time. “This isn’t me agreeing with what y’all are doin’— because I don’t. I don’t agree nor do I support cheating.” He exhaled, shaking his head, disappointingly. Feet nearing the steps to ascend back to his bedroom. “Just get it together.”

Joel left you to gather your thoughts—but there was nothing to gather. Your mind was already made; you’ve already dug a hole for yourself. Seeing it through was the only option. Perhaps, the two of you had to shape up, though. Tommy even gave a side glance before you’d hopped off the porch to grab the wine; Ellie needs to be more careful. And so do you.

Shutting out the lights, you heavily creeped back up the stairs to your bedroom. The dim bedroom that had the remnants of your lover minced in the air… And under your pillow. Grabbing your laptop from the charger, you arranged your pillows to support your back—that’s when you noticed the red and white striped boxer shorts Ellie left behind. Even though, you purposely threw them at her to put on before you parted from one another.

Holding out the underwear that was marked with arousal, you threatened to smell it. Truly. But, before you could, your conscience got the best of you. Wasn’t it creepy to smell someone’s underwear? Let alone, a woman's... Instead, you stuffed it in the box you kept under your bed—which, very well, could’ve been worse.

Feeling the need to tell Ellie of their pending situation with Joel, you logged onto MySpace. There was a small green circle that appeared on her icon. She was already online.

BugsWritersRoom: Hey… Just ran into Joel. Not great.

There wasn’t a much of a long wait before she responded.

StarlightWilliams: duck what happened?

StarlightWilliams: fuck*

Her correction made you chuckle.

BugsWritersRoom: He heard us. That’s what happened.

BugsWritersRoom: We have to do better. Stop making everything so obvious…

BugsWritersRoom: At least, until you break up with Cat.

There was a long pause in her responses. Longer than you’d anticipate her response would take.

StarlightWilliams: noted.

Ellie’s response was dryer than you expected it to be, but the fatigue washing over you forbid you from investigating it.

Shutting your laptop, you nuzzled into your pillows with the auburn-haired artist on your mind. It was only right that you gave the relationship another chance; if it inevitably ends, you just hope it would be less explosive than last time. Amicable. Where the two of you could actually stand to be around each other after the fact.

If you had it your way, though, you’d never want to part from her again. It was easy to believe that Ellie was your person. Somebody who was only perfect for you. In a world of feeling nothing, she made you feel something more than lust or forced romanticism.

When morning came, you were exhausted as fuck, to say the least. Awakened by your programmed alarm, and a blaring rooster that didn’t know how to shut the hell up after his first few yodels.

Meandering down the stairs, you were told to speed through the morning chores, to begin help with the cooking, which you didn’t mind. However, Ellie wasn’t there for the spiel. Joel had appeared, saying that she was going to be little late. At the sight of him, you couldn’t help but be struck with anxiety. Although, he looked and acted the same as he always did.

Either way, you fed the chickens, groomed, and fed the horses—and that’s when she found you. Brushing Tokyo and feeding fresh carrots to keep him entertained and focused. He was a horse who only responded to pleasantries; Tokyo was a man of high honor. “Someone’s bein’ a good horse.” Ellie cooed, approaching you and Tokyo with her hands stuffed in the pockets of her jeans.

There was something off about her demeanor. Her shoulders were stiffened, cheeks flushed enough to insinuate an altercation. In addition to that pinched line between her thick eyebrows.

There definitely was one, but she wasn’t going to admit that to you. Joel and Ellie were officially on bad terms—but she said nothing about that because she doesn’t want to alarm you.

“Where were you this earlier? I thought I was helping you get in routine for your new farmhand position…” You tossed the brush aside, crossing your arms over your chest. Ellie didn’t stop walking until her body collided with yours. Hand finding a comfortable place along your jaw, preparing to pull you in toward her lips. Placing two fingers over her lips, you pull back. “What the hell are you doing?” You chuckle, looking around for any unwanted eyes.

Her hands slid down you arms, shoulder slumping. “What part of we need to do better do you not understand?” You questioned, looking intently into her dilated eyes.

Ellie ran a hand over her hair, sighing, tiredly. “What is wrong with you?” You press, deepening her eyebrows. Suddenly feeling the need to comfort her.

The truth was, she was stressed. Joel had stressed her out. He found out about them and was pressing Ellie to tell Cat about it—or break up with her because she deserves to know the truth. But, today, Cat woke up like the happiest person alive, which was off brand for her. She showered Ellie with kisses she didn’t want and hopped up to make breakfast for them. It was weird, but she was happy; Ellie doesn’t want to ruin that. She just wanted to linger in the happiness that was the memory of your lips on hers.

“I just woke up feelin’ funky— it’s nothing…” She looked down, twisting her foot into the sprawled hay over the ground. “A kiss could help my condition, though…” Ellie raised a scarred brow, lips curling at the end.

Pressing your lips into a line, you look over her shoulder than yours—making sure there aren’t any prying or peeving eyes. “Just one…” You mutter, pulling her close by the material of her unzipped jacket. She smirked against your lips, moving them in sync with yours.

The tenseness in her muscles loosened and relaxed under your touch, as she released a breath of fresh air against your face through her nose. Placing her soft, yet calloused hand at the curve of your jaw. Ellie made the kiss deeper by dragging her tongue against your bottom lip, begging for more—but you pulled away. She chased your lips, causing you to giggle as you turned your face. “I have a full plate this morning… I could use your help— as long as you stay focused!” You prodded your index finger at her chest. “Plus, it’ll help for when it’s just you on the farm.”

“Oh, I can stay focused.” She crossed her arms, overzealously.

“Okay,” You snicker. “Well, why don’t we split up to cover more ground?”

Her features fell. “Split up? Hey, I didn’t agree to splitting up.” Ellie pouted, taking a step closer to you. Playing with the frayed hem of the flannel sticking out from under your jacket.

Splitting up was the best course of action, so you could begin helping your mother in the kitchen—because you know she needs it. Unless Cat’s planning to take your place on that front. Anyway, them splitting up could help their developing case with Joel. You want to prove to him that you’re as smart as he think you are. That you’re not blindly love struck by a destructive idea—that the words he told you meant something. And, in a way, helping Ellie with her impulsivity.

“It’s for the best, Els. You get to put to work what you learned these past few mornings— so it’ll really stick.” You spoke, positively. “And there’s another half of the farm that you’re inexperienced with… So, it’s better if I just run through it alone.” You nod with a friendly smile on your lips. Almost too friendly.

“Hm…” Ellie hummed, peering around the horse barn.

“I already did half the work; the chicken’s and horses are already fed. I’m, basically, done with grooming Tokyo— just detangle his mane and tail, and do that same process with Sarah, which should be easy because she’s still a baby and barely has any hair.” You rambled like a professional farmer. It truly was muscle memory getting back into the chores.

“Wait, what’s the process…?”

“There’s a bucket of soap and water,” You point to the bucket at door of the horses’ space. “Use that to help with the brushing and detangling. That’s the process. Don’t worry about the horse shoes— my dad does all that.” You waved your hand, then reached into your coat to grab the notepad. Ripping the thin paper from the rings, you hand it over. “After this, all you have left is the garden. So, whenever you’re done, come find me.”

Ellie took the note paper from your hands, plucking it with her fingers. “Uhm, if I have any questions…? What if I do something wrong?”

You sighed, snatching the paper back from her. “Trust yourself. You’ve done this before, Ellie. But if you have any questions… Here’s my cell. I have it on me.” You scribble down your phone number, handing it back to her.

She giggled, taking the paper back. “You just gave me your digits…” Ellie teased, dangling the page in front of you.

“For professional purposes only.” You winked, before leaving her to finish the horse grooming.

When you skipped away, Ellie didn’t quite know how to take your place. After finishing up Tokyo, walking him to his open space to grift along with the other horses, Sarah was next. And you failed to mention that she was a bit of runner when it came to retrieving her.

It’s been made clear that she was already fucking up—said by Joel Miller—so, she didn’t want to fuck up the only job she had. The job you gave her.

So, instead of moping and overthinking the words of her adoptive father, she looked to that lined notebook paper as if it were the Bible. Ellie couldn’t let you down over something as specific as farming chores. These were living beings. If she failed to do this correctly, you may never fall into her how she hoped

Meanwhile, you hustled cows and goats, hastily. Rain boots splashing into mud and manure, leaving marks along its battered rubber soles. Tucked into your back pocket, your phone began to vibrate, sounding off the ringtone of your choosing. Without glancing at the caller ID—assuming it was Ellie. You pressed the phone button.

“Calling already?” You raised an eyebrow, while monitoring the chaotic goats around you. They were competitive eaters who’d rather trample over one another to eat their food, than stand by for their own servings. You scold them under your breath, pushing them off each other.

“You want me to come to dinner tonight, or not?” She snickered on the other side of the line.

“Oh, Abby, hey… Sorry that was meant for someone else— it’s been a long morning.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, shaking your head. “Yeah, I still want you to come. What’s up?”

Abby laughed, yawning. Did she just wake up? “When’s your family having dinner tonight— wanna make sure I’m planning accordingly.” There was raspiness to her voice that was soothing to your ears.

Rubbing a hand over your forehead, you thought. It was basically undetermined, but you had dinner around the same time every year. Six-ish. Seven-ish. “Sometime around six, I think. What? You plannin’ on makin’ a good impression?” Pinching the phone between the side of your face and shoulder, you pulled one of the goats back from the trough by her back legs.

“Stop it, Frankie!” She bleated in response.

“Was that a goat I just heard?”

“No, it was Frankie— she’s worse than a goat. She’s, like, goat-fucking-three thousand— fuck! Hold on.” She placed the phone on a bucket, to stalk over to the problematic goat trying to fight her own sibling. “You’re pushing it. You are pushing it, Francine Miller!” Gripping the antlers that rose from her skull, you forced her to look at you. “This isn’t your food— that’s your food. Over there.”

Picking her up, wrapping your arms around her stomach, you lifted her toward her own trough. That a few other goats huddled at to feast on their breakfast. “If I see you over there bothering your brothers again, I’m gon’ put you right back in that barn— don’t mess with me.”

You walked back to that bucket, picking up the small silver flip phone placed sloppily in the middle. “Sorry about that… But, yeah, sometime around six.” A tired sigh fell from your lips.

“That southern drawl of yours… Getting stronger by the day.” She chuckled, in amusement. You heard her shuffling against cloth—perhaps, blankets and pillows.

“The price of being around my family for too long.” You match her brief chuckle, twisting your toe into the dirt.

“I’m certainly not complaining.” Abby commented, inhaling deeply. “Well, I’ll be there for six— unless you tell me otherwise…”

“All right, sounds good, Abby.”

“All right, bye, babe.”

Babe.

The pet name made you freeze, but before you could say anything, she hung up the phone. You clenched you phone in your hand, gripping it tight enough for the blood to drain from your knuckles. Babe—since fucking when?

A snicker caught your attention, causing you to swivel around on your toes. Her shiny, obsidian hair was tucked under a knit beanie. The medium-length blunt ends sticking out from the bottom, hanging over the shoulders of her jacket. A jacket that was sickeningly similar to one of Ellie’s—it most likely was.

“Who’s this lucky girl… Abby?” She perked a slender eyebrow, brown eyes boring through you. Slightly squinting with taut features.

You waved your hand before placing them on your hips. “A girl I met in the city. She’s up here with some friends— thought I’d invite her to dinner. She's the one who dropped me off the other night.” You explained, shrugging at your last word. After sleeping with her girlfriend, the least you could do was open with her.

Cat leaned over the wooden fence, instead of coming inside. Her hands balling together in front of her body to keep her exposed skin warm. “Oh, really? What’s the status between the two of you? Since you’re… Inviting her to Thanksgiving dinner ‘n all?” She questioned, lips pressing together.

There was something bitter in her speech that rubbed you the wrong way. But, nonetheless, you answered. “It’s complicated…” A laugh falls from your lips—fake and deceiving. “It’s been off and on for about a year— believe it or not.”

“I believe it.” Cat chortled behind a fist. “Dating in New York is hard. People just don’t take relationships seriously anymore— I totally get it.” Her eyes rolled as she spoke, shiny lips curling at the corners.

Awkwardly, you nod. Her tone alarming you once more. “Yeah… Well, I need to get back to this— the quicker this is over the better.”

“Right…”

“Are you planning on helping the parents cook, or…”

She crossed her arms, lips frowning, slightly. “Yeah. Later, I’m helping Joel and Tommy with the steak. I’ve never really cooked steak before so… Wish me luck.” Cat chuckled, stepping back from the fence. “I’ll let you get back to work, though…” She began to walk off, after you waved, halfheartedly. Pausing in the well-kept grass, she looked over her shoulder. “Could you point me in the direction of my girlfriend? I’m sure you know where she is.”

Hm.

“Uh, yeah, sure— She’s either in the horse barn or the greenhouse… I would check the horse barn first.” You point towards the wooden paneled barn some meters away. My girlfriend. Did that not sound harsh? There was such diction in her proclamation for Ellie. It was an iron bar being burned into your chest, over your heart like a branding.

She didn’t say much of a thank you, only a head nod and a wave. Leaving you standing in the same patch of mud you were standing in when she arrived. That interaction felt oddly tangy, rather than sweet—like usual. Of course, you had your doubts about Cat, but this time it felt different. So much different.

For another thirty minutes, you monitored Frankie and the other goats. Giving her a bunch of kisses to make up for your irate behavior—after all, she was behaving better; she deserved them!

Finishing your work, you didn’t realize until your stepped into the house—leaving your shoes on the porch—that Ellie didn’t call or text you about anything. She was supposed to meet you when she finished her side of the chores, but she never showed. It was too cold to wait around for her, so you trotted back to the house. And it’s not like you had her number; she had yours.

In the back of your mind, you worried about the interaction she had with Cat. Why wouldn’t you? As the days went by, you were growing in possessiveness of someone that wasn’t even yours. She used to be, but that wouldn’t hold up in court.

You noticed Maria working in the kitchen, working on small side dishes. Before you jogged up the stairs, you let her know that you’d be back after a warm shower. Cooking food while smelling like actual animal shit wasn’t a great mix.

Tommy had already put the television on the channel where the game was playing. The direct speech of sports anchors playing as background noise on the first floor--bouncing off the walls.

When you walked up the stairs, you heard the soft tune of Joel strumming and tuning his new guitar from his bedroom. It soothed your ears—his playing always did. There was a song he used to play for you, and sometimes Ellie, when you were teenagers. Then, after while, she began to play it for you. Sat in the corner of your reading nook, in a t-shirt and plaid boxers (or whatever underwear she was wearing), strumming at the tough strings of her guitar. Looking into your eyes like you were unreal.

Everyone seemed to be doing something on this busy morning. And you were soon to jump right in.

Steam opened your pores as you cleansed the dirt and grime off your skin. You attempted not to drown within your own thoughts while the showering. Echoes of your parents’ voices bounced around your mind, along with Joel’s. It was overwhelming. You feared they’d never forgive you if they found out what you and Ellie were doing—or had done. Then, there was Cat; a part of you felt bad for her. That she was getting caught in the middle of unfinished business… Clearly, your attempt at clearing your head didn’t work.

Shutting off the shower, smelling like a happy mixture of vanilla and coconut, you wrapped yourself in a towel to walk to your bedroom. When you entered, you didn’t notice the frame of your estranged lover sitting on your bed—until you pivoted on damp feet. “Shit, Ellie… What the hell are you doing?” You gasp, clenching onto the material of the old beach towel you were using to dry off.

Her back was facing you, eyes cast toward the paneled window of your reading nook. The auburn strands of her hair were damp, leaving marks on the shoulders and back of her grey sweatshirt.

“She fucking knows…”

Your eyebrows stitched together, trying to take in what the woman before you had said. Shutting your door with a sigh, you turn back around slowly. “What do you mean…?” Your voice trembled, wanting clarification even though you already knew what she meant. That hole that you dug was only getting deeper. Or, perhaps, not. It’s already reached max depth.

Ellie peered over her shoulder, the whites of her eyes unnerved. Freckled cheeks flushed to oblivion. “You PM’d me last night on MySpace…”

“Yeah…?” You slowly approached her, shrugging your shoulders. Although, your heart was racing—beating throughout your entire body. If that was even possible.

“When I got back to the guesthouse last night, I basically conked out, y/n.” Ellie told, finally shifting her body to see your stunned frame in its entirety. Water droplets dripping down your arms and legs; muscles tightening in anticipation.

A hand shot over your mouth, eyebrows furrowing in remorse. If she went right to sleep, then someone else had been responding to you—and you don’t believe in ghosts. “Please, tell me you’re fucking with me.”

She placed her head in her hands. “I wish I was…” Ellie bounced her leg, nervously. “Why the fuck would you mention anything that happened over the internet?” Her tone shifted, scolding you with the same pair of eyes that once caressed your skin with adoration.

“I had no other way to tell you about Joel. I was trying to warn you—“

“Yeah, what a warning that was.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Okay, hold on… How do you know about this? D— Did she confront you— or what?”

She sighed. “She came and talked to me while I was grooming Sarah— Also, you forgot to mention that she doesn’t like to be brushed…!” Her round features were pulled taut, glaring at you.

“I met her, like, once, Ellie. How would I know that she doesn’t like to be brushed?” You retorted, kicking out a leg, narrowing your eyes. “And… She’s a fucking baby. You should’ve expected that.”

“She said if I don’t admit what I did by tonight… She’s gonna fucking do it.”

You bunched your eyebrows, shaking your head—utterly confused. “She’s gonna fucking do what? Wh— What is this, Ellie— fucking One Tree Hill?!” It was incredulous for Cat to make such a threat. Theatricals were never your choice of handling things. Hence the last time an explosive episode happened on the farm. You shut down and close off—it’s always too much!

The auburn-haired woman’s feature slightly softened, looking up at you from her seated position.

Noticing the tensing in your body—seeing that face she swore she never wanted to see again. “Uhm, what did you say…?” You questioned, carefully with pinched lips and drifting eyes.

“I said that I would…”

Record scratch. Again. How many of those were you going to experience in a single week?

“Ellie—!”

“To alleviate some of her frustration—!” She tried.

“I don’t give a fuck why you agreed to her stupid threat, Ellie— it’s the fact that you did!” You paced, squeezing the bridge of your nose. Thinking. Hard. Your voice had boomed, forgetting that the walls weren’t thick. “I will not have this random emo chick ruin the relationship I have with my parents… Because she wants to get back at you.”

She leaned back on her hands, shrugging. “And you… She’s getting back at you, too.”

“Seriously.” You snapped your head toward her, blinking with blossoming anger.

“Dead serious.” Ellie held your eyes, courageously. She never liked seeing you angry, but boy, did it set her skin on fire. You were always so concerned with how people perceived you, that you avoided acting within your nature. Even though, in your truest nature, you were the most beautiful thing.

You pointed a finger at her, strolling toward her. “Is this funny to you?”

“Is there a smile on my face?” She retorted, looking up at you through her thick, batting lashes.

“You look amused—“

“I am.” She simply stated, causing you to raise an eyebrow. “Because you’ve never changed, y/n. It’s always appearances with you— for everything.” You rolled your eyes at that, scoffing under your breath. What did she know? “Little-miss-perfect… Always has to do the right thing— not because she wants to, but because she wants others to notice that she does.”

Her words sounded familiar. More put together, but familiar.

“It’s fucking pathetic, babe—“

“Get hell the out of my room.” The words came from you like a whisper with pinched lips, clenching your fists at your sides. Her and her name-calling.

Ellie stood up, chest nearly touching the towel that wrapped around you. Chest to chest. “Can you think about us for one second?” Her fingers tethered to your bare skin, dancing up your arms. “Cat’s makin’ our karma come quick— embarrassing us in front of our family. And, yeah, we did a fucked-up thing. I can admit and make peace with that because I wanna be with you.” She squeezed your shoulders, examining your tight features. Ellie reached her hand to grace your cheek, but you turned away.

A sigh fell from her lips, pulling away from your body. “And all you can think about is your parents… What they would think?” Ellie scoffed, running her hand through her damp strands. “You’re an adult—! And you, certainly, made an adult decision to fuck me the other night— so this is your fault as much as it is mine.” She lectured. Ellie Williams was lecturing you. Oh, how the tables turn.

“Fucking stand in it.” The artist grit, pointing her finger to the ground. “That’s you’re fuckin’ problem. Always wanting to be perfect— but you’re not! Not even close.”

Tears began to build in the corner of your eyes, lips quivering at her words. Heart wrenching at her stern tone. “And I fucking love you for it…” Ellie appeared dejected, gliding toward your door. Adhering to the command you gave her: Get out. “But if your parents’ opinion weigh heavier… Fine.”

A beat meandered through the room, while Ellie’s hand hovered over the handle.

“I realized… After Cat found me in the barn that…” She chewed on her lip. “I’m not ashamed of what we did— which is why I don’t mind telling the truth. It may be a threat for her but… it’s a release for me.”

A sob shockingly came from your throat, plopping onto your reading nook. The strength of your neck unable to hold up your head—it dropped into your hands to cover your face. “Please,” Your breath hitched, peeking through your fingers. “Ellie, please, don’t say anything. Don’t ruin tonight over something…Something fickle.”

Fickle?

She deepened her eyebrows in offense before pulling open the door. “I’m telling them whether you like it or not. Shape up or ship the fuck out.” Ellie pushed through the door, making sure to shut it light enough not to cause a stir, but heavy enough to unsettle you further.

To Ellie’s core, she was a pusher; a person who liked to push others—for better or for worse. Just depended on the day, and the person. Now, in her past, she’s made the mistake of pushing you into a worser version of yourself. And she almost did it again, but she revised her actions efficiently. She corrected it. Switched it around like a puzzle-piece placed in the wrong spot.

You needed to learn how to stand in your decision—good or bad—and not cowering within them. There’s no point in begging for a person’s forgiveness once you’ve done something wrong. Accountability and apologies are all a person has. And your parents—pssh; you shouldn’t be worrying about that so much.

Tommy and Maria loved you more than life itself, and Ellie understood why because she did, too.

There was nothing you could do to scarlet letter your persona. Absolutely nothing.

Even after titling the love you and Ellie embraced fickle; she could never turn her face from you— not for long anyway.

Dragging her feet down the hall, old converse sliding against the wood, eyes watering with warm tears in the corner of her eyes; a door creaked open. An aged pair of brown eyes, pushing though the slot. “Everything all right, kiddo…?”

Slowly, she turned her head to look at him. Olive eyes attempting to blink back tears at the sound of his softened, gravelly voice. Sniffling, her legs carried her toward him, wrapping her arms around his soft abdomen, tucking her head into his chest.

Nothing came from her but soft, stressed cries. Fingers clenching onto the fabric of his flannel behind his back.

As much as this situation was a lot for you, it was a lot for her as well—just in a different way, for a different reason.

In your room, you were still on that reading nook in your towel. Your body was was dry, so the old cloth scratched and tickled your skin. It was deserving for you to be uncomfortable. Ellie was right; you were a little pathetic—for lack of better word.

You spent so much time wanting to fix yourself. Be the best version of yourself. And that wasn’t Tommy or Maria’s fault, it was your own. When you were first adopted, sent to a new school, you had a full out meltdown. Some kid had been picking on you for being quiet, and you escalated the situation to a place that it didn’t need to go. As in: using your fists to defend yourself. From then, you were thrown into therapy and had to relearn that fighting wasn’t the answer. Maria aided that by drilling into your head that violence was something that could get you into trouble.

So, how did the way people perceived you become such a focus? Well, Maria’s scoldings of your behavior translated in your head—along with trauma of past foster homes and neglectful parents—that what people saw of you mattered more than your own conclusions. They thought, therefore you were.

You failed to fact-check. You failed to have a personal understanding of your own behavior. It was rare for you to make peace with your own actions—good or bad. You were always stuck on what a person would think of you; especially, your parent’s. Perhaps, there was still a part of you that felt you needed to prove that you worth caring for. Worth supporting.

That pressure continues and continues and continues to shove your head underwater no matter how many times your flail and beg for air.

It was obnoxious. It is obnoxious. You’re obnoxious.

Love isn’t conditional. It’s a feeling that tethers people to one another despite anything. Despite flaws and self-guilts—it perseveres. That concept shouldn’t be difficult to grasp because, after all Ellie had said on that one unfaithful afternoon, you still loved her. You loved her at seventeen, and you love her at twenty-five. Nothing has changed. Nothing will change.

And the same applied for your parents to you.

It was fucking physics and you were a prodigal humanities student who looked at STEM in contempt.

Solemnly, you dressed into a pair of comfy clothes. Attempting to replace the frown that stuck to your lips, although your body was already weakened from your emotions. Surprisingly, a cigarette couldn’t cure your overthinking mind—not this time. There was no point in pulling from one.

After squeezing eye drops into your eyes to eliminate the irritated veins in your sclera’s, you stomped down the wooden stairs. When your mother noticed you, she smiled. Her sparkling white teeth glimmering in your eyes—warm and kind. “Ellie and Joel are gonna be baking the pie at the guesthouse… So, the kitchen is ours.” Maria chuckled to herself, kneading the dough for her legendary biscuits.

“I know how much you hate overcrowded kitchens…” You respond, grabbing the apron with your nickname stitched on the front—Bug. She did a double take, looking from the dough in her hands. Noticing that unfortunate look on your face, and that blandness in your tone.

Maria sighed, setting the dough aside, leaning her flour covered hands against the counter. “Not you, too… What the hell is in the air today?” She shook her head, averting her eyes to you with intensity. “What’s goin’ on with you— Ellie had just come down here with that same look on her face.”

“What look?”

“That look.”

You pressed your lips into a line, looking around in thought. It was easier to lie and say something unrelated but that was fruitless idea. So, you said nothing, walking over to the cornbread she left out to begin working on the stuffing.

Raising an eyebrow, she followed you with her icy irises. She then called you your full name, which sent chills down you spine.

You sucked your teeth, meeting her stern eyes. “Ellie and I had sex…” You mutter, peering down to your shaking hands.

“What…?”

It was difficult to say aloud to your mother, but that the rest came behind swiftly. “And Cat found out because I had a run-in with Joel— he heard, and I wanted to let Ellie know… So, I private messaged her on MySpace, but turns out, she wasn’t the one responding to me; Cat was.” You puffed air from your lips. “This morning, she came by to ask where Ellie was, so I told her she was in the horse barn. Come to find out, she confronted her, threatening to air all of our shit out to you and dad and Joel as a consequence.”

“Tommy, get in here.” She asserted to her husband focused on the television, keeping her wide eyes on you.

Another sigh came from you, watching as your father navigated into the kitchen. “After my shower, Ellie was in my room and that’s when she told me. We got into it a little bit… Uhm, because she told me that she was gonna tell y’all that we slept together and that pissed me off— because why would she do that?” You scoff, not noticing the glances your father was making to your mother as you unloaded this heavily detailed bundle of information. “How could she be so quick to admit that we had sex to our family that has known us since we were children? That we committed fucking adultery while her girlfriend was only, like, ten meters away—“

“Honey,” Tommy tried, but you held up a finger.

“Let me finish.” Your eyes welled with tears, looking at your fathers aging features. “I couldn’t understand how she was so okay with it, but, now, I do. I think I do…” You glance between the two people hovering around you. “The only reason why I came up with the idea— yeah, I’m the one who came up with it… To hookup. Sue me— was because I wanted to see if what was happening between us was real. And it fucking was!”

“I know what we did was wrong. I knew it was wrong when I decided to go through with it… I begged Ellie not to say anything— which is ironic considering I’m the one talkin’.” You chuckled, wiping a warm tear that slipped from your eyes. “I was afraid of what you guys would think of me. That you wouldn’t love me anymore because of what I did— because you didn’t raise a liar…” Pausing, you released a shaky breath. “Verbatim: she told me to shape up… Or ship the fuck out. I chose the latter because… You didn’t raise a coward either.”

They blinked at you.

“I love Ellie. I really do, and yeah, we should’ve gone about this differently— but we didn’t. And I’m sorry.” Curtly, you nodded your head, adjusting your shoulder to stand up straighter. “I’m so grateful that you guys are my parents— you chose to be here and support me. The least I can do is be honest with you. Even if that results in your disappointment.”

The tears had dried up in your eyes sometime amid your ramble of humility. Confidence growing with every word that you spoke. Ellie’s words rang through your skull about your consistent jig of morality. Fuckup’s don’t make you nor should they break you.

Shit happens!

Their quietness made you tremble out of that shell of confidence you manifested, making you breathe a little heavier and feel a little more uncomfortable within your skin. You watched as they looked at each other. Maria sporting a mixture of concern and disappointment on her features—more disappointment than concern. And, Tommy, the complete opposite.

“You know, what? I’ll let you two… Sit on this.” You walk past them, toward the fridge. In the door, there was both glass bottles and cans of beer—Miller Lite and Heineken. You grabbed the green glass bottle by the neck, “I’m gonna have a beer…” Walking toward the back door with horse barn on your mind.

It was like a weight lifted off your shoulders after you confessed. Being honest with your thoughts about the whole situation made you feel lighter—feather allowing the wind to guide her, type of light. It was freeing to stand in her truth.

The cool breeze of autumn bit at your exposed arms, and the sliver of skin between the hem of your top and the hip line of your sweats. But because you were riding on the high of your confession, you didn’t feel the chill. You never were much of a beer person—it never made sense for you to drink. Yeast was never your thing, but after your confession, you had a craving for it. The beer, not so much the yeast. You overcame something big—you cried yourself into a new you. A better you.

And not that surface-better person you were trying or pretending to be.

When you arrived at the barn, you didn’t forget to pet the grazing horses near you before entering. Remnants of Ellie’s work lingered around, but there was no sight of her. Perhaps, it was for the best. Reaching for one of the bridles hanging on an iron hook, you used the belt to pluck off the tin cap that topped the bottle.

Settling in scattered hay, you plopped onto the ground, taking a large sip. Gritting your teeth at the flavor—still, wasn’t much of a fan. Although, she lingered close to her mother, Sarah began to drift toward you. Curiosity ruling her developing brain. You reached out to her, scratching the short tufts of her blonde hair.

She leaned into your hand, huffing air from her nostrils. It made you smile, her comfortability with you after knowing her for such a short time. “Oh, Sarah…” You sighed, wistfully.

From behind her, in the distance, you see your mother’s figure approaching you. You take in a nervous breath, preparing for her, potentially, harsh words.

Maria’s boots crunched along the sprawled hay, taking her time to sit beside you. Leaning her against the same wooden wall you did. She ran her hand through her short blonde hair, sighing as her shorter pieces of her hair fell right back into place. “If…” She began, thoughtfully. “I’ve ever given you a reason to think that I— we could ever stop loving you, y/n; that was my mistake. I wanna start there. Out of everything that you said in there… That’s what disappointed me most.”

Your eyes flicker to hers, briefly. Sarah had retreated back towards her mother. “Yeah, I must admit… I don’t wanna see my daughter, my kid, doing something worth regretting— no parent wants to see that.” She shook her head, glancing back at the horses. “And, yes, I am disappointed that you did something of this nature… But I know your heart, honey.” Maria reached her hand to your bent knee, caressing with her thumb.

The heat in your cheeks and eyes increased with emotion. “I’ll never forget that look on your face when we surprised you with those papers.” She smiled at the memory, and you leaned into her as if it were muscle memory. “You were… Relieved. And, from that day forward, Tommy and I promised to do right by you. To love you how you deserved to be loved— to prove that you deserved to be loved despite what the world had already managed to convince you.”

You wrapped your hand around the one on your knee while tears dripped from the corners of your eyes. “You think something like this would change my mind?” She looked down at you leaning her shoulder.

“Yeah… I guess…” You insecurely blinked at her. Feeling like the very thirteen-year-old she was referencing.

The blonde woman shook her head, placing a hand on your cooling cheek. “Well, that’s the farthest from the truth, Bug.” Her lips plotted against your forehead, comfortingly. “Your father and I will love you until we’re cold in the ground—“

“Mom, don’t say that.” You whined, sniffling.

“Probably, beyond that—“

“Mom!”

She snickered, peeling the beer from your fingers, and taking a sip for herself. “I don’t know how they tolerate this stuff.” Maria grimaced, shaking her head, setting it aside. “So… What’s the course of action now that everybody knows this big secret?”

You pull from her, leaning your head against the wall. “I don’t know…” You sighed, shutting your eyes. “Ellie is pissed at me—“

“For…?” She perked a slender eyebrow.

“Because… I called our situation fickle to get her to not say anything, but clearly, that didn’t work.” You shook your head. “I guess, I’m the impulsive one now.”

Maria hummed. “Looks like you have a lot to clear up.”

You inhaled, peering at her. “Looks like it.” With another breathy sigh, you shook your head.

“Fuck, and Cat.” You slapped your hand against your forehead.

“Ah. You know, she has every right to be upset?”

“Of course, I do. But, to be fair…”

“Nope—“

“Ellie came up here to get away from her— that’s what she told me!”

Your mother scolded you, calling you by your full name—because that was her super power. But, you ignored her, sitting up straight to prove your point. “She was living in the biggest, most creative city in the world and felt crowded? How does that make sense?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Maybe… Maybe this is what they needed.” You shrugged.

Maria stood to her feet, offering you a hand. “Let’s not get caught up in the little details— you have some apologizing to do.”

“Ugh! I know, I know…” You took her hand, hopping to your feet. She bent down, picking up the beer bottle by the throat.

“But before that, you need to cover up those arms, and get to work in that kitchen— because, we have guests.” As your mother ushered you back into the house, you dragged your slippers against the ground, finding your way back inside the house with a newfound comfort.

Almost an hour earlier, the guesthouse was bluntly silent. Nothing but the slight huffing of Joel kneading dough and the crunching of breadcrumbs from Ellie. There wasn’t much conversation; only the actions of their priorities fr dinner. Cat had locked herself in the bedroom, probably, plotting her next attack.

Joel made a point to keep his eyes on Ellie—and Cat—to make sure nothing crazy happened. Cheating situations made people a little tense at times.

“So… Ellie, what song are you planning on playin’ tonight?” He tried, beginning to roll out the dough; flat to place in the round tin pan.

She sighed, glancing at him with a dismissive glare. “I’m not playin’ tonight…”

“Come on, it’s tradition—“

“Fuck, tradition! I’m not doing it. Can we move on?”

He huffed, placing the wooden roller on the floured counter. “I think you need to cut her some slack, kiddo. She didn’t mean to—“

“I don’t care what she meant—“

“Can you let me finish?” He raised an eyebrow, pointing an index finger that was caked with white flour. Ellie bunched her lips together, rolling her eyes. “Now, Ellie, I know you’re upset with y/n, with how the situation panned out— I get it. But don’t let your frustration cloud your judgement.” He told. “I spoke to her long before you did. I don’t believe for a second that she truly thinks that your relationship is fickle.”

He inhaled, scratching the back of his neck. “Sometimes we say things that we don’t mean— I’m sure you know about that.”

She ran her tongue over her lips, tapping her foot against the floor. Thinking back to a few years ago when she exploded on Joel and you. Ellie was good for that—saying things she didn’t mean. “I mean, I’ve said a few things to Tommy in my day.”

“Joel…” She shook her head. “I don’t even know if it’s that alone— I…” Ellie struggled to verbalize, gesticulating with her hands and fingers as words attempted to materialize behind her teeth. “She’s always choosing her parents over me— over everything and everyone. Really, it’s doing her a disservice—“

The artist began to rant like her life depended on it. Of course, in a low enough tone where her girlfriend in the other room couldn’t hear. Joel just watched a listened, as her features contorted with annoyance. But, within her big, earthy eyes, Ellie told on herself. Her claims didn’t come from hatred, or even contempt—it came from her adoration of you.

In the corner of the room, relied the piece she’s been working on since the day of her arrival, or rather, the night of. It was no longer covered with a white, paint-stained sheet. Her work had been exposed to the light due to a quick argument between her and Cat before Joel came to save the day. It was a colored-in image of you in front of that old shed. A joint rested between your index and middle finger with a look of relaxation was on your smoothly stroked features. Ellie made sure to depict you in your most comfortable state.

If only he could see her sketch book.

“Ellie, you have to break up with her.”

She paused, mid-sentence. “What?”

“Matter of fact, you need to break up with Cat— now.”

Uncomfortably, she shifted on her bare feet. “But… The pie…”

He chortled, averting his eyes to the art piece at the corner of the room. “Priorities, Ellie. Priorities.” Joel leaned his hip against the marble counter. “Go in there, break up with her— as kindly as you can. Then, offer to drive her to the train station. If she declines, insist. If you go now, you should make it back before dinner. You know Maria will have a cow if you’re late.”

Briefly, she thought to herself. Ellie was never the type to be afraid of confrontation—she may have hesitated a few times… But she was never afraid. She never expected her actions to be thrown into her face so quickly, though. The memory of Cat approaching Ellie in that barn sent chills down her spine, because she had an inkling that something was wrong the minute she had appeared. Her dark brown eyes were squinty and boring through her as she approached. At first, Ellie didn’t notice Cat’s slender frame walking up to her—as she were hyper-focused on tending to the small, blonde-haired foal.

They have been together for nearly a year, so of course, the freckled artist knew when she was truly upset. Cat was a woman of subtly, despite her tattoos and silver piercings. Her anger pressed through with an even tone, and a stiff posture; rather than, expression through loud voices and firm fist curls. They are polar opposites in that way. That is what originally attracted Ellie to her—but in that moment, she shivered.

It was like whiplash, comparing how she woke up to how she appeared in front of Ellie in that moment. Making her wonder, if that happy act was all lie? It most certainly was.

Cat somehow surpassed a level of straightforwardness that Ellie was comfortable with, telling her exactly how it was: Why she made breakfast for her this morning, the MySpace conversation (why she pretended to be her), her certainty of her infidelity, and the official threat that set everything off the rails. Easily, her intention was to embarrass Ellie and you. She sensed the timidness that you hid behind and wanted to use it against you. She assumed, based off the history between you and Ellie, that the only way for Ellie to be affected is to make an example of you. However, she imagined that it would be more difficult for her girlfriend to confess her actions first.

You weren’t particularly obvious with what happened between the two of you, but she would have to be stupid to not assume that it was a sexual thing. But when Cat approached Ellie with the statement: You told me you were going on a run. She didn’t expect to be met with immediate truth. Her olive eyes had grown wide for only a second, before words began to just flood from her like an open dam. Ellie couldn’t stop herself.

Perhaps, it was the complaints of you echoing in her head. Your fervent concerns about going back to Cat—it made her feel guilty; so, she confessed as if she were bribed to tell the truth and was content with the consequences. All the while, brushing the soft, blunt hairs of Sarah.

Ellie assumed that was why Cat made a threat to support her dominance. That made her hesitate a bit—admitting to her family that her and an old flame, that ended horribly in their teenagerhood, had secret sex in the middle of the night? Despite having a girlfriend—who could ever do such a thing?

Apparently, Ellie.

Straightening her shoulders, she didn’t back down, though. She took full accountability for her behavior, claiming that she would be the one to tell them what she did—although, she did find that to be dramatic. It wasn’t until Ellie was checking off the chores list in the garden, when she realized her fate had a drastic connection to you.

You weren’t the type to stand tall in defeat or mistake. When the things you did wrong were brought to you, you quivered and coward away because it made you feel more than you preferred. Faulty. It made you want to sequester—the total opposite of Ellie.

She could never forget how you hid away after the fight on her seventeenth birthday. You didn’t go to school for a week. Ellie offered to bring you schoolwork, like the waving of a white flag, but you declined—or, rather, your parents declined. One of your academic friends made visits to the farm every day to give you the missing work. For a moment, after not hearing from you, Ellie thought you moved abroad or something. You were the closest thing to a true hermit.

That worried her because this is the last thing you’d ever want to admit, and it was Ellie’s fault. She may not have felt a lick of regret for loving on you like she used to, but she felt bad for putting you in a situation you couldn’t seamlessly get out of. It was a nightmare to see you flail, but the only way out is through. Ellie learned that a long time ago. Maybe, it was your turn to reassess that motto.

The only way out is through.

So, Ellie made her way to the bedroom they shared, knocking before she entered.

Cat had her back propped up against the wooden headboard; a pair of headphones covering her pierced ears as she typed on her own computer. Her bags were packed and ready in the corner of the room—that’s what she spent her time doing this morning… Packing her bags. When she wasn’t issuing theatrical threats. That’s already one concern out the window. She was ready to ship out. When she noticed Ellie, her soft features fell.

“You’re already packed…” She acknowledged, rocking on her bare feet. Cat removed her headphones with a sigh. “Let me take you to the train station—”

“Before you tell your family that you boldly cheated on your girlfriend? I don’t think so.” She dismissed, tilting her head to the side. “If this is your way of getting out of—”

Ellie groaned, slapping her hands against her thighs. “I’m not trying to get out of anything, Cat. I just don’t want you paying a fucking grand to get back into the city.”

“What do you care?” Cat challenged, setting her laptop aside. “Hm? You told me that I had nothing to worry about. That’s what you said… Turns out that was a stupid fucking lie.” She ground out, pressing her lips into a disappointed line. A cruel laugh came from her, while she shook her head in disbelief. “And now, you’re saying you care about how much I’m spending to get back home? Are you fucking with me?”

“I’m not. It’s the least I could do—”

“No… The least you could’ve done was not fuck y/n—that’s the least you could’ve done.” The scorned woman argued, meeting her eyes with intensity. “I’m not going anywhere until I see the looks on Mr. and Mrs. Miller’s faces when they find out what the two of you did— I have a feeling it’ll be memorable.”

The freckled artist found her attitude to be draining, even if it was sensical for her side of things. Her fingers rubbed between her eyebrows. A raspy sigh fleeing from her throat. “Look, I get you’re upset, Cat. But dontcha’ think you’re doing, I don’t know, too much?”

“You think this is too much?”

“Uh, yeah, I do. I said I’d tell ‘em what happened— that should be enough for you.”

Scoffing, she threw her legs over the mattress. “You expect me to believe the woman who cheated on me? How didn’t I know you were this idiotic before?” Cat scoffed, dryly.

She deepened her eyebrows at the insult, gritting her teeth. “You know, what? I’ve been really struggling to keep my mouth shut… But, clearly, there’s no point.” Ellie huffed, blinking her eyes. Perhaps, it was time for her to know the truth on why Ellie wanted to go home for a while. Her stiff words got Cat’s attention, causing her to narrow her dark eyes. “That whole thing about me having a hard time in the city with my art— yeah, that was because of you, not because of fucking Brooklyn.” The woman admitted, releasing the tension in her shoulders. “Truth is, your endless support did nothing but drag out my lack of inspiration—you made it worse! What I needed was to get out of that goddamn apartment, not get out of the city.” She continued, pacing around the room. “From the moment I saw her… Inspiration fucking flooded my psyche— all I could see was her. Her face. Her voice. Her body. She did more for me in second than you ever did for me in the year we’ve been together.”

She ran a hand through her hair, scoffing. A boyish smirk spreading onto her plush lips. “Who’s the fuckin’ idiot now?” Ellie muttered, flickering her earthy eyes toward her shocked expression.

A beat plotted in the environment, feasting on the spreading tension in the room.

That was mean; she matched her cruelty and then some. Ellie shouldn’t have, but she was only human. A human who just made her girlfriend—sorry, ex-girlfriend—cry. Her thin eyebrows pushed into a harsh furrow, tears streaming shown her flushed, hot cheeks. Her fingers danced in front of lips, trying to keep her sorrowful whines from being heard. It wasn’t working. Cat cried like a hurt dog, stuffing her face in her hands at Ellie’s restriction of consolation.

With crossed arms, Ellie looked down at from across the room. Family was one of the most important things to her. Despite her youthful, abrasive attitude, Joel decided to contractually tie himself to her—her adoption. But, even before then, she’s been a divine part of the Miller family. They meant a whole lot to her, you, more so. The fact that she was so willing to draw a wedge between the lot of you… Frankly, it disgusted her. It was repulsive.

“You have every right to be upset. I can’t take that from you.” She let up, lifting her eyebrows. “If anything… What I do regret is pulling you along this far out of convenience. To be honest—”

“Haven’t you been honest enough? Fuck, Ellie.” Cat blurted, peeking over her shoulder.

Her feelings might have been hurt; a simmering flame awaiting the impulsive pressure of Ellie’s old converse. The auburn-haired woman sighed, taking a seat on the bed. Away from Cat, not only to convey her sincerity in her processing words, but to respect Cat’s wired emotions. “I’ve kept enough from you, kitty Cat. My honesty is my apology…” Ellie casted her down-to-earth irises to the side of Cat’s face. When she turned to meet Ellie’s eyes, her smudged eyeliner and mascara became a spectacle. “And my good-bye…”

Cat scoffed in pure offense. “You do not get to break-up with me when you’re the one who fucked up.”

“Well, if you wanna be the one to call it… Then, feel free.”

“No!” She grit her teeth, more tears dripping from the corners of her eyes. “I don’t want to break up with you…” Her lips quivered.

Ellie chortled, leaning her palm into the mattress. “Uhm, one of us is gonna have to do the breaking, Cat.”

They apparently have walked themselves into an impasse. To make a decision, or to not make a decision—that was the question. The response, the answer, was far simpler than Cat was making it, though.

Sighing, the freckled artist looked to the side. Ellie could use this to her advantage—getting her on that train back to the city. “You don’t have to right now…” She began to offer. “How about you mull it over on the way to the train station? I still don’t mind driving you there.” Her fingers fiddled with themselves, hoping she’d finally accept her invitation to leave.

She looked at her frowning, blinking away her tears. “Fine…” Cat stood to her feet, wiping her makeup-stained cheeks with the backs of her hand. “Why don’t you be a doll and bring my bags to the truck. It’s the least you could do.” Before Ellie could respond, she walked into bathroom and locked herself behind the door.

Releasing a long breath of relief, Ellie got up from the bed. As silently as possible, she pumped her fists into the air. Cat was leaving with only a little bit of resistance. That whole dramatic scene she was hoping for wasn’t happening—thank God!

Ellie stuffed her feet into her sneakers, before grabbing her rolling luggage and bag, hoisting the large purse over her shoulder. She left the bedroom, eyeing Joel on her way out. He was covered in flour and sugar, like the chef that he aspired to be. She gave him a thumbs up on the way out the door, snickering to herself.

Joel clapped his hands, forgetting about the flour stuck to his hands. It puffed into the air and down his throat, causing him to obnoxiously cough—away from the food developing in front of him. “Goddamn,”

Ellie peeked her head inside, pushing the luggage to the side on the small wooden porch. “Please, survive until I get back. Wouldn’t want another tragedy on Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, shut it, Ellie.”

She snickered again; her mood instantly heightened. However, as she maneuvered off the porch, her eyes caught sight of you and your mother. Maria’s arms were around you, guiding you toward the house. You didn’t have a jacket on and sported a pair of slippers—you weren’t dressed for the brisk afternoon air, dragging your feet against the ground. Ellie had stopped in her tracks. Shoes crunching on bumpy gravel. She couldn’t help but wonder what led you out the house. Was it her? Did she unnerve you so bad that you ran away from the warmth of the house?

Also, did you mean what you said when you used fickle as a description of your relationship with Ellie? Boy, did she have so many questions. This ball was filled with kinetic energy, rolling as it should have. She was just going to have to keep the momentum of its roll. For how long? The inspired artist didn’t know—but what she did know, was that she had a woman to make hers again.

This time, in a sustainable way, instead of a chaotic one.

taglist: @autisticintr0vert , @liasxeatt , @hopingforgoodblogs , @lia-winther , @macaroni676 , @tobiotruther , @anewkindofloove , @fatbootymuncher , @maiaska , @culuvr , @0phantom0 , @onlinelesbo , @bbnbhm , @lovelaymedown , @lamorenita , @scatapple , @elliewilliamsblunt , @goddessofchaosss , @mikellie , @emmanetalias , @sevyscoven , @lluvbk

#🪅#millersfinest #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams smut #ellie williams series #lesbian #muheheheh everything is falling into place

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mushies-stories · 2 months ago

Text

One thing led to another and now I'm a wife to four military men? 18+

141 X F!READER

CH. One: A mission not gone as planned

Chapter one Summary: You were a hired guard to travel with a cargo container. You were not told what was in it or who you were guarding it from, and in the end your team was under prepared and your truck was overrun by a task force. After a misfire the container was shot and mist covered you and a soldier you had been tackled by. The soldier dragged you along with him when everyone began to scatter.

A little about the Reader: Reader is shorter than the guys and has some length of hair, but mostly the physical description is up to yall readers to imagine. Personality isn't anything too extreme one way or the other, but she has an interest in art, and crafting. Creating in general. reader is infertile, because I said so. It's not a big plot point, reader doesn't care. ALSO because I want this to be longer than I've written before, the guys are ‘straight’ for all intensive purposes. I love reading true poly 141 but ima keep it chill, for my own sanity.

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, creampie, poisoned by aphrodisiac, swearing, talk of infertility. Bad accents… also lack of, sorry XD but any pointers on how our boys should sound would be very welcomed! Homies help homies, right?

Word count: 6473

The beginning.

“S’fuckin hot!” The man, your enemy grunts as he pulls his gear off along with his jacket. His mohawk is a mess and his forehead is sticky with sweat. The room you were in was void of everything but the rusted metal chair that Soap took and an old desk that he pushed against the door. You sat on the floor and against the wall across from him.

You roll your eyes. “It's because of you we’re even in this mess.” you weren't doing much better than him. You were both affected by the unknown toxin and he had only managed to make it to a dingy basement with you before it all became too much to keep walking. His team was waiting for the all clear and location from him before moving in.

“Me? If ya had just surrendered then i wouldn't have’ta tackle yer ass.” he scoffs back. “By the way, yer a terrible fighter.” Soap adds. Petty you think.

You take off your vest and jacket with a huff, the heat getting to be too much. The wall felt cool against your back as you leaned on it and you savored the feeling. “Because I'm not even a real soldier, I've had very minimal training in combat.” you admit. Soap looks at you a little confused. You roll your eyes. “I was hired to watch the cargo mostly, I'm not half bad with guns. I work for an outside source. Meaning I'm basically of no use to you, I have no information, and can we just not talk?” you add with a bit of a cheeky smile. The best one you could muster up under your conditions.

You settle into a mildly uncomfortable silence. Your body is too hot for the wall to have helped for long. You close your eyes and lean your head back, willing whatever was taking effect to pass.

“Did ya even know what was in that cargo?” His voice disrupts what little peace you were managing to get.

You shake your head. “Nope.”

“Amazing.”

You open your eyes to look at him. “What?”

“Yer a little dumb aren't ya?” He snorts.

Your eyes narrow a little in irritation. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Soap pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side. “Ya take a dangerous job from people ya barely know anything about while barely knowing how to take care of yerself? Sounds pretty dumb to me.”

You weren't sure why but your body seemed to react to seeing him so bare. Your own body still felt impossibly warm and your pussy fluttered at the sight of him. You let out a soft huff and try to clear your head, whatever toxin you both inhaled must have been potent. “I've done just fine, I'm good with a gun.” you tell him, trying to defend yourself.

Again he snorts a laugh. “That so? Because from where I'm sitting ye dont look like yer in the best position to be talking.” he points out. He was right, you were now unarmed and your body and mind were both being affected by some sort of toxin. “Besided, I don't know about ye lass, but i'm startin to think whatever we took in was an aphrodisiac.” he says.

You look at him, eyes widening. “How do you assume that?”

Soap leans back in the chair, legs spreading out a bit and looking at you through half lidded eyes. “Because the only thought running through my head is ya being stuffed full o’my cock.” He says bluntly.

A look of shock spreads across your face, your body however has a different reaction. You could feel how damp your panties were starting to get. “I think that's just your problem.” you try and lie, try to ignore the truth of the situation and the way his gaze was making you feel. Even mostly clothed you felt exposed to him as his eyes wandered around your body.

He raises one brow and a smirk plays at the corner of his lip. “Tha’so bonnie? Body isn't hot, ya aren't feeling yer pussy getting all wet and needy?” He wasn't just teasing you, he was taunting you.

As hard as you try, his words still have an effect on you. He was right, your mind is being flooded with thoughts of him. You couldn't just give in to those thoughts though, right? You don't respond in words, instead you shake your head and avoid looking anywhere but his body. Not like his face was any better to look at. He was good looking and had the most entrancing blue eyes. A chill runs up your spine and the dampness between your legs grows.

This isn't helping.

Now he was smirking. “Sorry lass but m’not sure I believe tha,” he chuckles. “Bet yer pretty pussy is aching just as badly as my cock.” Your eyes flicker to his crotch where there was indeed a bulge. Your mouth practically started watering at the sight, mind flooded at the thought of how stuffed you'd be. “See, eyein it up.” your eyes snap back to his, embarrassed of your own actions. “Wishin it was fuckin yer little pussy bonnie? All ya gotta do is ask.” he asks, voice huskier than before. One of his large hands came down to press and message at his cock, his eyes never leaving yours. Soap needed you, but he needed you to need it just as bad. He might be a killer, a soldier, but he had respect for women and this toxin was not working with his morals.

You clamp your legs together as you take in the whole sight of him. You could barely handle the growing ache in your core anymore, ignoring it was becoming impossible and he knew what he was doing to you. He could see it in your face and your body as you begin to rub your thighs together. “I can't do that…” you try to explain but a heat wave crashed into you and your breathing began to pick up a bit more.

“C’mon lass, ya know I can help. Let me make yer pussy feel better, I'll take care of ya.” he tries to reassure you he means it, he doesn't want to hurt you, but he knows you both need this. You can't help feeling uncertain and it shows. He lets out a soft sigh, he doesn't blame you, he was probably intimidating no matter how much you pretend to be as tough as you act. “Soap, can call me soap, I'll make sure no matter what yer taken care of, alright?” He says with a softer smile, a reassuring smile.

You nod slowly, accepting his obvious call sign. “Y/N.” you tell him, figuring using anything but your real name was pointless.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Soap says, smile widening ever so slightly. He liked the sound of your name on his tongue. Lazily he undid his pants and slid his hand under the fabric, watching you as you thought about what he said. He groans softly when he starts to slowly pump his cock, his eyes fluttering a little as they stay focused on you. You can't help but watch his movements, his pants even loose seemed to be straining his cock. He must be big and you assumed pretty thick, if it's anything like the rest of him that is. “Are you sure?” you ask.

He nods and huffs softly. “If wha ya say is true, ya were just fer hire yeah.”

The feeling between your legs was quickly becoming unbearable and you couldn't think of anything else to do about it. Slowly you stood on shaky legs, using the wall as balance before taking the few steps across the room to Soap. He pulls his cock out and adjusts his pants so you have a good view of everything. He was big and thick, a few thick veins trailed up the bottom and sides and it was leaking precum already.

“Alright lass, take off those bottoms.” He instructed. Your eyes trailed up his body and back to his face. You didn't sleep around, and the times you have it was never any good, or special. Your brain was still trying to fight your body's urges. Soap could see the conflict on your face. He reaches a hand out and pulls you closer by the hips. You let out a startled gasp and reached out to hold onto his shoulders. “There we go, I got ya.” Soap says. His fingers do quick work with your buckles and buttons and you are free of the damp fabric.

He glanced up at you when he noticed your underwear. Definitely not military approved lace. You roll your eyes and yank them down yourself. “Shut up, it's not like anyone normally would know.” you say as Soap guides you onto his lap with his hands on your waist. You're placed right on his cock and the feeling of your dripping pussy makes you both shutter a little at the contact.

Again he chuckles. “Guess it's my lucky day.” he teases. He's a little goofy you realize. It helps make you feel a little less nervous, that maybe under normal circumstances this wouldn't be so bad. You don't even realize it when your hips start to shift and grind down against his length. Your mind seemed to have fogged over momentarily, the feeling of his warm cock being the only thing you can think of. “Feeling good dove?”

you're brought back to reality and halt your movements. If you weren't already so warm you knew your face would be shining bright red right now. That new nickname didn't sound too bad coming from him either you think. “Ye-yeah, I mean… i did-”

“Shh, it's okay.” His smile is kind when he looks at you, but the look in his eyes shows you that lust has taken over. “I'm gonna lift ya and I want’ya to guide me in, can ya do that lass?” he asks.

“Mhm.” you hum with a nod. With one hand placed on his shoulders for support he wrapped his hands under your thighs and lifted you up. You reach a hand down and slide your fingers down his length and it makes your pussy flutter.

“Ready?” He asks. You give him a nod in response and line him up with your dripping cunt. “Good girl.” he praised.

He took a lot of care in how he held you and once the tip of his cock was pressing against your entrance he was gentle when pushing in. As much as he wanted to pull you down and have you take his whole length right then, he wouldn’t.

You couldn't hold in your gasps and breathy moans. He was making you feel so good so easily, you wanted him to fill you up, wanted him to keep stretching your pussy on his thick cock.

The sounds you were making as he filled you up inch by inch were like music to his ears and encouraged him to keep going until you were finally at the base of his cock. “There we are Dove, properly stuffed with my cock.” he says, looking down between your bodies and admiring your pussy. His eyes stayed trained on your slick core as he pulled you up a little, cock twitching at the sight of sliding in and out of you. “Tight little pussy, gripping my cock so perfectly.” He groans as he sets a slow pace, rocking you on his cock while you hold onto his shoulders and try to stay focused.

You almost felt like a toy as he effortlessly benched your body. You didnt mind that much, the need to be filled and fucked heavily on your mind. It wasn't long before you were craving more, needing him to go faster, make you really feel him. Your eyes flutter when you look into his. “M-more, please.” you managed to get out.

Soap shuddered at your words, the way you looked at him with such pleading eyes. “Fuck Bonnie.” he groans. His grip on you tightened before he started to move you faster. You hold onto him just as tight, nails slowly digging more and more into his skin the better it starts to feel.

You held your voice as much as you could in case someone was still in the area. While soap would have preferred to be able to hear every sound you could make, he knew better as well and settled on what he was able to get. Soaking in your breathy moans and sharp gasps, the feeling of your breath creeping closer to his neck. You had to wrap your arms around his neck the harder you were slammed down on his cock. You could feel the knot in your stomach getting closer to snapping with every thrust. You found it hard to keep your voice quiet so you pressed yourself into soap, moaning into his neck and clinging to him.

Your actions cause Soap to smirk a little. His cock was throbbing and precum mixing with your own juices, all of it making him feel just as close to his own release. “Gunna cum for me bonnie?” his voice was deeper, close to your ear and it made you shiver. You shake your head and a whiny moan escapes you. Soap responds with a low moan of his own. “C’mon then, make a mess dove.” he encourages.

His words and a few more thrusts were all it took for you to come undone. Your pussy squeezed his cock as you covered his cock in your slick. You did all you could to hold back your sounds, using the crook of his neck and shoulder to mask most of it. All of it hitting Soap's ears and pushing him closer and closer to the edge. Your pussy taking his cock so well and your pretty little sounds were perfect to him. “Need to cum Dove.” he warns you and slows down his pace, letting you ride out the last of your high. He can't help the desperate moan when your pussy flutters at his words.

Your thoughts are instantly filled with thoughts of his cum filling you up, how good it would feel. They fuel a new desire and another ache in your pussy. “Cum, like this.” you say softly, just loud enough for him to hear.

His cock twitched. “Ya want tha bonnie, want me to fill ya up?” he groans, picking his pace back up.

“Need it, n-need you please.” you whine. Your pussy was dripping, making a mess of his lap and pants and you didn't want to waste time explaining that it doesn't matter, you wont get pregnant. You were close to the edge again, pussy fluttering around his thick cock and you needed to feel him cum. “Please cum, need to feel you cum.” you babble.

Soap was focused now, focused on feeling every inch of you. Marveling at how it feels having you take all of him. “Fuckin perfect pussy, gunna be good and take my cum?” Your response was a needy mewl and your nails digging into his back, sure to leave marks. Soap reacted by slamming you down on his cock as he came. His hands moved to your hips to hold you there while he grinds up into you.

Your legs shake and your pussy flutters, Soap fills your senses, his low groans and his cum filling your pussy. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you cum again. You're both lost in a haze of pure pleasure, you rock your hips in time with his now slow and gentle thrusts. Slowly you caught your breaths. You figured that was it, his cock wasn't as hard anymore but there was still something, you could still feel a dull ache. One that only grew when you focused on the way his cum was leaking out. When he was about to lift you to pull out you couldn't hold back a displeased whine.

Soap chuckled softly and settled you back down. “Like my cock tha much bonnie?” he asks, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. You pull back and look at him with half lidded eyes. Slowly you rolled your hips, gasping a little when you felt his cock twitch. “Fuck, this is some poison.” his cock was already getting hard again, filling you up and fogging his brain all over again. He hooks his hands under your things again and stands, lifting you while keeping his cock snug in your pussy. He brings you to the desk and lays you right on top, leaning over you to get a view of your face. “This time I want to see this pretty face when ya cum dove.” he tells you before sliding almost all the way out just to slam back into you. You have to throw your hands over your mouth to suppress the yelp you let out.

With his hands holding your hips in a firm grip he doesn't waste time being so gentle this go around.

*******************************************************

You weren't sure how long the poison lasted, or how many rounds you went by the end. Hell you don't even remember the end, it all became a blur and at some point you had passed out. True to his word, Soap did make sure to take care of you. At least in the sense that you had woken up in a decent looking hospital bed dawning a hospital gown and not in an interrogation room. Your body was still sore a day and a half later but it's nothing you couldn't handle. Having become dehydrated in your previous state, you were hooked up to a drip bag.

“Looks like ya weren't lyin lass.” Soap familiar voice causes you to snap your head to the doorway, you were lost in thought, trying to piece the events after you blacked out together. He was already back in uniform and roaming around and here you were still stuck in a hospital bed rehydrating. Soap closed the door behind him and stepped into the room. He grabs the empty office chair and and sets it next to the side of your bed and sits down

“Told you, there was no reason for me to.” you state, pulling the blanket up a little more over your lap.

“That ya did lass, never doubted ya either.” He says with a stupid grin. “Love the dress by the way.” He teases with a nod to your attire.

You roll your eyes and ignore the sudden reaction of butterflies. “So what now, what's going to happen to me?” you ask simply.

He eyes you for a moment and you try to stay as confident as you could. “Tell me, what is it ya want, lass?” he asks. You look at him with a raised brow, confused. “Yer job, is this what ya want’ta be doing?” he asks, tone becoming more serious.

You blink a few times, thinking about what he's asking. What benefit knowing the answer would be to him. You shake your head slowly. “No, not really. Just kind of got stuck in it.” You admit. It was true, you never cared for the job, just the money you got from it. “Why?” you ask.

You don't know why you were feeling so anxious, but him being this close again made your skin warm a little. “Why do ya keep at this job then?” Another question.

You tilt your head a little, trying to figure him out. “Money, it pays… well.” you tell him. “What's the point of these questions?” you were starting to get a little irritated.

He smiled then, the stern facade wiped away. “Well Bonnie, I was thinking maybe I could make ya an offer, if you’ll hear my proposal out.” He waits for you to object and when you don't he continues. “My mates and me, we've been looking for a lass, someone to be ours.” he begins and watches your features as he explains. “Think ye’r what we're lookin for Bonnie.”

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. “What are you talking about? You want me to be a whore for you and your “mates”, that's it?” you were offended and it showed.

Soap shook his head. “No, not at all. I mean…there's four of us, and it's difficult for us to maintain relationships because we go on long missions. But we thought, maybe if we find someone who would like’ta be with all of us...” He tries to explain better, he was starting to become uncertain, a little shy even when he realized how it was starting to sound. “Really didn't mean any offense Bonnie, ya also happen to be aware of our jobs, and the struggles that come with it and that might be somewhat beneficial.” he adds, trying hard to save this conversation. He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I know it was because of the poison, but I can't stop thinking about ya lass and I think the others would feel the same as me.” He confessed.

You feel your face heat up at his confession. You take a moment and process what he's saying. “I guess I understand, but how exactly would this all work? ” you ask.

He smiles a little, seeing that you aren't as angry now. “We have a nice home we all got about a year ago when we decided to do this. ya can do whatever ya want to it. We will take care of ya, whatever ya need, won't hav’ta worry about anything.” Soap smiles when you don't look totally disgusted at the idea. “Ye’ll be our girl.” He adds. He looked at you with hopeful eyes, like a puppy actually.

You let out a soft sigh, relaxing a little. “Can I at least meet the others first, before deciding to sign my body over?” you ask, a little sarcastically.

Soap chuckles. “And yer heart Bonnie, don't forget that.” he jokes. You give him a small smile in return. Okay, he was maybe a little charming, in a dorky kind of way. “Sure ya can, I'm sure our captain will be by eventually anyways. Did make him a little curious when I wouldnt stop talkin’bout ya.” he admits sheepishly.

You're sure after this whole conversation your face was a few shades redder than it normally was. “Of course you did.” you say, rolling your eyes again with a chuckle.

“Wait, not like that… well a little, hell Bonnie.” he chuckles nervously. “Just talk to Price, yeah, he’s our captain, hear him out and if yer still interested we can set up a little meet and greet.”

You look at him, trying to look for any malicious intent but either he was a really good actor, or he meant it. “Alright.” you answer simply with a short nod.

He gives you a genuine smile. “That's it, I'll see you later then dove.” Setting the chair back in its rightful place he leaves, after one more look back with a goofy grin before shutting the door again.

That brings a small smile to your face. He was nice you thought, maybe even a little funny. Were you really going to consider being, what, a girlfriend for hire for a group of military guys? You think back to your little accident with Soap. The thought makes you want to rub your thighs together. Though you were grateful he didn't bring it up just now, you dont think you're ready for that conversation just yet. But that was him, you didn't know who the other men where you would be with. The logistics of everything was confusing.

Then there was the future, did they mean to keep you around forever, or would you be tossed out after a while? What kind of future were they looking for, maybe they wanted kids and to be like a normal family. That was something you couldn't give them, at least not naturally. You were told by three doctors a few years ago you were infertile, no fault of your own, just happens sometimes. You weren’t too upset at the news, adoption was always an option along with others, and if you didn't have any that was alright by you too. But did four men feel the same as you?

You let out a sigh and turn the tv on to find the least boring show you could and attempt to clear your mind. A rather hard task when memories from your time with Soap keep popping into your head. You think over the offer, you'd be lying if you said your interest was peaked. It's not like you really cared for your current job anyways, it was just a means to an end, but what was the end? Would they really take care of you?

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. After a while the tv manages to grab some of your attention.

A couple of hours go by and you've gotten the iv finally taken out and were given something to eat, though you only ended up eating the fruit cup. You were told to sit tight and someone would be in to discharge you. You settle in and let your mind relax a little, focusing on the tv drama you found that was already half way through the series. After a while your peace was disturbed by a knock on the door.

Starting to feel anxious again you let out a huff and prepare yourself, you didn't know if it was a doctor or Soaps captain. You mute the tv and face the door. “Come in.”

The handle turners and you knew who he was the moment your eyes saw him step into the room. “Y/N? I'm Captain price.” He greets you with a smile and closes the door behind him. He was dressed similarly to Soap and he was older than you and Soap and definitely had the ‘aura’ of a Captain by just the way stood.

You nod in response and motion to the chair for him. “You can sit if you want.” you offer. You felt even more awkward being in a hospital gown now. You didn't know what to say, this kind of situation was never something you’ve had to deal with before.

“Thank you.” he places the chair next to the bed and sits. “I assume you know what this is about?” he asks.

“Yes.” you answer simply, trying not to show how nervous you really are.

“I can answer any other questions you have, if you'd like.” He begins. “I know what we are asking is not very conventional, and I would hate to put you in any uncomfortable situations.” He explains.

You take in what he says and gather your thoughts before responding. “Would… would we all like, share a bed or something? Also what about money, and a job? Do I have to find a new one? How is this all going to end? And wha…” you stop, realizing you were just blurting out every thought you were having.

Before you could dive too far into self pity due to embarrassment, the Captain surprises you. He laughs, nothing too extreme but enough to have him tilting back a little in his chair. “That boy really didn't do a great job explaining, did he.” He says, more as a fact than a question. “First, you, like the rest of us, will have your own room. That doesn't mean you only have to sleep in your own bed, you are allowed to choose wherever that is.” he explains with a knowing look in his eye. Even with something implied what he said did help your nerves a little. “As for money, so long as you don't destroy our banks, you will be taken care of. Money to do with as you please and you can ask for anything. You can work if you want, though we would prefer it to be close to home, coming home to you is a big part of the deal. That seem okay to you?” He asks.

Soap did say something along the lines of being taken care of. You wouldn't have to work, or you could. “How do you know I'm right for all of you? What if the others dont like me or we don't get along? I'm not that attractive, you don't know anything about me.”

The captain gives you a soft smile. “Well we don't expect you to be on board right away, it is a lot to ask someone to decide in one day. I was thinking you would come stay with us for a few days in the house, get to know everyone and all that. As for how you see yourself, I can promise you, my men will prove you wrong, if you let them.” he offers but notices the look of hesitance on your face. “You don't have to do anything you don't want to love. We understand what happened between you and Soap, it wasn't either of your choices. While it is what led us to you, it was not the only reason. Soap saw something in you and really pushed for this, can't be without good reason.” he tells you. “You have every right to say no whenever you want and we will respect that.

You nod along to his words. Becoming a little flustered at the mention of Soap and you. The thought of him talking about you like that made your heart skip a beat. Your mind flashes to who the other could be, were as nice as Soap and their Captain seem to be, would you get along with the others? “Could you tell me a little about the others maybe?” you ask, voice quieter now.

“Of course.” John says. “Their names are Gaz and Ghost. Gaz is our pretty boy, as much as he pushes my buttons. He's a good lad, kind, caring, all of that. Ghost, well he seems big and scary, wears a mask more often than not but he's really not all that scary.” he spoke of the others fondly, warmth written on his face and you smile a little at his descriptions.

However you can't help but notice you haven't been told any of their first names, it's all been what you assume is a call sign. “Am I ever going to know your names?” you ask, raising a brow.

He chuckles. “Of course love. Ghost will be back tomorrow and I thought we could do a proper introduction then? Ghost is a little more private about himself than the rest of us, but if you just give him a little time he will warm up to you.” he explains. You go to ask one another question but stop yourself, not sure how to bring it up. The Captain notices and gives you a soft smile. “What is it, love?” he asks.

You glance down at your hands a moment before facing him again. “Kids, I can't have them.” you tell him rather bluntly.

“Do you want kids?” he asks.

You shake your head. “I mean, I can't say one hundred percent no… but I'm not upset that I can't, I can always adopt ya know and… I mean.” you take a short breath and gather your thoughts. “If that was something you all needed, a child, with me, I can't do it.” You explain.

“It doesn't make a difference to us, love, we knew our family would already look different when we decided to do this.” you can't help but be a little shocked. “We are looking for a partner, and what you want or don't want matters.what we need is for you to be happy and healthy.” He leaned in a little and eyes never left yours as he spoke.“As for an end? I can't say what will happen in the future for certain, but our goal is forever if we can have it.” He speaks with a look of sincerity in his eyes. “So Dove, what do you say, come stay with us for a few days?”

Warm, your cheeks felt warm and your heart was beating faster. Something about him made you want to trust him, he spoke so gently to you, not something you expected from someone in his profession. You look at your hands as you think, fidgeting with the hem of the blanket. Soap was funny, and nice and you already knew what sex with him could be like, and if the others are as good as those two seemed to be, why not? You take a short breath and nod once. “Yeah… I think I'd like to give it a try.” you say, glancing at the man through your lashes.

You could have sworn your heart skipped a million beats when a brighter smile spread across his face. “Glad to hear that love. I think you’ll like the place, and I'm sure with your touch added it will feel even more at home for all of us.” He says with a nod and stands. “Would you mind waiting here just a bit longer? I have some paperwork to finish up before we head home.” He explains.

You give him a small smile. “Yeah that's okay, I've got my drama to finish anyway.” you joke, nodding to the muted tv that was still playing your show.

He chuckles. “That's right, just a bit then.”

With that he places the chair back and takes his leave. You unmute your show and try to focus back on the story, a task easier said than done however. Your nerves are all over the place and at the same time you are filled with anticipation. So many different thoughts coursed through your brain, making you question your decision. Could you be risking your life, or were these men actually normal, good people? If they are, will they really take care of you, would you get to live with all of them?

You replay your conversation over and over in your head and it comforts you a little. The Captain seemed so genuine and sincere when he spoke. Even Soap was basically a gentleman when he stopped by. You thought for a second about running out, hospital gown and all but quickly dismissed that idea.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath and slow exhale.

Your moment of clarity is interrupted by yet another knock on the door, this one just a little softer.

“Come in” You call.

One of your nurses, Jackie, you think, entered with a black paper bag. It almost looked like a gift. “This is for you, someone dropped it off, there's clothes in it.” She tells you while setting it on the bed beside you. “Guess you won't be needing to make a fashion statement with a pair of scrubs.” she smiles. “I also have some release forms for you to sign.” she adds, handing you the clipboard and a pen.

You chuckle and smile back, taking the board from her. “As long as it's not this stupid gown, I'd take it.” you joke and scribble your signature where it was needed and handed it back.

She snorts a laugh and nods in agreement. “Very true, well you have a safe trip home, glad you're feeling better.”

“Thanks, and thank you for bringing the clothes.” she smiles and nods before disappearing, closing the door behind her.

You reach in the bag and find a plain black shirt, blue jeans and a black hoodie. Under those were a few pairs of socks and… you pause a moment before picking up the panties. Red lace. You roll your eyes while your cheeks turn a shade of pink. Soap was the one who went out and got you these clothes, and being a cheeky bastard about it too.

You roll your eyes and grab a pair of socks. Once you got them on you slid off the bed and threw the rest of the clothes on, ready to not feel so naked around everyone. They fit well enough, the hoodie was a little big but comfortable. You sit in the chair to put your boots on, loosely lacing them.

Your eyes snap to the door at another knock. “Bonnie, cn’i i come’n?” Soap calls from the hallway.

“Yeah!” you shout.

He smiles when he sees you finishing up your laces. “Hope the clothes are okay, I wasn't sure what yed like.” A small smirk appeared on his face, “well, mostly.” he teases.

You glance up at him with a raised brow. “Like a teenage boy.” you mumble, still loud enough for him to hear. “But yes they are, thank you. Definitely better than scrubs.” you say.

Soap feigned being hurt at your remark but ignores it. “Pretty bonnie like yerself would make anything look good, so ya have nothin to worry’bout.”

You chuckle and shake your head. “If you say so.” you try not to let him see how his comment has managed to fluster you.

“I do.” He said proudly. Then his phone beeped. He fished it from his pocket and took a quick glance at it. “Looks like we're all really to go, ya got yerself all together, lass?” he asks.

You stand with a shrug and look down at yourself. “Yeah, I didn't really have anything with me but my clothes.” you felt that same nervous feeling begin to bubble up again. This was it, you were going to try this with them.

Soap crinkles his nose. “Both our clothes got thrown out, promise we didn want them back.” he informs you.

You mirror his expression as you cross the room, stopping in front of him. “Yeah, probably right.” you agree.

For a moment he looks you over. “Well, we’ll make sure to get you more clothes, take you shopping if you'd like, and whatever else you’ll want or need too. For now though, let's get you home so you can have a good night of sleep.” He smiles and opens the door for you.

You looked from him to the door, that same nervous feeling began to bubble up again. This was it, you were going to try this with them. It took you a moment before your legs started moving, but a cloud of excitement grew and sat right beside the swarm of nerves as soon as you stepped into the hallway.

You weren't going to turn back now, or at least not yet. You wanted to go with them, to follow Soap and see what this life could bring you.

****************************************************

🍄 Thank you for reading!

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lovelettersfromluna · 6 months ago

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Under Your Spell

summary: what’s that old saying? Best way to get over someone is to get under…..yeah yeah, we all know where this going, don’t we?

an: Hi! Long time no see, huh? I hope you’ve all been doing well! I’ve missed it here a lot, more than you could ever know. The semester is over, and I’m finally free! (For a little bit). College is very hard, and it took a lot of me this year, but let’s not get into that right now. This chapter has been VERY long awaited, and I am so sorry that it’s taken this long to get to you all. This one is pretty short, but not only did I want to get it out to you all in time, but I also have lots planned for the next chapter! (Luna you’re putting four parts into one of your fics???) I know I know, shocker right? Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this past despite it being short! Love you 🤍🤍🤍

warnings: MDNI!, 18+ fic only, slight smut, lots of angst, mean!Ellie, idiot!Ellie??, Abby’s in this one hehe, making out, drinking, let me know if I missed anything!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

Sleeping in your bed had become extremely difficult.

It was like every time you laid your head against the soft pillows, your skin sliding against the soft material of your sheets, your brain would be filled with images of Ellie. The feeling of her lips on your throat, her hands on your hips, everything she’d given to you was permanently burned into your memory.

You couldn’t get away from her, no matter what you did.

You let out a soft sigh as you sat at your old desk, your cheek resting against your palm as your fingers traced along the smooth material of the wood. Things had gotten a lot trickier after your last night with Ellie, your mind clouded with confusion regarding the entire ordeal.

Ellie had….sought out for you. She definitely did the first time but there was something about her coming home from a night out, and slipping into your sheets that had your mind in shambles. It didn’t make any sense, you were sure that whatever happened between you and Ellie was a one off, something that was influenced mainly by alcohol and forced proximity. The played out story of the brother’s best friend ending up in a sticky situation with the younger sister. It was cliche, but it happened.

That didn’t change that it left your stomach in knots every time you heard the floorboards creak near Ellie’s room.

You’d done a pretty good job at avoiding her and the entire situation. It meant that you were in complete and total lockdown, even worse than before, however it saved any awkward tension, which you’d much rather trade for a few months of complete isolation.

But as all good things did, it was coming to an end.

Because you were given a choice, one that dangled your pride, and your social life in your face, forcing you to choose which you valued more.

Every summer, a huge party was thrown down at the beach. You and your brother joined as soon as you were old enough to drink, your parents went when they were younger, their parents went, and nearly everyone in your town experienced it at least once. It was like a tradition, one that every young person would look forward to.

It was one of your favorite parts about being home for the summer.

However, there wasn’t a party thrown in town that your brother and Ellie wouldn’t join.

And that’s where your choice came in.

You’d been going back and forth with yourself all week, weighing out the pros and the cons of it all. You knew that there were ways to get around her, to make sure that you wouldn’t see here while you were out there. To top it all off, you hated the idea of letting Ellie rip away one of your favorite things to do while you were home, giving her that much power didn’t make any sense to you.

But you still couldn’t push yourself to do it.

You swiveled your chair back and forth, staring up at your ceiling as you struggled to make a decision. However the clock was ticking, and the party was officially happening tonight. You didn’t have much time to go back and forth with yourself anymore.

It was either you swallow your pride, go out and enjoy yourself for the first time since everything happened with Ellie, ultimately standing up for yourself and sending her a big fuck you while doing so…

You let her win. You sacrifice your time there and you let Ellie steal your time. You let her make a fool out of you by being too hung up on the very weird attention she’d been giving you, and you stay in your room for yet another night while everyone else is having the time of their lives.

Thinking of it that way didn’t leave you much of an option, did it?

You practically rip your room apart looking for the perfect outfit to wear, which ends up being a pink halter top that flows down a bit at the ends, a pair of your favorite denim shorts and your sneakers. By the time you’re finishing up your hair and your makeup, you hear the faint sound of your brothers minions showing up, pairing that with the music that starts playing leaves you to figuring they’re probably pregaming before they leave.

That’s when it starts feeling real.

You let out a deep sigh as you stare in the mirror, fixing your top over your chest before fluffing out your hair and fixing your lip gloss, giving yourself a gentle affirming nod before you push your phone into your back pocket and head downstairs.

A blanket of silence falls between Derek and his friends when they notice you, multiple sets of eyes zeroing in on you as you slip between your brother and one of his friends silently to pour a shot before throwing it back with ease. Hazels the first to comment on it.

“Awe man, I didn’t think the first grader could hang….you joining us tonight sweetie?” She taunts, her perfect teeth pressing down into her plush bottom lip as she stares at you, a challenging look in her eye.

Derek is the next one to speak up, a surprised look on his face as he stares down at you. “Wait…really? You’re coming with us?” He quips hopefully. Had Hazel kept her fucking mouth shut, you probably would’ve found the sentiment sweet from him.

You inhale deeply to calm yourself, staring down into the empty shot glass before you finally raise your eyes to look at Hazel, only to find her standing across the island, her back pressed into Ellie’s chest as her tattooed hands toy with the exposed skin of Hazel’s waist.

You completely ignore Ellie’s eyes burning holes into you.

“Shut the fuck up Hazel” you bite back before pouring another shot.

Your words earns reactions from the group instantly, even your brother chuckling softly as he gives you a proud smile. Hazel however, is not amused in the slightest.

Her poker face drops for a moment, nostrils flaring as she stares you down like she wants to jump over the table and have you for herself, but she quickly picks it up, giving you an impressed smirk before she nods slowly.

“Ahh so she speaks…my apologies sweetheart” she practically grits out before she lets out an annoyed sigh.

“Let’s go then. I don’t wanna be late” she quickly seethes out, pushing herself out of Ellie’s arms so she can grab her purse that was sitting on the couch.

You trail behind the others after your brother reassures you things will be okay, giving him a soft smile as you all pile into his car, ultimately missing the way Ellie’s eyes trail you the entire times

The car ride there feels nostalgic. The summer breeze turns cooler the closer you get to the familiar beach, your brother blasting his music in the front as you rest your head against the edge of the window, letting the wind blow through your hair.

It makes you wish things were different. The warmth in your chest would’ve paired so well with a better crowd, one that didn’t see you as the annoying little sister that tagged along when she really shouldn’t be.

Your mind takes you to an alternate reality where things are different, one where you get along with your brother’s friends. You wonder if they’d like you if they gave you the chance, if they weren’t predisposed to not liking you simply because you’re younger than them…

You wonder if things had been different, if you and Ellie could’ve been something.

Because clearly there’s attraction there, there had to be. Were you so wrong for even letting your brain wander there? Wondering what life would be like if you and Ellie were cordial, let alone experimenting with a relationship in a normal way, and not the way you’d been going on for this past summer.

What would it be like if she treated you the way she treated Hazel while others were around? What would it be like if you were in Hazel’s position? Propped up in Ellie’s lap while the others sang songs and joked around with each other?

You’d never know, because you were in this reality, not a perfect one.

You don’t even realize when your brother pulls up to the beach. The gentle shake of the car as his friends practically run out is what rips you away from your thoughts. You clear your throat as you make your way out once everyone is gone, brushing down your outfit as you make your way down the familiar path to the beach. The beach is blossoming with the sound of life. Loud music quickly surrounds you, people dancing, swimming, drinking, it’s almost so perfect it feels cliche, and that alone reminds you that you’d made the right decision by deciding to come out.

You’re the moth, and the ocean is your flame.

It draws you in closer as you sip the drink from your solo cup, appreciating the pattern of the tide rolling in, wetting the sand beneath it, only to then pull back out shortly after. It’s what you’d missed most about the beach in your home town, its ability to calm you no matter what was almost remarkable, even with the crowd of people around you.

You have to stop yourself from walking too far down the beach, knowing deep down that Derek’s friends would take any chance to ditch you while we’re oblivious to what was going on. It’s how you end up out on one of the piers, your legs dangling over the edge as you stare up at the moon, watching as the waves roll in while you sip on your drink.

There’s heavy footsteps along the wooden pier, ones that you don’t quite catch between the heavy sound of the waves, and the music nearby. It isn’t until a familiar voice rings in your ear that you realize you’re not alone.

“You know I heard you were back in town….but I thought there’s no way you’d come back without texting me first” the words come from behind you, and your eyes widen once you catch the tall frame standing over you.

Abby Anderson

She was one of your closest friends back in elementary school. It wasn’t nice to admit, but you’d drifted apart once you both got to high school. It was in the most natural way possible, but she always managed to stick around in your mind from time to time.

Before all of that, you two were stuck at the hip. It was a similar friendship to Ellie and your brother, the two of you always running through your house, causing many headaches for both your parents and her parents whenever you were both together.

You hadn’t seen Abby in years since you left for college, it’d been so long that you didn’t even realize how long it had been.

Her physique was quite the sign that time had passed though.

You gasp softly when you realize it’s her, quickly pushing yourself up off the pier to push yourself into her already opened arms.

“I didn’t know you came back for the summer…god it’s been so long” you sigh out against her broad shoulders, the sweet smell of her perfume filling your nose as you let your eyes flutter shut, relishing in the feeling of her strong arms wrapping around your waist.

“You’d know if you thought to hit me up once in a while” she teases. You can hear the smirk in her voice as she keeps you close. It makes you giggle softly as you finally pull away from her, wanting to get a good look at the girl.

She’s just as pretty as you remember. Abby always had the prettiest blonde hair, and the most charming smile. Those were never things that you failed to notice about your friend, however she’s different now. She’s taller, her build a hell of a lot more stronger than when you were in elementary school, her hair longer and tucked into a thick braid…

You have to stop yourself from staring.

She peers down into your cup, noticing that you were getting empty. She nods her head towards the bonfire before speaking.

“Let’s top you up while you tell me alllll about your life in the big city, yeah?” She offers, to which you dumbly nod to as you follow next to her almost obediently.

After that, the two of you were glued to the hip the entire night. Between catching up on what life had brought the two of you within your adult years, and reminiscing over your time as kids, the world could be burning around the both of you and you two wouldn’t have noticed a thing. For the first time since you’d came home, you had finally found someone to spend time with.

And Ellie notices the entire thing.

Her eyes were on you the entire night. From the moment you came downstairs at the house, it was like she was under some fucked up spell that made it so she couldn’t function unless you were in her line of view. She couldn’t count on her hands how many annoyed sighs she received when her friends realized she wasn’t listening to what they were saying, instead busying herself with figuring out where the hell you were.

She tracked you like she was the predator, and you were her prey. She made sure you didn’t stray too far away from the group, made sure you didn’t do something stupid like strip naked to take a quick dip into the cold ocean. She was just being helpful! It wasn’t like she felt her mouth go dry every time it looked like someone was going to approach you….

And its like fate was on your side that night, because the moment Abby approached you at the dock, Hazel was settling herself into Ellie’s lap, toying with the hair at the nape of her neck and ultimately blocking you from her view completely.

The next time she does get a chance to see you again, you’re wrapped up in none other than Abby Anderson’s arms.

It’s just her luck, isn’t it? That out of every girl in your small beachside town, you choose that fucking idiot. You choose the girl that everyone knows to be Ellie’s sworn fucking enemy since forever. The only explanation is that you’re doing this on purpose. You know exactly what to do to get under Ellie’s skin. You did it when you were flirting with Jesse right in front of her, you did it when you kicked her out of your bedroom the last time you two were together, and you were doing it right fucking now by getting all cozy with Abby fucking Anderson.

So of course, she has to try and stop this.

But Ellie soon realizes that she spends way too much time mentally dwelling over this, and accusing you of something she knew deep down was very much out of character for you, because the second her eyes search for the two of you, she’s met with something she can only assume was pulled out of her worst nightmare.

You and Abby hand in hand as she helps you into her car.

Ellie is quick to push Hazel off her lap, her eyes now frantically searching for your brother. Once she spots him, she’s interrupting his conversation the moment she opens her mouth.

“Hey man…have you um….do know where your sisters going right now?” She asks almost out of breath, her eyes shifting quickly between Derek and Abby’s truck as she pulls out of her spot in the parking lot.

Your brother raises his eyebrows as he looks back to where you are in the girls car, nodding as he takes a sip of his drink. “Yeah, she just came and told me her friend is gonna take her home” he explains casually with a shrug before he tries to turn back to his conversation.

Ellie scoffs in disbelief at his casual tone, her hand reaching forward to grab his shoulder and turn him around to face her again.

“Friend? Did you even see who she was leaving with?” Her voice is laced with worry and distress as she complains to your brother, the man oblivious to Ellie’s frantic demeanor.

“Wasn’t it just Abby? They’ve been friends forever…I honestly don’t trust anyone other than that girl. Have you seen her fucking arms? I think my sister is in good hands with her” he chuckles softly as he gives Ellie’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Between his words and his reaction to the entire thing, Ellie feels like she’s going to lose her fucking mind.

Her green eyes go wide as she stares at your brother before she gives a laugh of disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me? It’s just Abby? As in Abby fucking Anderson? Are we talking about the same girl here? Or are you suffering from fucking brain damage?” She snaps back.

Her wild eyes and mean words take your brother back, his playful laughter dying down once he realizes that he friend is quite literally tweaking over the fact that you’ve left with the girl that he knew she had some beef with.

“Woah…calm down man. It’s just my sister, your beef with Anderson doesn’t really have anything to do with her…she’ll be fine” he tries to assure her once more, his tone softening to calm his friend.

This does nothing though. It makes Ellie pinch the bridge of her nose in annoyance as she shakes her head. “Give me your keys” she demands with her palm out, pushed towards him.

Derek furrows his brows in confusion. “What? Are you seriously going to-“ he’s quickly cut off by Ellie, stopping him from finishing his question.

“Give me your fucking keys Derek. I’m not letting that asshole get it in with your sister” she finally admits, her words making your brothers eyes go wide with realization, finally seeing the situation for what it really was.

He inhales deeply before he reaches into his pocket and finally places his keys into his friends hand without another word, biting back the smirk that threatened to grace his lips.

He always thought Ellie’s animosity towards you was weird, but he never thought it would mean this all along.

She doesn’t even notice, the girl quickly taking the keys and mumbling a small ‘thanks’ as she jogs up the path to the parking lot to jump into your brothers car, and race home.

Meanwhile at your house, Abby was showing you quite the time.

It didn’t take long for you two to give into the tension that had settled the moment she picked you up from the dock. One moment you were toying with the little loose hairs falling from her braid and framing her face, and the next you were tugging her up to your bedroom and locking the door behind you.

Her hands were all over you, caressing your body as her knee began grinding into your core, her lips swallowing up your moans as you clung to her desperately, chasing your high as if your life depended on it.

The feeling of Abby against you cleared Ellie out of your head almost immediately. You weren’t worried about her or the mean things she’d said to you, or the nasty way she’d treated you after getting what she wanted from you. What once was a bed that you could barely sleep in without thinking of her was now filled with the feeling of Abby, and you couldn’t be more grateful.

Ellie realizes she’s too late when she pulls into your driveway to see Abby’s truck is still there, and she has to stop herself from ripping your brothers car door off when she gets out and slams it closed. There’s still something in her that hopes this is all innocent, that you didn’t really do the unthinkable and take Abby Anderson home to spite her. She hopes that the sweet side of you has taken the moral high ground, that you’ve gone to bed like the good girl she knows you are and Abby just happened to walk home and leave her car in your driveway.

So when she’s jogging on the stairs after frantically searching for you downstairs, hoping that she’ll find you sound asleep in your bed, her blood practically runs cold when her hand wraps around your doorknob…

And she can make out the familiar sounds of your moans through your door, paired with Abby’s words of encouragement to go with it.

#ellie williams smut #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #tlou part 2 #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you

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channieschaoscorner · 10 days ago

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New Beginnings - Part Five - Stray Kids x female!9th member

Pairing: Chan x 9th Member

Summary: Lines are becoming more and more blurred as you and Chan still struggle to navigate old feelings that are returning to the surface. The pressure on the solos and duet are building so it’s only a matter of time before one of you breaks.

Genre: Angst, slow burn

A/N: YOU GUYS I’M BACK <3 Thank you all so much for you patience, I know I was away a lot longer than I originally planned but seeing the love still coming in from you all means THE WORLD. It’s been a hard few weeks but I’m so happy to be back and bringing you a new chapter. Please let me know what you think <3

Part Four

Masterlist

────୨ৎ────

Chan could feel it — the way his heart clawed against his ribs, frantic, desperate, every second he stayed here next to you.

It hurt.

It hurt worse than anything he’d ever felt.

But it also felt like breathing for the first time in forever.

You were right there.

So close he could feel the tremble of your breath against his skin, could hear the unsteady beat of your heart matching his.

And still, it didn’t feel close enough.

His pinky was still tangled with yours, the fragile thread holding him together when everything else inside him was pulling apart. He didn’t know how long you had been lying there together, time had blurred into nothing, into something sacred he didn’t want to let go of.

In here. it was just you and him. No expectations. No fear. No pretending.

Only this.

Only you.

His fingers twitched before he even realized what he was doing, brushing your hair back from your forehead, the softest touch he could manage because anything more would break him completely.

“We should probably go back to the dorm,” he whispered, but his voice barely sounded like his own. It was rough, hoarse, cracking under the weight of all the things he didn’t dare say out loud.

Don’t go. Stay. Stay with me.

When you shook your head, that tiny, heartbreaking movement, his chest caved in.

He closed his eyes tightly, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.

“I know,” he managed to choke out. “I don’t want to either.”

Because if you left now, if you walked out of this tiny sanctuary you’d built between you — he didn’t know if he’d survive pretending anymore.

Didn’t know if he could keep looking at you like you weren’t everything.

Didn’t know if he could keep swallowing down the truth burning in his chest like it would tear him apart from the inside out.

He hovered, hand still half-reaching toward you, caught in the impossible choice between pulling you closer or letting you go.

Every instinct in him screamed to move.

To tell you.

To let it out.

That he—

It was there.

Right there on the tip of his tongue.

He could taste it.

He could feel it in the way his breath caught when he looked at you.

And then, your forehead brushed his again, tentative, burning, fragile and he couldn’t hold back anymore.

He wasn't sure who moved first. Maybe he did or maybe it was you? He didn't care, all he knew was his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t controlled.

It was a breaking, desperate, shattering kind of kiss that said everything he didn’t have the courage to speak.

You gasped against him, and it felt like a lifeline he hadn’t known he was drowning for. He deepened it, pressing closer, his hand cradling the back of your head like you might disappear if he didn’t hold you tight enough.

He felt the way you kissed him back, just as desperately, pulling at his hoodie like you needed him just as badly. And that undid him more than anything else. Because it meant maybe you were just as lost, just as scared, just as ruined by this impossible thing between you.

He wanted to fall into you.

Wanted to lose himself in you completely.

Wanted to forget the fear, forget the reasons, forget everything except the way you tasted and the way you made breathing feel easier and harder all at once.

It was messy. Raw. Unforgiving.

It could have turned into more — it almost did.

The way your hands fisted in the front of his hoodie, the way your body pressed flush against his like you couldn’t bear to leave even an inch of space between you both.

Chan would have given you anything you asked for.

Anything.

But then—

The slam of a door echoed down the hall, sharp and cruel.

You broke apart like you’d been shocked, gasping for air, blinking at each other with wide, stricken eyes.

Chan’s hand hovered in the space between you, trembling, aching.

His mouth opened.

“Say it. Say it now. Tell her. Tell her, you coward.”

But the words caught in his throat.

He couldn’t.

Instead, he let his hand fall back to his side, clenching into a fist to stop himself from reaching for you again.

You didn’t move either.

You both just sat there, breathing hard, hearts pounding, drowning in everything that had gone unsaid — everything that still needed to be said.

He wanted to tell you so badly it physically hurt.

Wanted to fall into you, lose himself in you, trust you with all the broken, scared pieces he never showed anyone else.

But fear won.

Like it always did.

So, he stayed silent.

And so did you.

The space between you filled up with all the things you were too scared to say.

Chan lowered his head, staring at the ground, willing his breathing to slow, willing his hands to stop shaking.

But deep down, he knew.

He was already too far gone.

He had been for a long, long time.

And now, he was terrified it might already be too late.

────୨ৎ────

Chan didn’t know how long you both stayed like that.

Two statues. Too afraid to move.

He could feel the seconds bleeding into minutes, heavy and suffocating.

You were still sitting there across from him— so close he could reach out and touch you again if he just let himself.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

His hands curled into tight fists on his knees, nails digging into his palms hard enough to leave marks.

He needed the pain.

He needed something to hold onto before he did something even stupider than what they’d already done.

He snuck a glance at you.

You weren’t looking at him.

Your gaze was locked somewhere over his shoulder, unfocused, lost, like if you just stared hard enough at the wall, you could pretend none of this had happened.

But it had.

The taste of you was still on his lips. The weight of you was still in his arms, in his chest, in every shattered breath he pulled in. He thought kissing you would help. He thought maybe, maybe if he just touched you once — really touched you — he could get it out of his system.

Be normal again.

Be safe.

But all it did was make him need you more.

You have no idea what you’re doing to me, he thought helplessly. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you.

Years.

It had been years.

Years of stolen glances across rehearsal rooms, of staying late under the excuse of working on songs down the back of the practice room while you danced when really he just didn’t want to leave your orbit.

Years of brushing shoulders, of laughing too loud at your stupid jokes, of feeling his heart lurch whenever you smiled at him like he was your favorite person in the whole damn world.

Years of swallowing it down.

Years of telling himself he wasn’t allowed.

And now… now he wasn’t sure he could stuff it back inside.

Because for a second — just one broken, burning second — he thought you wanted it too. He thought he felt it in the way you kissed him back like you were drowning.

He almost told you.

Almost blurted it out right there on the studio floor like some desperate idiot.

Please stay.

Please choose me.

But the fear was louder.

Fear of losing you completely if he scared you.

Fear of breaking this fragile thing between you, whatever it was.

Fear that if he gave you all of him, you might decide it wasn’t enough.

He would survive a thousand more nights of pretending — if it meant he still got to be near you.

But he wouldn’t survive losing you altogether.

He bit down on the words like they were poison.

He didn’t look at you.

He couldn’t.

If he did, he was afraid something inside him would shatter too loudly to recover. So he stayed on the floor, back pressed to the wall, breathing like he’d just run miles and still couldn’t catch up. His chest ached. Your kiss still burned on his lips.

And all he could think was “you’re going to leave again.”

Just like last time.

He didn’t blame you. Not really. Not after what just happened — after everything neither of you said. This whole thing was a mess. A beautiful, terrifying mess.

So when you stood up, the sound of your movement made his breath hitch.

“There it is. She’s leaving.”

The thought ripped through him like a blade.

And he couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Just sat there like he deserved it — like maybe if he kept quiet, it would hurt less when the door finally shut behind you.

But instead you crouched down in front of him.

His eyes jerked up instinctively, confused, afraid.

You weren’t walking away.

You weren’t yelling. You weren’t running. You weren’t even crying.

You were just holding out your hand.

“Come on,” you said softly, voice too full of something tender and breakable. “We should go back to the dorms.”

It short-circuited something in him.

He stared at your hand like it might disappear if he blinked. Like maybe this was a dream too. That you’d vanish and he’d wake up and it would be just like always, just him, and silence, and the ache of everything he never said.

“You’re not leaving?” he heard himself ask.

His voice cracked halfway through.

It sounded too young. Too raw. Too real.

Your expression softened. “No,” you said. “Not without you.”

And Chan couldn’t breathe.

For a second, his lungs just stopped.

Because he’d been sure. Sure that the second the air shifted again, you’d pull away. Back into safety. Back into silence.

But you didn’t, you stayed.

You didn’t confess. Didn’t cry. Didn’t promise anything you couldn’t give.

You just reached for him. Like it was that simple.

And maybe it wasn’t simple. Maybe it would get more complicated from here. Maybe neither of you knew what came next. But as for right now, you were here, and you were asking him to come with you.

So he reached out. Slowly. Carefully. Like if he moved too fast, the moment might burst. His hand fit into yours like it always had. Like it knew where to go. You pulled him up and he went willingly. Still no words but your fingers were warm around his.

And he didn’t let go.

Because even if he didn’t know what this meant… even if he was scared out of his mind…

You were still here.

And for now —

That was enough.

────୨ৎ────

You didn’t let go of his hand.

Not even once.

Not when you stepped out of the studio. Not when the cold night air hit your skin and made you realize just how long you’d been inside. Not even when your fingers started to tremble.

Chan’s hand stayed wrapped around yours — like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to let go either.

It wasn’t tight. It wasn’t desperate.

Just… there.

A quiet tether between two people terrified of falling apart.

You couldn’t look at him. Not directly. Every time you tried, the memory of his mouth on yours, the way he kissed you like it hurt, would slam into your chest like a freight train. So you looked ahead. At the sidewalk. At the streetlights. At the familiar path you’d walked a thousand times before — that now felt completely foreign.

Because nothing felt normal anymore.

And yet here you were. Holding his hand. Trying to breathe.

You didn’t know how to explain what was happening inside you. How scared you were. How your heart was thudding so hard it felt like your whole body was pulsing with it. How the kiss had shattered you and filled you in the same breath.

And how now…

Now you didn’t know who you were supposed to be.

Because if you let yourself want this — really want it — you didn’t know if you’d survive it breaking.

So instead, you walked beside him in silence. Let your thumb brush against his knuckles now and then. Let your skin speak for you because words were too big. Too dangerous.

And maybe — maybe he understood. Because he didn’t try to fill the silence either. He just stayed close. Matched your steps. Let you lead the way, like he trusted you not to let him fall.

The dorm came into view slowly, edges soft and blurry through the fog of your thoughts.

You still didn’t let go.

Chan didn’t either.

Not when you climbed the stairs.

Not when you reached for the front door.

Not even when the lock clicked and you stepped inside.

The world didn’t stop turning. The hallway lights still flickered like always. The dorm still smelled like laundry and someone’s leftovers. Jisung’s laugh echoed faintly from down the hall.

But your hand was still in his.

And he hadn’t let go.

So you didn’t either.

Even though it hurt. Even though the fear sat like a weight on your ribs. Even though you were trying not to cry from the sheer, impossible tenderness of it.

Because for a few more seconds — just a few — you didn’t have to pretend to be fine.

You didn’t have to carry it all alone.

You didn’t say anything when you looked up at him, not really.

But you saw it — the way his eyes searched yours, full of pain, full of apology, full of something unspoken that neither of you could say.

And then, quietly, you tugged his hand.

Not away.

Not to push him back.

Just to guide him forward.

Down the hallway. Toward your room.

Still holding on. Still breathing. Still not ready to let go.

The room was quiet when you closed the door behind you.

Soft. Dim. Familiar.

You didn’t turn on the overhead light. Just the warm little lamp on your desk — barely enough to see by, but it made everything feel… gentler.

Chan didn’t say anything when you let go of his hand for the first time. He just stood there, fingers curling briefly like he could still feel the shape of yours pressed against his.

You didn’t know what to say.

There wasn’t anything that would make this less complicated. Nothing that would untangle the fear in your chest or the ache in his eyes.

So you didn’t speak.

You just crossed the room slowly, your movements quiet, a little clumsy from how much your body still buzzed with emotion. You pulled back the blanket on your bed, slipped inside like it was any other night — like this wasn’t the aftermath of a kiss that had nearly destroyed you both.

You didn’t invite him but you knew that uou didn’t have to.

After a long second, he followed. Chan lay down beside you, keeping to his side at first. His back hit the mattress in a slow, deliberate motion — like even this small, fragile thing was too much.

You didn’t reach for him. Not right away but eventually the silence became too loud and the space between you hurt too much.

So, after a while, you rolled over and tucked yourself into the curve of his side — tentative, not pushing, just there. Your cheek against the soft fabric of his hoodie. Your hand curled near his ribs, not touching, just hovering close enough to feel his warmth.

He went still.

Then — slowly — his arm came up and around your shoulders.

You let yourself breathe.

Not deeply. Not fully. But enough.

Enough to feel his chest rise and fall beneath your ear. Enough to feel the way his hand settled gently at your back. Enough to know you weren’t the only one holding onto something invisible in the dark.

He didn’t say a word.

Neither did you.

Because there was nothing left to say tonight.

No confessions. No apologies. No promises.

Just presence.

Just the soft, steady beat of his heart under your cheek. The warmth of his palm resting against your spine. The way his breathing finally slowed — like he could only fall asleep when you were close.

And maybe, just maybe… so could you.

────୨ৎ────

The next morning, the practice room felt colder somehow, but maybe that was just him.

Chan leaned against the mirrored wall, arms crossed tight over his chest like he could hold himself together if he just pressed hard enough. Trying to ignore how seeing you felt like a punch to the chest.

You were standing at the front of the studio, arms crossed loosely, instructing Jeongin through the next segment of choreography. Your voice was calm, focused, and just light enough that the younger members didn’t feel the pressure of getting things perfect.

You smiled at something Jisung said. Laughed, even.

Like nothing had happened.

Like you hadn’t reached for him in your sleep just hours ago, whispering his name with that quiet ache in your voice that still hadn’t left his bones.

The boys weren’t paying him any attention, they were too focused on the music, the mirrors, the sweat and rhythm of practice.

He remembered the warmth of your bed. The shape of your hand fisted in his shirt. The way you’d shifted closer even in sleep, like your body knew it was safe near his. How cold your room felt when he slipped out from under the covers and tiptoed towards the door.

And then….The moment you’d reached for him.

The quiet, broken sound of his name. Like how even in your sleep, you knew he wasn't beside you anymore. His legs had nearly given out but he left anyway. Because he thought he was doing the right thing. Because he was afraid of what would happen if he didn’t.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

Because here you were, cool and distant like always—like every second you’d shared in the studio, every glance that lingered too long, every stolen breath, every whisper hadn’t meant anything.

You didn’t look at him when he walked in.

Not even a flicker of recognition in your expression.

And that—somehow—was worse than anything he could’ve prepared for.

The pain bloomed sharp in his chest, but he swallowed it down. Pushed it back behind the practiced smile, behind the “leader voice,” behind the walls he’d rebuilt brick by brick the second he walked out of your room.

If you were pretending, he would too.

Because if this was how you protected yourself, then fine. He’d do it too.

His gaze flicked across the room — not looking for you, but finding you anyway.

Always you.

You were laughing at something Hyunjin said, your head tipped back, light catching in your hair.

To anyone else, you looked fine.

You looked the same.

But Chan saw it.

The slight tremor in your hands when you tied your shoes.

The way your smile faltered just a second too soon.

The way you kept your distance — from him.

It felt like something sacred had been ripped open between you, and now neither of you knew how to stitch it back up.

He should be relieved you were pretending nothing had happened.

Should be grateful you hadn’t said anything to the others, hadn’t looked at him like he was a mistake.

But it hurt more than he thought it would.

Because he couldn’t stop feeling it.

Every time your eyes brushed past him and didn’t stay. Every time your hand passed too close to his and didn’t linger. Every time you laughed and it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Chan knew he should be focusing on the choreography. On the music. On the steps. But all he could think about was the way you’d kissed him back like you were breaking apart. The way you’d clung to him like you didn’t know how to let go.

He kept catching himself turning toward you, catching himself reaching and pulling back just in time. Because you were right there, and yet impossibly far away.

Because whatever fragile, reckless thing had bloomed between you last night —

It scared the hell out of both of you.

────୨ৎ────

Minho noticed it first during the water break.

The way you sat a little too far from the others, your bottle clutched loosely in your hand, staring at the floor like you weren’t really seeing it. The way you turned down the snacks the others offered.

And Chan.

Minho wasn’t blind — he saw the way Chan kept glancing over at you when he thought no one was looking.

Saw the way his fingers fidgeted restlessly, tugging at the hem of his shirt, tapping against the water bottle, tugging at his ear every time you gave corrections.

Something was wrong.

And not just tired wrong.

Not long practice hours wrong.

Different.

Minho’s eyes narrowed slightly, reading the silent, broken tension hanging between you and Chan like a crack in the floorboards nobody dared step on.

He wandered over casually, pretending he needed something from his bag, giving you a moment to notice him.

When you did, you forced a small smile — tired, a little frayed around the edges — but it was enough to make his chest tighten.

“Hey,” he said, voice pitched low so the others wouldn’t hear. “You okay?”

You nodded too quickly. Too automatically.

Minho frowned.

“You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?” he added, nudging you lightly with his elbow, like he could joke it into feeling less heavy.

Your gaze flicked to Chan — just for a second — and Minho caught it.

Chan wasn’t looking your way anymore.

He was staring hard at the wall, jaw clenched like he was holding something back.

Minho didn’t know what it was — not yet.

But he knew the two of you were lying.

Still, he didn’t push.

He just gave you a look — steady, warm, a silent I’m here when you’re ready — and squeezed your shoulder before moving back to the others.

But the worry stayed with him.

Lingering.

Because Minho had seen the way people fell apart before.

And right now, you and Chan looked like two halves of the same breaking heart.

────୨ৎ────

Everyone was spread out, music playing low from the speakers as the boys worked individually on their solo stages.

You sat cross-legged by the mirrors, notebook in your lap, calling out small adjustments or encouragements whenever someone caught your eye.

Felix was near the back, trying to nail a turn sequence but kept spinning a little too far and smacking into Jeongin, who let out a loud yelp.

“Felix-hyung! That’s the third time—are you trying to kill me?”

“Sorry! Sorry! I swear it’s the shoes—”

“It’s always the shoes!” Jeongin huffed, dramatically clutching his ribs like he’d been mortally wounded.

Chan hovered near the back of the room, pretending to check the playlist on his phone, but you could feel him without looking.

Like always.

You tried to focus — you needed to focus — and poured yourself into helping the others.

“Hyung!” Seungmin called over his shoulder toward Chan, dodging a flying hoodie that Jisung had just flung off mid-dance. “Play the track again, I want to run through the ending.”

“God, can you not undress while I’m trying to exist?” Minho muttered, stepping over the hoodie with a curled lip as if it had personally offended him.

Jisung snorted, twirling dramatically in place like it was a fashion show. “Some of us sweat when we work hard.”

“You’ve been dancing for thirty seconds.”

“Intensity, hyung. Passion.”

Chan gave a sharp nod and hit play, but you caught the slight hesitation in his movements.

The way he kept sneaking glances toward you when he thought you weren’t looking.

You were both pretending so hard, it hurt.

The music kicked in again, and you tapped your foot lightly, mouthing along to the beat as Seungmin danced.

The boys were working so hard — they deserved you at your best, not… whatever fragile thing you were becoming.

As Seungmin finished and dropped dramatically onto the floor beside you, panting, Hyunjin flopped down too, tugging at the hem of your hoodie.

“Hey, noona,” he said, a teasing smile pulling at his lips, “When’s your turn? You’ve been helping all of us. When do we get to see your solo?”

You froze for half a second — just enough for Changbin to catch it.

“Yeah,” he added, glancing at you. “You said you finished writing it, right? How’s recording going?”

You swallowed thickly, keeping your face neutral.

Lying to them felt wrong — they trusted you — but the thought of saying it out loud made your chest feel tight.

“I… I haven’t recorded it yet,” you admitted, voice quieter than you intended.

A beat of silence.

“You haven’t?” Jisung asked, sitting up straighter. “Why not? You’re usually the fastest!”

Felix, who was now trying to put a piece of Jeongin’s hair up into a ponytail for no reason whatsoever, paused. “Wait, seriously? I thought you were, like, halfway done.”

Jeongin nodded, unbothered by the makeshift salon situation. “Yeah, you’re the overachiever here. We depend on that.”

You could feel Chan’s gaze burning into the side of your face, but you didn’t look at him.

Couldn’t.

“Been… busy,” you mumbled, staring hard at the notes in your lap. “Choreography took priority. I’ll get to it.”

There was another beat of silence before Jisung broke it with a bright, easy smile.

“Well then,” he said, nudging your foot with his, “Come by later tonight. We'll be there anyway. We’ll help you record it.” He gestured to Changbin and Chan.

Changbin raised a brow. “By help, he means sit behind the glass and dramatically mouth the lyrics like we’re in a musical.”

Jisung pointed proudly. “Exactly. Moral support. Emotional theatre.”

You forced a small smile, nodding even though your stomach twisted painfully.

You knew you needed to do it — you couldn’t run forever — but the idea of being trapped in that tiny recording booth with Chan again, after everything, made you want to crawl out of your own skin.

Still, you said, “Okay.”

Because what else could you do?

You had a job to finish.

You had a version of yourself to protect.

“Yay!” Hyunjin cheered, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Our superstar noona!”

You laughed weakly, letting him jostle you, even as your eyes flicked across the room — just once — catching Chan’s.

He looked away almost immediately but you had seen it and the look in his eyes made your stomach flip painfully.

────୨ৎ────

The dorm was quieter than usual when you slipped back in, hoodie sleeves tugged nervously over your hands.

You headed straight for your room, trying not to overthink, trying to block out the weight of what was coming tonight, but you barely made it down the hallway before you heard his voice behind you.

“Hey.”

You turned, already knowing who it was.

Minho stood leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

To anyone else, he looked relaxed — bored, even.

But you knew better.

Minho didn’t just stand around for no reason.

“You heading out again?” he asked, tone deceptively light.

You nodded. “Yeah. Recording some stuff. Just came back to get changed and drop some notes off.”

He hummed, watching you carefully. There was no judgment in his eyes — just that sharp, quiet knowing he carried like a second skin. Like he already had your whole heart mapped out before you even opened your mouth.

“You been eating?” he asked, voice still casual, but the slight crease in his brow gave him away.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah. I mean— kind of. I grabbed something earlier.”

Minho didn’t react. Just looked at you for a long second. Then, with a sigh, he pushed off the doorframe and stepped closer.

“Are you ok?”

It wasn’t teasing this time.

It wasn’t casual.

It was real — careful, and impossibly gentle in the way only Minho could manage without ever losing his edge.

You gave him your best smile, the one you reserved for when you didn’t want anyone to worry.

The one he always saw right through, but neither of you would acknowledge that.

“Just tired,” you said, shrugging one shoulder. “A lot going on.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just studied you in that quiet way of his, like he was checking for cracks. Like he was looking through you instead of at you.

“You don’t have to tell me what it is,” he said finally. “But you need to know I see it. And I’m not letting you pretend you’re fine just because you’re good at holding it in.”

Your breath caught a little at that.

Minho didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t press.

But the weight of what he wasn’t saying hit you harder than anything else.

He knew.

Maybe not all the details. Maybe not about that night with Chan, or the aching, frayed line you’d been walking since.

But he saw enough.

“I’m not trying to lie,” you murmured, voice small. “I just… I don’t want to make it worse.”

“You won’t,” he said immediately, firm enough that you looked up at him. “You’re allowed to hurt too. You’re allowed to lean on people, not just carry it all by yourself like a hero in a tragic novel.”

You let out a shaky breath, something between a laugh and a sob.

He reached out and squeezed your shoulder — not hard, not rushed. Just enough to ground you.

Then he looked you square in the eye.

“If you get tired of being brave,” he said softly, “you know where to find me.”

Your chest twisted painfully and your throat tightened, too full of unspoken things to say thank you.

So you just nodded.

And Minho gave you a small nod back — no smile, no dramatics, just the silent promise he always carried in his chest:

You’re not alone.

Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into his room, leaving you standing in the hallway, blinking hard against the burn in your eyes.

────୨ৎ────

The sun had barely set when you found yourself standing outside the studio door, heart hammering against your ribs like it wanted out.

Inside, you could hear the faint drum of bass — Changbin and Jisung laying down their parts, joking loudly between takes.

Their laughter should have eased the knot in your stomach.

It didn’t.

You lingered, hand hovering over the door handle, willing yourself to breathe.

“You coming in or planning to record from the hallway?”

Jisung’s voice called through the door, half-teasing, half-genuine.

You forced your fingers to move, pushing the door open.

The room was warm with leftover energy.

Changbin was still at the mic, headphones slung around his neck, while Jisung lounged behind the soundboard with a half-eaten snack in his lap.

And Chan — Chan was there too, perched in the producer’s chair, scribbling something into a battered notebook.

Your stomach flipped again.

He didn’t look up immediately.

You caught the tense line of his shoulders, the way he tapped the pen against the paper a little too hard.

You took a step inside, closing the door behind you.

The soft click felt too loud in the tight space.

“Hey!” Jisung grinned, waving you over. “About time. We saved you the comfy chair.”

You made your way over, settling into the seat they dragged out for you.

You tried to ignore how Chan’s eyes finally flickered up to meet yours — brief, like a spark you weren’t allowed to touch.

“You good to record today?” Changbin asked, all bright encouragement.

You nodded, throat dry. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

“Sweet,” Jisung said. “Hyung and I are finishing this last thing and then it’s all you.”

You busied yourself setting up — plugging in your headphones, adjusting the mic stand — anything to avoid looking at Chan again.

But you could feel him.

Heavy.

Unmovable.

Like gravity itself had shifted to keep you trapped around him.

“Okay,” Changbin said through the mic, “One more pass, then we can leave vocal goddess over here to work her magic.”

“Don’t hype her up too much,” Jisung added, smirking. “She’ll forget we taught her everything she knows.”

You snorted softly despite yourself, grateful for their antics. “Yeah right.”

Minutes bled into each other.

Changbin finished his part with a dramatic bow; Jisung clowned around until Chan swatted at him with a notebook.

Normal.

They were keeping it normal.

Only when Jisung spoke did you panic, “We’re gonna grab food — you want anything?”

“No, I’m good,” you said quickly, too quickly.

“You sure?” Changbin asked. “Could be a while.”

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

You already felt nauseous enough, no need to add food into this mess and make yourself feel even worse.

Jisung and Changbin exchanged a look you didn’t quite catch — some unspoken conversation — but thankfully they didn’t push.

“Don’t set the studio on fire while we’re gone,” Jisung said, tossing a gummy bear toward Changbin, who caught it with a triumphant cheer.

They slipped out with a loud bang of the door, leaving you alone.

With him.

The silence pressed down instantly, thick and suffocating.

You stared at the mic, the lyric sheet in your hand trembling slightly.

“You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” Chan said quietly.

Your head snapped up.

He was still sitting at the desk, hands folded together tightly, like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for you.

“I’m ready,” you said, voice smaller than you wanted it to be. “Let’s just get it over with.”

Chan nodded, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard at your words.

He opened the project file on the laptop, the first few notes of your instrumental filling the room. It was an old instrumental that he’d made for you during another comeback but it’d been scrapped before you could even put pen to paper.

Now though, instead of the feel good high energy performance you’d once envisioned for it, you had lyrics on repeating mistakes, unspoken words and feelings, the constant repetition of going back again and again and again…

You read over the chorus quickly, lyrics that you didn’t have a clear memory of writing. There were no clear thoughts, just the cold hard truth that you were trying so desperately to shove down. “Like a revolving door, feels about right.” You thought bitterly.

You stepped up to the mic, sliding the headphones over your ears.

The instrumental played once more through the monitors.

You closed your eyes.

The first lines fell from your lips like the beginning of a confession.

Across the glass, Chan’s eyes were locked onto you, unmoving, drinking in every word.

You didn’t look at him.

You couldn’t.

Every line cracked something deeper open inside you.

When you finally finished the take, the room stayed silent.

You blinked, chest heaving, the last note trembling in the air between you.

Chan was still staring. Like he’d never seen you before. Like you were breaking him just by existing.

Your breath hitched.

You pulled the headphones off and clutched them tightly, willing yourself to hold it together.

“Again?” you asked, voice barely a whisper.

Chan shook his head once, sharply.

“No,” he said hoarsely. “I think we need— that I need a minute.”

The word hung there, heavy, carrying more weight than he probably intended.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat, nodding stiffly.

Chan closed the laptop gently— like it would trap the song within it so it couldn’t hurt you anymore. He kept his eyes on you, following even the slightest movement in your fingers.

The door swung open breaking the suffocating atmosphere before it could do anymore damage. Changbin and Jisung bustling back in, arms full of takeout bags and noisy conversation.

“Okay, who ordered emotional devastation with a side of kimchi?” Jisung asked.

The fragile, breaking moment snapped.

Chan looked away.

You turned back to the mic.

And just like that, the wall between you slammed back into place

The rest of the recording session blurred into muscle memory. You ran the song time after time, adding adlibs, harmonies, listening to the feedback from the others.

“Damn Noona, who broke your heart?” Ji joked at one point.

Chan’s hands froze instantly, his face paled, unable to look up from the laptop.

You swallowed once before forcing a grin. “Like anyone could break my heart Ji, you should know better than that.”

You stepped out after that, calling an end to your session. It was easy enough to fade into the background again, Changbin and Jisung were still riding the high from their own tracks, bickering and laughing loudly as they tweaked harmonies, replayed verses. You sat back, letting it all wash over you, too raw to add much more than quiet nods and occasional murmurs of agreement.

Across the room, Chan barely spoke.

He just worked — fingers flying over the keyboard, eyes fixed on the screen with an intensity that was almost painful to watch.

Every now and then, you caught him sneaking glances at you, his gaze quick, guilty — like he couldn’t help himself but hated that he couldn’t look away.

You pretended not to notice.

Pretended you weren’t doing the exact same thing.

Finally, after another hour of polishing small details, Changbin stretched with a groan.

“Alright, I’m tapping out. My brain’s fried.”

Jisung yawned, dramatically slumping across the couch.

“Same. Studio ghost, take me now.”

You managed a weak smile when they both packed up. They left after exchanging a few more jokes and you promising to check the tracks later for any choreo inspiration that might hit, before finally waving and heading out, leaving the room heavy and silent once again.

You and Chan.

Again.

Alone.

Chan didn’t look at you as he opened a different project file — the one labeled with both your names.

Your duet.

You swallowed hard, moving stiffly back toward the mic.

The first few notes played through the speakers, low and aching, but the way you were behaving was anything but. You were mechanical, methodical, like the pain within the song was just a story. A part for you both to play— not the all consuming heartache that was bleeding you dry.

You sang your parts and he sang his. You worked well. It was professional. Efficient.

Cold.

That was until the bridge.

You missed your cue by half a second — mind tangled, emotions fraying — and Chan’s voice cut across the room, sharper than it needed to be.

“Focus.” he snapped, barely controlled.

You froze, heat surging up your spine.

“I am focused,” you shot back, biting the words before they could tear your throat raw. “Or I was, until you disappeared this morning without a fucking word.”

Chan flinched like you’d slapped him.

You stepped away from the mic, breath shaking. “You left.”

He looked down at the desk, mouth opening, then closing again. Nothing came out.

You waited.

Your hands curled into fists.

“Say something.”

His throat worked, jaw tight, eyes burning with something that looked an awful lot like regret.

Your voice cracked. “Why, Chan?”

He shook his head once, helpless.

And something in you snapped.

“Right,” you whispered, eyes shining. “Of course. Nothing to say now. You only talk when it’s safe, right? When we’re just coworkers. When I’m standing behind a fucking microphone.”

“Don’t—” he said, stepping forward, but you were already moving.

You grabbed your water bottle and stormed out, the door thudding behind you.

The hallway was too quiet.

The air was too cold.

You pressed your back to the wall, trying to hold your body together. Trying not to scream. He didn’t even try to explain. Didn’t even try to stay.

And despite it all, your heart still ached for him.

The seconds dragged by.

One minute.

Two.

Five.

Finally, when you trusted yourself enough that you could keep it together, you pushed off the wall and slipped back into the studio.

Then you pushed open the door again, bracing for silence.

But what you saw undid you.

Chan sat at the desk, body folded in on itself, hands over his face, shoulders trembling — crying so quietly it felt like it didn’t belong to the same man who had snapped at you minutes before.

He looked small.

Like the weight of what he couldn’t say was crushing him.

You didn’t think.

You just moved.

You crossed the room in three strides and wrapped your arms around him from behind — hesitant, then firmer when he didn’t pull away.

He gasped at the touch, like he hadn’t expected it, like he didn’t think he deserved it.

But then he leaned back into you, shaking, breaking, and you held on tighter.

You pressed your cheek to his shoulder.

Eyes burning.

Voice gone.

You were both running.

Running from the truth.

From each other.

From what this could be if either of you were brave enough to name it.

But tonight wasn’t for courage.

Tonight was for surviving.

His hands reached for yours — clumsy, trembling — and you laced your fingers with his without a word.

He didn’t speak.

Neither did you.

But your arms around him said what neither of you could.

Eventually, Chan shifted under your arms, just enough to turn in your embrace, facing you.

You let him.

You always let him.

His hands found your face, trembling slightly, and you leaned into the touch without thinking. For a long moment, he just looked at you. Looked at you like you were something he couldn’t quite believe was real.

“I don’t know how to…” he started, voice breaking on the words.

You placed your hands over his, steadying them against your skin.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Not right now.”

But his eyes were wild, desperate, something feral and terrified all at once.

He almost said it.

Right then.

The words burned in his chest, clawing their way up his throat, louder than the guilt, louder than the fear, louder than every reason he’d convinced himself not to speak.

He almost said your name like a prayer. Almost begged for forgiveness. Almost told you he was sorry for everything — for the silence, for the pretending, for the way he kept hurting you just to keep you close.

Almost told you the truth.

Not because he was ready. Not because it was the right time. But because maybe it was the only way to make the pain stop — to finally stop watching you break in quiet corners while he stood there, useless, swallowing the truth like it was poison.

Maybe if he said it, just once, it would undo the damage.

But then you blinked, and he saw the shimmer in your lashes — the breath you hadn’t taken yet, the sob you were still holding in.

And it crushed him.

Because if he said it now, it wouldn’t be for the right reasons. It wouldn’t be for you. It would be for the guilt. For the desperation. For trying to fix something he hadn’t been brave enough to stop breaking in the first place.

So he didn’t.

He let the words die in his mouth like they always did.

Let the silence settle again, heavy and aching.

Let you hold him a little longer, even though he didn’t deserve it.

“I’m scared,” he said, raw and honest in a way you had never seen him before.

“Of what?” you breathed.

“Of losing this. Losing you.”

The words hung between you like a live wire, crackling and deadly.

You could feel your heart pounding so hard it hurt.

You opened your mouth — you didn’t even know what you were going to say — but he leaned in first.

Pressed his forehead to yours.

Breathing the same air.

So close, so fragile, so breaking.

“I can’t,” he whispered. “Not tonight.”

You swallowed the sob threatening to escape and nodded against him.

“Okay.” you whispered back, even though everything inside you screamed for more.

The silence stretched between you like a chasm, like you both were in danger of falling off the edge, headfirst into this. But slowly, you both pulled back.

You didn’t look at each other. Couldn’t. You owed it to him not to push this tonight.

Chan cleared his throat softly, running a hand through his curls, eyes flicking anywhere but you. “We should… get back to it.”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Your voice cracked on the word, so you turned away, heading toward the mic stand before your face could give too much away. You adjusted the headphones, took a slow breath, and gave him a nod. “Ready when you are.”

You heard Chan’s quiet response through the speakers. “Okay.”

The music swelled in your headphones — your track, your story — and suddenly it felt like too much. Every lyric was a mirror. Every beat lined with everything you didn’t say in that room a moment ago.

But you sang anyway. Your voice steady, even when your hands weren’t.

Chan stayed silent as you recorded. He didn’t give any direction, didn’t stop you. He just watched, mouth tight, eyes shadowed.

When your verse ended, you heard his chair creak — soft movement in the control room — and a moment later, he stepped out and into the studio again.

“I want to try the harmony with you,” he said quietly, voice low. “Is that ok?”

You nodded, still not quite meeting his gaze.

You both put on your headphones, standing close to share the mic. His shoulder brushed yours. You didn’t flinch. Neither of you did.

The track played again, and this time, you sang together.

Your voices blended too well. Like they were made for this — layered, aching, wrapped in the kind of tension that gave the song more depth than even the best production ever could.

Halfway through the harmony, your eyes finally met.

And that was it.

Your voices cracked slightly — just for a moment — then steadied again.

When the track ended, there was a beat of silence.

Chan took off his headphones slowly. “That’s the one,” he murmured.

You nodded, swallowing hard.

You didn’t speak again as he walked to the computer and saved the file. The silence this time wasn’t empty, it was full. Dense. Alive.

When he finally turned back to you, his expression had softened, but the storm was still there — just buried under the surface.

You packed up your things in silence.

Chan stood by the door, clutching the strap of his backpack too tightly, not looking at you.

You left together but not together, walking silently through the quiet streets, keeping a careful two-step distance apart.

Your fingers itched for his hand.

You ached to be childish again, tugging on his hoodie sleeve, laughing in the dark the way you used to.

But you didn’t move.

Neither did he.

When you reached the dorms, you hesitated at your door.

The silence pressed heavy between you.

You thought — maybe — hoped for something. Anything but instead he just gave you a broken little half-smile, so soft it barely existed, and nodded once.

And then he turned and walked away without turning back even once.

You stood there for a long time after he was gone, backpack dangling uselessly from one hand, trying to pull yourself back together before eventually falling though the doorway. You leaned back against the frame and shut your eyes tightly, your hand dragged down your face as if it could pull the stress straight from inside your brain.

You had no idea how much longer you could keep doing this.

How much longer you could pretend you didn’t know exactly what you both were to each other.

You were already breaking but you just hoped you could survive it and that he could too.

────୨ৎ────

He shouldn’t have it.

Chan stared down at the notebook in his hands like it might burn him.

He hadn’t meant to take it. Honestly.

It had just gotten swept into his things when they cleared out the studio that night. He hadn’t noticed until he was back at the dorms, unpacking cables and charger cords and then — there it was.

Your notebook.

He’d meant to return it immediately. He meant to.

But instead, his fingers had opened it. Just for a second. Just to confirm it was yours.

And then he couldn’t stop.

Pages of choreography, combinations sketched out in fast, frantic writing. Notes on the boys’ performances — the way Seungmin dropped his shoulder in the third chorus, the way Felix’s gaze could sharpen a transition. You’d taken everything in, made it part of your work. Of their work.

The middle pages that hit him hard. The duet. It had been planned carefully, deliberately, a stark contrast to the usual chaos of your scribbled notes. This was calculated. Thoughtful. It was your way of navigating everything between you, the kind of emotional vulnerability you didn’t let anyone else see because you hadn’t just choreographed a performance. You choreographed a boundary.

Just emotional enough. Just vulnerable enough. Without taking it too far.

But then, further back, something else. Something he had no business seeing.

If the middle pages hit him hard then the back ones felt like someone swung a hammer right through his chest.

Scribbled-out plans. Lyrics. So many. Entire songs that you never sang for anyone. Songs about heartbreak. About silence. About feelings that sat heavy in your chest because they were too big to speak aloud.

And tucked inside the back cover — a Polaroid.

He went still when he saw it.

You and him. One of the rooftop photos, he realized. The ones you always joked you hated because they made your face look round. But in this one, you were laughing — mid-laugh, in fact — tucked under his arm, grinning like the whole world was safe.

And behind it, a small collage. Snippets of photos over the years. Training. Touring. Rehearsals. All moments with him.

Not the posed, public stuff. Not the ones fans saw.

These were quiet.

Soft.

Real.

He had to press the heel of his hand to his eyes because it hurt — this proof that you’d held all of it close to your chest while he’d been too afraid to reach for it.

Now here he was standing outside your bedroom door, the notebook in his hand like it weighed a hundred pounds. He didn’t knock. He didn’t trust himself.

Instead, he crouched down, carefully setting the notebook against the wall beside your door, making sure it wouldn’t slide or fall. He hesitated, one hand still resting on the cover, his thumb brushing over the edge of the worn leather.

Then he stood.

Took two steps back.

Pulled out his phone.

[2:11 AM] CHAN: You left this at the studio. It’s by your door.

He stared at the message for too long before sending it. And when it finally delivered, he turned away fast, walking down the hallway like the building was on fire.

He couldn’t face you.

Not like this.

Not when everything you felt had just been laid bare in his hands — when your voice was in every lyric, and your memories were in every picture, and your pain was his fault.

He didn’t see you open the door.

Didn’t see the way your fingers hovered over the notebook before pulling it gently to your chest.

Didn’t hear the way your breath hitched when you flipped to the back and saw what he had seen.

Didn’t know how long you stayed like that, sitting quietly in the dark hallway, arms around that notebook like it was the only thing holding you together.

And maybe, in a way, it was.

But what you didn’t know — what you wouldn’t know — was that one photo was missing.

Just one.

The Polaroid of you laughing on the rooftop, his arm slung around your shoulders, both of you looking impossibly young and impossibly safe.

Chan had slipped it out before he closed the notebook. He hadn’t meant to. Not really. His fingers just… wouldn’t let it go.

Now it was tucked behind the clear case on the back of his phone — hidden, private, something no one else would ever see.

He told himself he would only keep it for a day.

Just a day.

But that night, when sleep wouldn’t come and his heart felt like it had cracked too wide to ever mend, he turned the phone over in his hands, thumb brushing lightly over the image.

And he didn’t take it out.

He couldn’t.

Because it was the only piece of you he could hold without hurting you.

And even if it was selfish — even if it was wrong — it still felt a little like home.

────୨ৎ────

You didn’t open the notebook right away.

You couldn’t.

Not when your hands were still trembling from just seeing it again. Not when your chest felt too tight and the air around you too still — like the silence after a storm when you’re not sure if the damage is over or just beginning.

But eventually, you sat down at your desk, notebook in your lap, and you opened it.

The pages flipped easier than they should have. It was too exposed now, too vulnerable, too known. You flipped past the choreography — the notes and scribbles that felt like old friends now, familiar and safe. Past the duet section — the page you’d written so carefully it almost hurt. The part of you that still clung to something delicate and restrained.

Then the back.

Where the real fear lived.

Where the words spilled out in jagged, bleeding lines and the paper bore witness to every feeling you had tried to bury. Where you’d written like no one would ever see.

But he had.

You knew it now.

You could feel it in your bones — in the way some of the pages felt just slightly off-center, like they’d been flipped through by someone else’s hands. Hands you knew as well as your own.

You swallowed thickly.

And then you turned to the last page.

The Polaroids.

Your heart dropped.

One was missing.

Your hand flew to your mouth before the sound could escape, a choked breath caught somewhere between panic and disbelief.

No. No, no, no.

Your fingers traced the empty corner like you could will it back. The photo had been taped — carefully, not like the others you’d lazily slapped down with washi tape. That one had mattered. It had been yours.

Rooftop. Sunset. His hoodie on your shoulders, his arm slung around you, your head tipped into him like it had always belonged there. Your laugh frozen in time. His eyes on you instead of the camera.

Gone.

You flipped the page frantically, checking if it had just come loose, fallen between the pages — but it wasn’t there.

You never took it out.

Which meant…

He must have it.

You let the notebook fall closed in your lap, breath shaking as you stared at the cover. The panic didn’t quite subside — just shifted, morphed into something else. Something quieter, heavier.

He saw everything.

And still, he kept a piece of it.

A piece of you.

He hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t knocked. Hadn’t faced you.

But he’d taken the photo.

And somehow, that was even louder than anything he could’ve said.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

You didn’t know what it meant.

But now you couldn’t stop seeing it — that tiny, terrible hope flickering in your chest like a match that hadn’t quite gone out yet.

Because if he kept the photo… maybe he was still holding on, too.

────୨ৎ────

A/N: Ok guys if you made it all the way down here, let me know what you’re favourite moment was. Is the heartache becoming too overwhelming? Is it time for Minho to smack their heads together?

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist <3

Taglist: @rtyuy1346 @yxna-bliss @m-325 @imeverycliche @hynjnnie @mbioooo0000 @maddy24207 @brokendols-world @alisonyus @justhansol @rtyuy1346 @psychobitchsthings @thedanishprince @decaffeinatomi @geni-627 @linosgrape @river121798 @chaosandcandies

#skz #skz 9th member #skz imagines #skz ninth member #skz x reader #stray kids #stray kids 9th member #stray kids imagines #stray kids ninth member #stray kids x reader #bang chan imagines #bangchan #bang chan #new beginnings #chan x reader #chan angst #chan imagines

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y3sterdaysproblem · 8 months ago

Text

smoke and mirrors - chris sturniolo

chapter four

summary: your best friend Matt backs out of plans you had made together, so you replace him with his brother. the only problem is the two of you can’t stand each other.

{enemies to lovers, fake dating}

includes : explicit language, fluff, smut(penetration, oral, fingering, etc.), angst if you squint, lots of bickering, slow burn

wc: 5.5k

It was the first day of high school and you were in a brand new city with absolutely no friends, your heart racing as you walked through the halls to find your first class, finally stepping into the room and finding your way to an empty desk at the back of the room, sitting next to a boy that was leaned back in his chair, looking down at his fingers that picked at his own skin.

He looks up at you as you sit down and a warm, friendly smile blooms on his face. “Hi,” he says quietly and you smile back at him, bringing up your hand to wave shyly. “Hi,” you respond.

“Nervous?” He asks, and all you do is nod. “Me too, but it’ll be okay. Wanna be friends?” You nod again, this time a little bit more enthusiastically. “Great! I’m Matt.”

You grin and make a mental note of the boy across from you, repeating his name in your head, introducing yourself to him as well.

The class starts and you both become quiet, bringing your attention to the teacher at the front of the room.

As the class ends, Matt stands up and hovers over you, backpack slung over one shoulder. “Meet me at lunch?” He asks.

You look up at him, feeling excited at the fact that you’ve already made a friend and he seemed genuinely interested in being friends back. “Okay,” you agree, and he shoots you a smile before leaving.

Your next class was across the school, and you might have stayed back a little too long in your last one, preferring to be the last one out, but now you found yourself walking a little quicker than usual through the halls.

You glanced down at your schedule for a moment to refresh your memory on where you had to go, and that was when your body slammed into another teenager wandering the halls.

“I’m so sorry!” You tell him, catching your balance and reaching out to make sure you’re okay. “I was looking down and didn’t see where I was going and I have no idea where I am and-“

“It’s okay!” You hear him say and you look up to meet his eyes, and you were instantly confused at the boy in front of you. He looked exactly like your new friend, but he was wearing a completely different outfit.

“Matt?” You question, eyebrows furrowing together.

The boy just laughs and shakes his head. “Wrong one. I’m Nick. Matt and I are identical.” He tells you, and you can’t help but laugh with him.

“Oh! That… makes sense. I’m really sorry for running into you,” you tell him, cheeks blooming a bright shade of red.

Nick just shrugs it off and tells you it’s no big deal, and you thank him, apologizing once more before continuing on to your next class.

Finally, as that class ended, it was time for lunch, and as you made it to the cafeteria, you looked around for Matt, finding him sitting next to the boy you now knew as Nick, and someone else’s back was facing you. You walked over towards them and sat next to the mystery boy, waving at Matt as you did so.

“Hi!” You say, and Matt and Nick wave back at you. You turn to introduce yourself to whoever you’re sat next to, and you’re beyond shocked when you’re met with the same face you’ve already met twice that day. “Another one?!” You exclaim, feeling like you’re in the matrix as you look between all three boys.

Matt and Nick laugh at you, while the third one just looks at you like you’re crazy, and that makes you mutter an apology under your breath, turning your attention to your friends across the table. “Am I dreaming right now?”

Matt shakes his head, still giggling slightly. “We’re triplets. Kinda look the same,” he tells you and you take another glance between the three of them.

“Wow that’s really cool, I’ve never met triplets before,” you tell them. You turn your head towards the new boy again and introduce yourself to him as well.

He meets your eyes and scans your face for a moment before opening his mouth to speak. “Chris,” he says simply, then goes back to eating his food.

As you eat your lunch and chat with the boys for the first time, you’re hoping deep down that you guys stay friends for a long time.

You hadn’t really spoken to Chris since the incident last night, making for an awkward dinner with him sat across from you, but with the day quickly passing by and the potential for dressing nice and having access to free food, you decide it’s probably time to go and see if the two of you were actually going to spend the night together.

Chris was sat on his big white couch, slouched in his seat as he scrolled mindlessly through his phone, feet perched up on the coffee table in front of him, paying the world around him no mind as he watched a silly little video of a horse playing piano with his lips when you came down the stairs, emerging from Nick’s room after a few hours of you two hanging out, deciding it was time for you to grab a drink.

You lean in the fridge looking for something you’d want, finally deciding on a Dr. Pepper for yourself, then turn around and make your way to the couch, flopping down on it with one leg tucked under you, facing Chris who still has yet to acknowledge your presence.

“Hey,” you say, and he doesn’t look up, just hums at you as a reply. It’s good enough for you to know that he’s listening, so you continue to speak. “So this… date. Are we going?” You ask.

Chris huffs and puts his phone down, looking over at you who sat in your pajamas, clearly nowhere near ready for a date at a nice restaurant. “I mean, I really don’t want to lose out on my money but I also would rather swallow glass than go on a date with you, so I’m not really sure.”

You cock your head at him in annoyance. “I’m not that bad to be around,” you tell him again, hating that you had to convince a man to spend time with you. “It’s not like I want to hang around with you either but you need pictures and I need free food.”

Chris groans and throws his head back on the couch. “All you want me for is my money,” he sighs dramatically.

“Hey, that’s not true. I literally don’t want you at all, money or no money,” you tease, but it’s the truth. “But…” you drawl. “It just so happens that you have money and I think you should spend it on me tonight.”

Chris swings his head around to look at you, still resting on the back of the couch. “Well not to sound rude but you don’t exactly look ready for a date.” He gestures up to your disheveled state.

You gasp at him in fake shock. “What?! You don’t think I could go to a nice restaurant looking like this?”

“Whatever, dude. The reservation is for seven, and it’s four, so you should probably get home and get ready if you want to go,” Chris tells you and you nod at him, standing up from the couch.

“I’ll go home right now! And you better prepare yourself, date night me is a whole new breed of sexy,” you smirk at him. “Might make your little cool guy act crumble. Just make sure you don’t fall in love with me, okay?”

You walk towards the stairs and descend to the front door, sliding your crocs on. “Not a problem,” he yells from his same location, and you laugh before walking out the door and to your car, heading home.

You guys had texted and decided to just meet there since he definitely didn’t want to be picked up by a girl and he wanted to limit his time with you as much as he could, so that’s how you found yourself standing outside the restaurant by yourself wearing a little black dress and a cute pair of black heels, a small clutch in your grasp at your side as you waited for Chris to show up.

You’re not waiting long before he pulls up in an uber, letting himself out of the backseat, thanking the driver before he makes his way towards you. He’s in a pair of dress pants with a plain black button up, and you can’t help but admire his outfit as he walks up to you, gesturing for you to head inside in front of him. So, you turn and enter the restaurant, Chris holding the door open for you like a gentleman, then you both make your way to the host stand, having somebody lead you to your booth that was tucked away in the back corner of the restaurant.

You guys both settled in and got comfortable before looking up at each other, not saying anything, not even shooting a small smile at one another, both of you just grabbing the menu, breaking eye contact, looking at the appetizers on the menu.

It’s silent for a while, neither of you wanting to speak first, until your waiter comes up and introduces himself. “Hey guys! I’m Theo, I’m going to be taking care of you guys today. How are you guys doing?”

You smile up at him, the tall, handsome boy standing in front of you making you feel slightly nervous. “Aw, Theo, I love that name,” you coo. “We’re doing good, yourself?”

Theo grins back at you, placing a glass of water in front of you. “I’m great, thanks for asking. Date night tonight?”

You laugh and shake your head, leaning forward a bit on your elbows that rested on the table. “No, not exactly. Long story.”

Theo chuckles and nods, pulling out his notepad and a pen. “How long you guys been together?” He asks you both, pointing his pen back and forth at you and Chris.

Your eyes widen at the question, not expecting it at all. “Oh! We’re not-“

Chris clears his throat and slaps a hand on the table, signaling his annoyance. “Can we order drinks?” He asks, cutting you off mid sentence. It wasn’t super unlike him to interrupt you while you spoke, but the fact that he did it in such an aggressive way made you more angry than usual.

“Oh yeah, sorry, man, just trying to make conversation,” Theo chuckles awkwardly. “So, uh, what can I get you guys?”

You mouth a quick ‘sorry’ Theo’s way before you tell him what you wanted to drink, followed up by Chris placing his order, prompting him to walk away to put your guys’ order in.

“Chris, what the fuck was that?” You snap at him, voice quiet but still harsh, eyes sending daggers across the table.

Chris scoffs, rolling his eyes at you. “Seriously? He was talking way too much, I want to eat and I want to leave, I don’t want to sit here listening to you chit-chat with our fucking waiter forever.”

You shake your head in disbelief, letting out an annoyed huff of air. “You’re insufferable, Chris. God forbid you chill the fuck out for one night.”

Chris stays silent but still glares across the table at you, though you don’t meet his eyes. His mind is reeling, not even fully understanding what made him so mad in the moment. You were always a talkative person, always kind to customer service workers even when they didn’t deserve that, and Chris knew that, so why did he get so angry at the two of you talking?

He’s not able to process the thought before Theo is coming back and placing your drinks in front of you both. “Here you go,” he says to Chris, setting the drink down. “And the wine for the pretty lady.”

You slide the glass closer to you after it’s set down, beaming up at Theo. “Thanks so much.”

Theo just nods back with a small grin. “No problem, I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your orders.”

You look over at Chris who’s already looking at you, lips pulled into a tight line. “Pretty lady?” He repeats, clearly unhappy.

You frown, looking down at yourself before back up at Chris. “You don’t think I’m pretty?” You ask him, a teasing lilt in your voice. “I got all dressed up for… well, for you.”

Chris would never admit this out loud, but his heart skipped a beat at your words. It was no surprise you looked good, just like you had warned him, but the way you said you got dressed for him specifically made him grateful he wasn’t standing up, afraid his knees might go weak on him.

“Didn’t say you weren’t, just saying this guy’s a little weird,” Chris mumbles, breaking eye contact to look down at the menu he’s barely looked over.

You leaned forward a bit, slightly reminiscent of the first time you guys took photos together, cleavage peeking out sexily. “You jealous?” You ask him, tilting your head. “Jealous that someone that just met me has got the confidence to talk to me like that when you’ve known me for seven years and can’t even tell me you think I look pretty?”

Chris’s mouth falls open, trying to force words to come out, but none do. He’s just sat there looking like a fish out of water as he racks his brain for something to spit out at you.

“That’s what I fucking thought, tough guy. Watch your mouth.” You grab your glass of wine and take a large sip, sitting back in your seat.

There’s silence for a few minutes, both of you looking over the menus without speaking with one another, until Chris breaks the silence, but he’s so quiet that you don’t quite catch what he says, and you look over at him and ask him to repeat himself, feeling like your ears must be betraying you when you finally make out what he says.

“I said… I do think you look pretty.”

It almost sounds like Chris has to force himself to say the words, like they’re so unnatural falling from his lips, even after the kind words he said to you yesterday.

You stare at him, unable to think of a response. You feel like your mind is playing tricks on you, but when you see the look in Chris’s eyes soften, you know you heard him right. “Oh…” you mutter, unsure of what else to say. “I, uh… thank you.”

Chris nods his head and looks back down at the menu, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole, but unfortunately he was forced to stay seated across from you, feeling the awkward tension start to build.

You clear your throat and place the menu down on the table after a few moments of unbearable silence, wanting nothing more than to change the conversation back to something lighthearted and surface level. “I’m surprised you’re drinking,” you tell him, gesturing to the drink in front of him.

Chris scoffs. “Yeah, I’m gonna need it if I have to spend my night with you. You got wine, what’s the difference?” He quickly, and thankfully, slips right back into his normal attitude.

You shrug and go back to looking at the menu. “Just never really see you drink, it’s weird.”

He hums, disinterested in the conversation transpiring. “What are you thinking of ordering?” He asks you.

You think for a moment, eyes still flitting over the menu. “I don’t know…” you start. “Maybe… a steak? Surf and turf?”

Chris’s eyes widen and he picks his head up to look at you, meeting your eyes as you smile up at him shyly. “Just because we’re at a nice restaurant doesn’t mean you have to get the most expensive thing on the menu,” he says worriedly.

You wave your hand at him dismissively, pursing your lips. “It’s not the most expensive thing on there, it’s only like.. sixty six dollars! There’s an entree on here that’s seventy dollars, so… it’s fine, right?”

Chris shakes his head in disbelief. “This might be why you don’t have a boyfriend, you’re too expensive.”

You huff and pout at him, shoulders dropping slightly. “Boys don’t even know I’m expensive, I can’t even get a date. If I could secure a date I’d be happy with a fucking salad.”

“Then why not get a salad now?!” Chris exclaims.

You just smile and point your freshly manicured nail towards him. “Because you told me I’m super sexy and I don’t need to worry about my weight, so I’m indulging and getting something I know I’ll love,” you smirk as you use his words against him, knowing there wasn’t much he could say to that.

“Hold on, I don’t think I called you super sexy, I just said you looked good in that dress.” Chris retorted, holding a finger up at you as if telling you to be quiet.

“You said I looked really good and my body is incredible, so you might as well have called me sexy and fucked me on the bathroom floor,” you tell him, raising your eyebrows in a sassy manner.

“Yeah? Is that what you want?” Chris places his elbows on the table and leans in, tilting his head as his eyes bore into your own. “You want me to praise you and fuck you any chance I get?”

Your throat dries up at his words, and you’re trying to think of how to respond, trying to just get the word ‘no’ to fall from your lips, but you’re too in shock at the vulgarity of his words to even come up with a rebuttal.

Thankfully the waiter comes back in that moment, same wide smile plastered on his face. “Are you guys ready to order?” He asks, and you nod happily, ordering the second most expensive meal on the menu despite Chris’s complaints. He places his order as well and Theo grabs your menus from you, telling you both he’ll get your orders put in and have them out as soon as possible. But as he turns to leave, he sends a wink your way, causing your ears to heat up almost instantly.

“Dude,” Chris laughs, annoyed. “Is this guy fucking serious?”

You whip your head back to him, confused. “What?” You ask him.

“He’s winking at you,” Chris responds in an obvious tone. “While we’re on a date. He seriously does not understand bro code at all.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Chris, we’re not actually on a date. I told him that.”

“We’re at a nice restaurant spending hundreds of dollars on food and drinks, both of us are dressed up and we’re the only two people here, to him, it should look like a date. How the fuck does he have the balls to wink at somebody else’s girl while he’s at work? I should get his ass fired.” Chris rambles, eyes flitting all over the place as he speaks, not wanting to look at your reaction to his words.

It’s a good thing he’s not looking at you, because the smirk that slowly arises on your face would probably send him into a rage if he saw it. “Chris…” you start, reaching over to brush your fingers along his hand that rested along the table. “Is that jealousy I’m hearing?”

That gets Chris’s attention, turning his head back to you and meeting your eyes. “Jealousy? Jealous of what, someone finally giving your desperate ass attention?”

You tilt your head, noticing he still hasn’t moved his hand away, despite his words. “Jealous that he’s man enough to actually do it.”

Chris’s eyes narrow, your words like a punch to the gut, though he refused to let you see how what you said made him feel. He rips his hands away from you and places them on his lap. “I could have any woman I want, including you, you’re just mad that I don’t actually want you, just like all the other guys you try to fuck with.”

You shake your head and sit back in your seat, breaking eye contact with him and looking around the restaurant, knowing that you’d never be able to break Chris, even if he did have feelings for you. It’s not like it mattered, you just wanted to mess with him anyway. It’s not like you wanted Chris, right?

Right?

Chris takes a small sip of his mixed drink, eyes peering over the rim of the glass to see you looking around the restaurant, avoiding eye contact with him as much as you could.

“I always knew you had a crush on me.”

His words rip you from your nonchalant facade, head whipping back to lock eyes with the boy across the table once more.

“Excuse me?” You scoff back.

“You heard me. You have a crush on me, don’t you?” Chris smirks.

“Honey, if I have a crush on anyone, it’s Matt. He’s way hotter than you.” You tell him confidently.

Chris laughs. “Yeah right. You wouldn’t be so cozied up to someone you had a crush on. You’d act like you didn’t have a crush on them, like you do with me.”

You look at him incredulously, like what he was saying was absolute nonsense. “You mean like how you treat me?”

Chris realizes his analogy has backfired and he instantly gets defensive, cringing at the realization. “No, definitely not. I actually think you’re annoying as fuck and I wish you didn’t practically live at my house, but unfortunately my brothers think you’re enjoyable to be around. I just refuse to pretend like I actually like you, therefore I show my true feelings.”

You pause before speaking, wanting to see if you could break Chris’s shell a little bit since you did already have to spend the night with him. You might as well try to have a real conversation for once.

“Chris… why do you hate me? What have I ever done to you to make you treat me the way that you do?” You ask him carefully, your tone switching from a teasing one to more serious.

Chris is definitely taken aback by your question, not even sure he has an answer for it. He kind of expected the two of you to barely talk, eat your food and go home, but now that you were trying to initiate a serious conversation, he felt like he was at a loss for words.

“Hate is a strong word,” he starts, voice quieter than it was before. “I don’t.. really know. We’ve just always been like that and I guess I never thought to make an effort to change our relationship. You give me shit, I give you shit, you hang around my brothers like a parasite, I’m forced to be around you. I guess I don’t really know how it started, or at least… I don’t want to talk about it.”

You hum at his words, nodding your head slightly. “Is it something I did? Did I ever hurt you?” You ask him, nervous for the answer. “I’m sorry if I ever did something that made you feel this way about me. I never want to think of myself as a mean person and I love your family and I love your brothers and deep inside of me there’s a weird caring for you, too, and… I’m just sorry if all of this is my fault.”

Chris watches you intently as you speak, feeling a pang in his chest as your words rang through his ears. Having a serious conversation was not something the two of you did, so to have two meaningful conversations in two days felt like he was in an alternate universe, not really sure how to feel or how to react.

He breaks eye contact for a moment to look down at his lap where his hands still rested, fingers interlocked with each other, taking a deep breath before he looked back up and met your eyes again. “It’s nothing you did,” he promises. “I just… don’t think we were meant to be friends the way you’re meant to be friends with my brothers.”

You nod at him but stay silent, afraid your voice would betray you if you tried to speak.

Luckily, your food got placed in front of you and you both thanked the waiter before digging in.

There wasn’t a lot of conversation shared while you both ate, just a couple of comments made about the food here and there, and that continued on until both of your plates were empty and your glasses only had ice left in them. “That was so good,” you groan, leaning back into the booth and placing your hands on your stomach. “I don’t think I’ve had a better steak in my life, Chris, I’m so serious.”

Chris laughs at you, taking in the way you almost melted into your side of the booth. “Yeah, mine was pretty good, too. I can’t believe we both finished our food.” He says, a small part of him impressed with how much you were able to eat. He’s never really paid attention before, but you could seriously put down some food if you were feeling it.

“Oh, I can. I wasn’t wasting a single drop of anything,” you laugh, looking over at him while still leaning back into your chair.

Theo comes back over and starts cleaning your plates out of the way, asking you both how you enjoyed the food. “Any desserts tonight?” He asks you, smiling wide.

You look at Chris and then back at him, shaking your head. “I think we’re okay for tonight, thank you so much though.”

He nods and places the check on the table, reminding you guys there’s no rush before he heads off.

Chris immediately grabs the check and flips the book open, nearly choking at the sight of the total, to which you giggle a bit, knowing you weren’t going to cough up a single penny.

You knew Chris would never make you pay even for your portion, whether it was a fake date or not, he just wasn’t raised like that and was always going to pay for the woman he took out, even if it wasn’t ideal to spend over two hundred dollars on a dinner with someone he wasn’t even dating.

“Thanks, Chris,” you tell him sincerely, kicking him lightly under the table. He just grumbles a response and puts his card in the little booklet, setting it back down on the table.

The waiter comes back and grabs the booklet, telling you guys he’ll be right back, and he’s not gone long before he comes back, setting it back down in front of Chris. “Thanks so much guys, I hope you enjoyed your dinner and I’ll see you guys soon.” He turns his attention to you, smiling shyly. “This is for you.” He slides over a small piece of paper on the table, face down.

Chris looks at the piece of paper, then up at you, then up at Theo, all with a straight face. He reaches over and grabs the piece of paper, still holding it face down. “Theo,” he starts, and the waiter turns his head to him, clearly nervous. “If I turn this piece of paper over and there’s a fucking phone number on here, I am going to do irreversible damage to your body. I promise you, you will never be able to have children if that’s what’s on here. So should I turn it over, or would you like to take it back?”

Your eyes widen in shock at how Chris spoke to Theo, never hearing him get quite as aggressive as this before, and you’ve made him angry for the last seven years. “Chris!” You scold him, trying to reach over the table for his hand, but he just pulls it away.

Theo gulps, shifting on his feet uncomfortably. “Uh…” he starts, holding his hand out for the paper. “I’ll just, uh.. I’ll take it back, that’s fine.”

Chris hands it back to him and Theo wishes you both a good night before running to the back of the restaurant, as far away as he could.

“Christopher,” you spit, reaching over to smack him on the head. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

He shakes his head, sliding out of the booth. “Let’s go.”

You watch him start to walk away and let out a groan, getting up to follow after him. “Hey!” You yell once you’re outside, heels clacking loudly as you run after him. You finally catch up to him by your car and you grab his shoulder, shoving him into your passenger door harshly. “What the fuck, Chris?!”

Chris keeps his gaze on the ground, refusing to meet your eyes.

“Why did you do that? He was clearly into me and he was hot! We weren’t even on a real date and you ruined my chances of maybe getting one. Now even if I go back in there he’s going to be too terrified to talk to me out of fear of getting castrated! Why on earth would you do something like that, Chris?” Your voice was angry, loud, at first, but towards the end it faded off into your normal volume, more disappointed than anything.

Chris just shrugged his shoulders, not sure what to say. “He was… he was looking at you like you were a piece of meat. It was gross, I… he clearly only wants you for sex.”

You scoff and run your fingers through your hair, still annoyed. “I like sex, Chris. I’m an adult, don’t you think that’s my choice to make? Maybe I just wanted to have sex with him, too.”

Chris finally looks up and meets your eyes, looking like a little kid getting scolded. “Yeah, well, he’s not good enough for you. End of story.”

That was it. Those were the words that finally set you off. “You don’t even treat me well! You’re always mean to me and hate being around me! How the fuck would you know what’s good for me?! You probably couldn’t even tell me my birthday, my favorite color, you probably couldn’t even tell me my eye color if I closed my eyes for two fucking seconds, so tell me, Chris. How the fuck do you know what’s good for me and what isn’t?”

Chris reaches his hands up to place them both on his head, body sizzling with anger and about to explode. “Because, I-!” He stops himself and drops his hands back to his sides, both clenched into fists. “I just do, okay? Can we leave?”

You laugh, literally laugh in his face. “Fuck no, not until you give me a real reason why you did that.”

You’re still standing relatively close to Chris, close enough to where he can’t really move without bumping into you, so it’s not really a surprise when he reaches out to plant a hand on your waist gently, pushing you to the side as he takes a step away, starting to walk towards the sidewalk. “Chris?” You call, and he ignores you, continuing to walk. You huff in annoyance and walk around towards the driver’s side, getting in and starting your car. You almost want to pick him up and take him home, but you decide against it, since Chris clearly knows everything. You figure you’ll let him walk however long it will take him to get home, and you start the drive towards your own apartment, wondering what the hell even happened tonight.

You think back to the date, the things you talked about and what he had said, until you land on the one comment he had made. ‘You want me to praise you and fuck you any chance I get?’

The words sent a chill down your spine as you revisited them, wondering why he had made you so nervous in that moment. It wasn’t something you had ever thought about, but now that the idea was planted, you couldn’t help but let the image play out in your head. Him ripping the dress off of you, telling you how beautiful you looked, hands running up and down your bare body, lips tracing over your skin. It had your ears burning and your thighs tense, imagining him lowering you to the bathroom floor, kicking the door shut behind him as his fingers trailed towards where you needed him the most, one hand covering your mouth and the other dipping inside of you.

You parked outside your apartment and shook your head to rid yourself of these thoughts. “What the fuck?” You said aloud. You sat there for a couple more moments, collecting yourself before you realized something that made you gasp quietly to yourself.

Chris didn’t even take any pictures.

a/n: huge thanks to @lucyluvschriss and @mattsbrat for some inspo on this chapter, the original date I had written was just them eating, grabbing ice cream and arguing and I think this is sooo much better and I wouldn’t have come up with the ideas without them. I’m so glad so many people are enjoying this au, i’m having a blast writing it! next part is probably where things are gonna start getting interesting 👀

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#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #matt x reader #matt x you #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris x you #chris x reader #chris x y/n #smoke and mirrors

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inthelibrarybtw · 4 months ago

Text

you want me to pretend? | four

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: college!basketball!captain!rafe x college!student!reader content: fluff, teasing, college au, smau/irl

summary: You were trying to make one problem disappear. You were tired, so you lied. That small lie led you to contact the last person you wanted to ask for help. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Rafe; only that you didn’t want to deal with his constant teasing more than you already did. Also, you two weren't that close, but this one lie was going to bring you two closer and maybe help some truths come to light.

word count: 0.9k

authors note: maybe my favorite chapter so far. so thankful for all the support on this, I love to see your comments and what you guys think will happen love y'all.

03 | 04 | 05

Friday

Saturday

“Now that we both have our coffees, let’s talk,” Rafe said as both of you sat down.

“Okay…”

“Look, just before we start, I’m sorry if I overstepped. I didn’t mean to mess up your plan.”

“It’s okay, Rafe. I understand why you did it. You thought it through more than I did; it’s all good, I promise. But we do need to talk about what happens with this.”

“Are you asking me what we should do?”

“Yes, because the situation right now is weird. I always tell my parents everything, like not in a strange way or—” he cuts you off.

“You have a good relationship with them; I saw that.” You smiled softly.

“Yeah, I do. So, me not telling them that I was dating someone is already a big deal. If, let’s say, next week I tell them we’re not together anymore, it’s going to be weird.”

“Yeah, so how long do you want this to go on for?”

“You really don’t mind doing this for longer than two nights?”

“I told you yesterday it’s okay; it’s not the usual favor, but it’s fine.” Your mind took you back to what Angie had said to you, but you quickly brushed it off. He is just doing this because he likes to help, and he is your friend, you told yourself.

“I just have to be sure.”

“By all means, so how long? Two months?”

“Two months?” you asked, a bit shocked. “I was thinking one…”

“Most couples break up after the three-month mark, not exactly at the three-month mark.”

“You seem to know a lot about this.”

“I’m just saying, if you say you want to make things believable, then let’s ‘break up’ right before Thanksgiving.”

“My birthday is next month.”

“So?”

“Usually, I invite my family and some friends over, and now I would have to invite you. We can’t do this in front of our friends; we need some ground rules.”

“Fine by me.” Rafe took his phone out and opened the notes app to annotate. “One, no one—and I mean NO ONE—has to know besides us.”

“Copy that.”

“Two, we pretend only in my house, and when my parents are there, of course.”

“Yeah, okay. So pretending means what? Because I didn’t do much yesterday.”

“Like, physical touch is okay when we are with my parents—like holding hands and hugging, I guess.”

“And kisses?” he smirked teasingly.

“On the cheek.”

“Forehead?”

“Yeah, that too.”

“Lips?” he wiggled his eyebrows

“Jesus, Rafe.”

“It’s a genuine question, Y/N.” You knew he wasn’t really asking; he was just doing it to mess with you.

“Pecks only, nothing more.”

“Copy that, ma'am.” He did a little salute while smirking. “Pet names? I already called you princess yesterday. Is that okay, or should I stop?”

“If you need to use them, then fine; but still the same, only around my parents.”

“Well, that’s gonna be hard.”

“That’s not really my problem,” you said, taking a sip of your coffee, and he chuckled.

“Okay, so we are set… we continue this and break up before Thanksgiving.”

“Sounds good… oh wait, under no circumstances are you staying over at my house.”

“Why is this important?” he asked, confused.

“The last guy I dated stayed over a couple of times because it was too late or something with the weather.” He nodded while you talked.

“Okay then, no staying over.” He typed on his phone. “Now we are set.”

“Thank you, Rafe…”

“You're welcome.”

After that talk, you two kept the conversation going. It was like the dinner the day before had been a good icebreaker and opened the door to getting to know Rafe and becoming friends. A couple of hours went by, and then you said your goodbyes and went to your respective cars.

Today

Even after your talk with Rafe, you were still anxious about the whole situation. But today was different; it was more of a chill setting—game night, snacks, and living room-only vibes. For most of the afternoon, it was just like that.

Establishing ground rules had improved your dynamic; he knew what he could and couldn’t do, and you knew what to expect, so your anxiety was more under control this time around. He grabbed your hand or played with your hair. It was a good afternoon that extended a bit longer, so of course, when you thought everything was done for the day, it wasn’t.

Your dad seemed to be your biggest enemy this weekend. Since he had told Rafe to stay and watch the basketball game that night, and of course, Rafe said yes. Now you were sitting on the couch with Rafe and your dad, watching a game while you scrolled through your phone, not caring about whatever was happening in front of you. From time to time, Rafe grabbed your thigh in stress, and even though you knew you had given him permission to do things like that, you still felt a bit weirded out by it all.

To take your mind off the whole situation currently unfolding, you decided to give Angie an update on what had happened and what was going to happen. It was also a good idea to keep yourself busy before you went to help your mom with dinner, which Rafe had offered to help with because he wanted to know what made your mom’s food so great.

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owololcat · 1 month ago

Text

Slugcat Dashboard Simulator!!!

💥 scavslayingchieftain

what in void’s name are these fucking thingies? /pos

⦻ vultureculture-deactivated119023

those are yeeks! They're normally native to outer expanse, though you may occasionally find a few in farm arrays if you're lucky! :3

💥 scavslayingchieftain

I love em gimme like 20

🍯 gourmdan-ramscug

I just saw a pup get carried into the treetops by a squidcada. Their mom was able to grab em before they could get hurt but now I'm wondering how many squidcadas it’d take to lift me…

🍯 gourmdan-ramscug

clerik dem

🎭 long-live-4pe

I think catboy pebbles would kill a wildscug.

🐁 the-johndoe

Wildscug from Outer Expanse here, can confirm. I only got one second to process the glory of an iterator in a catboy costume before I got my brain nuked and woke up back in The Wall.

🎭 long-live-4pe

… Not what I meant, but this is most certainly funnier than what I intended.

👁️ ripples-and-reflections

heyyyy sorryyyy your mate went down to the void sea and became an echo. yeahhhh he’s stuck between life and death with no escape to either. his attachment to his worldly desires was just too strong, sorryyy.

🌀 ur-getting-eepy

OE scugs, today is the day we finally decide...

🍯 gourmdan-ramscug

This is actually a fun way to gauge the colony's opinions on my antics. I’ll be keeping tabs on this! Thanks, Hypnotist!

🌀 ur-getting-eepy

OH HI DAD

🐟 moons-secret-lovechild

I just found 2 dead noodleflies with their needles shanked into each other. Can any nature-smart scugs explain why they do this?

🌼 fren2all

actually it's just a simple territorial dispute, which are always battles to the death in noodleflies. but what's really interesting is that if there's a winner left alive, they'll actually adopt the baby noots of the loser!

🐟 moons-secret-lovechild

Huh. Talk about a custody battle, am I right?

💥 scavslayingchieftain

my iterator just gave me a pearlreader and a cluster of pearls with a graphic novel series called “Spinning Top’s Folly” on them and WHERE THE FUCK HAS THIS BEEN ALL MY LIFE???

🪡 slash-srs

A new face to share brainrot with is always a welcome sight.~

💥 scavslayingchieftain

oomf, you don't get it.

i used to be a wildscug.

this is my first taste of iterator entertainment.

i can never go back.

🪡 slash-srs

OH SHIT, THAT IS A BIG DEAL. Anyways, your iterator picked a great first series for a creature who's unfamiliar with the benefactors and their history! If you're interested in fanfiction, I recommend trying to get your paws on some of the “Eternity Confluence” pearls by The Werelizard! Its this really silly canon divergence fic where Howlite Skies follows Spinning Top when they run away from the creche, resulting in extra shenanigans and a happier ending for both.

🦎 da-littlest-lizor

imma lizardcat, actually, but ty for the shoutout! I had a lot of fun expanding upon the sibling dynamic they had in the early chapters :}

🪡 slash-srs

H-HELLO?????

🐁 the-johndoe

I stole an egg with plans to eat it the following cycle but oops looks like I'm a dad now. forgive the shitty quality but meet batnip bread everyscug

🌼 fren2all

Pretty fucked up lookin slugpup

🐁 the-johndoe

monk ur supposed to be the nice one, don’t insult ur niece! >:T

🐁 the-johndoe

#so this is the fabled found family

@gourmdan-ramscug MOOOM HYPNOTIST AND MONK ARE BEING FUNNIER THAN ME ON MY OWN POSTS AGAAAAIN!

🌼 fren2all

Fuck kinda dad runs to the grandparent to solve his problems? lol

🐁 the-johndoe

I will suplex you into a patch of protorot grrr

🎭 long-live-4pe

Guess who finally got their title? The Gentleman, at your service.~

🦎 da-littlest-lizor

holup i thought u were a messenger how tf u get a title?

🎭 long-live-4pe:

I actually reside in a colony atop Four Painted Easels. I am a messenger by employment rather than by purpose!

As for how I earned a title in the first place, the scavengers took a pearl that was of great importance to 4PE, so I swiped it back from right under their snouts. Apparently I greatly resembled a gentleman thief from some old novels from the benefactor era.

🦎 da-littlest-lizor:

oh those scavs are gonna send they best elites after u lmao. i can def see how a colony would see you in that way tho, congrats! u earned it!

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twice-inamillion · 8 months ago

Text

The Company

Slave Contract

Smut and Angst (Slave contract, idol turned sex toy, accepting fate )

Chapter 18

3890 Words

(Miyeon becomes the CEO’s newest assistant and gets trained in her new role. Four idols learn about the consequences of signing contracts without knowing what’s in them. Future sex toys?)

It’s been a few weeks of hard work with setting up the survival show. Luckily, my new assistant, Miyeon, has been a great stress reliever.

After that first night, she was sore for a few days, but you kept her busy in other ways. At first, she was hesitant, asking me if this was really something she had to do. You asked if she read over the contract and said she slightly did but mainly browsed through it when signing.

“You should have a copy; look it over and ensure you know about your duties.”

It took her a few hours to go through everything, and with your explanation, she realized her actual fate, “So I belong to you then?”

“Pretty much.”

“I read you can even breed me if you wanted to.”

“I could, but we can put that on hold if you like. You only need to help me out with some things.”

“Like what?”

“I also want to make your former group members into my toys.”

Miyeon’s eyes widened from your statement. She was just with them not too long ago, and now she’s being asked to betray them so you can use them for pleasure?

“What you need to do is tell me some things about them. If they sign a contract like yours, I’ll take some years off it.”

Miyeon hesitates and thinks for a while, knowing she can’t return if she does this.

“So what’s it going to be?”

“Okay, what do you want to know?”

———

“Jieun set up a meeting with the four girls. I want to meet all of them.”

“Of course, I’ll tell them to come later today.”

All the information Miyeon shared about her former members helped you set the perfect conditions for today’s meeting. You’ve always had a dream to claim a whole group for yourself. You know that you’ll have a set of four toys to play with at the end of the day.

It’s your last meeting of the day. Jieun is talking to Jennie and her group mates about the meeting and its possible lasting effects.

Jieun looks at her device and sees your message about letting them in.

“The CEO is ready for you.” She opens the door, and they walk in.

“Oppa, you’re here to see the CEO?” says Lisa.

“No.”

Rose then speaks up, “He’s the CEO.”

“No, he’s Oppa; he helped us with moving in. A CEO wouldn’t do that,” said Lisa.

Lisa looks at you with an innocent face, waiting for your reply. “Rose is right; I’m the CEO of the company.”

“But we hung out together,” whined Lisa.

“Lisa, he might have his reasons,” replies Jennie

“Jennie is right; I do have my reasons. I aim to scout for talent and potential and put them into a group. I want to create an international girl group. As CEO, I wouldn’t have the opportunity to do that, but as a staff member, I’m about to see someone’s true personality. I want to debut you four as a girl group really soon.”

The four of them look at each other in excitement. Hearing about being a worldwide star seemed out of reach, but it is now possible. “Would you four be interested in the girl group I plan to create?”

Lisa is the first to say yes, “Of course, oppa! I want to perform all over the world!”

Rose imagines herself on stage, singing music she composed to millions of fans worldwide, “I…I would love to as well.”

Jisoo replied, “I, too, want to be in a group with them.”

The three look at Jennie, who looks at you and replies, “Of course, I want to stay with my members forever!”

You then reply, “Great. I’ll make you four into worldwide superstars!”

They giggle amongst and hold each other’s hands at the exciting news.“I plan on creating my personal label, and I’m interested in you four joining as the first group.”

Jennie asks, “What’s the difference between it and the company?”

“Priority and privileges.”

Jisoo, confused, asks, “What do you mean by that?”

“I’ll be personally working with you and providing you with all the best things. That includes clothes, jewelry, and deals with brands and magazines. I also plan to have a separate building for music recording, training, etc. You all will have access to the best, no compromises.”

The girls can't help but smile at the idea of having access to the best. Rosé's dream of being a musician is closer than ever; she must make this happen. “I want to do it.”

“I assumed this was the case, so I prepared a contract for each of you as a group contract. I’ll talk to each of you individually since this will be an important decision.”

Jieun escorts all the members to individual rooms, so you can gather your thoughts before the meeting. After you’re ready, you call for the oldest, Jisoo.

“Come have a seat, Jisoo.”

Jisoo sits, looking nervous with the two of you alone.

“We went a bit over the group contract earlier, but I want to review your individual one this time. Is there anything you’d like to add?”

Jisoo is already thankful for the opportunity to receive all the support from the company. She doesn’t want to overstep and get greedy, “No, I think I’m okay as it stands.”

”Are you sure? I remember reading in your profile that you wanted to be an actress. Am I right?”

Jisoo shyly tilts her head forward and replies, “Yes, I wrote that down when I joined as a trainee.”

”Are you still interested, or have you given up on that dream?”

There is a slight hesitation, “I want to sing and perform with my teammates, but I still want to be an actress.”

There it is, the hook. “I can make it possible if you’re still interested.” Jisoo’s ears perk as she hears your words, “Really? How?”

The two of you talk for a while until you reach an agreement. Jisoo immediately signs the contract without a second thought after promising to support her as much as possible. Your only condition is for her to agree with your choices without a second thought.

——

The next one you talked to was Jennie; she was much easier to talk to, and you could get straight to the point. She sat before you, “I’m going to be real with you; I want you and your members. Not just as artists but as my toys.”

Jennie slides the contract to the side, “So this is what this contract is about… I can’t blame you; my members are cute. Is there someone you have in mind?”

“Rosé. She has an amazing voice, and her desperation to become a singer is such a turn-on.”

“She did say she’ll do something to become one, but the only issue is that she’s into girls, not guys.”

“Won't you think that would be better? Rosé tossing her interests to the side, that’s something I would love to see. I want to make her my plaything.”

Jennie bites her lip at the idea of her member being corrupted, “you know she’s a virgin too; well, everyone is except me, of course,” says Jennie while sticking her tongue out.

“You must be proud, huh.”

It’s true; Jennie is proud of herself. With her by your side, she knows that her chances of being successful are much better with you. “Of course, I love being your toy babe. It’d be even better if you make all of us into your toys; just imagine playing with us whenever you want.”

”You know what a guy wants; you��re so bad.”

”I want to make sure you’re well taken care of.”

The two of you continue to talk; she even provides some ways to make the girls agree.

———-

After Jennie, the next one was Rosé; she sat in front of you and asked, “Were you serious about introducing us to the international market?”

”Of course, with your talent, I know you all can succeed. I mean, with your voice, it's a guarantee.”

You see the sparkle in Rosé’s eyes; her dream of becoming a singer is closer than ever. “So, where do I sign?”

You pull out the contract, “This right here is your individual contract. It states the expectations from both parties, which is the label and yourself. Read it over, and if you want to add anything, let me know.”

Like her members before her, she just skims through the contract and asks, “Would it be possible to invite my parents and sister for my debut?”

”Of course, they are more than welcome to visit you. If you want, I can fly them over. I remember you mentioning that your sister is pursuing law, right?”

”Yeah, she’s still in college and looking to intern at a firm in Australia. You know that she’s been so supportive of me becoming an idol that I really want her to see my debut.”

”If that’s the case, then I promise you to make sure your whole family sees you on your special day.”

“I promise that you won’t be disappointed; I’ll make sure that our group becomes the best group,” as she picks up the pen, singing her contract.

———

Lisa, the maknae of the group, was the last member you had to meet. It didn’t take much convincing and only asked to be given the creative freedom to make choreographies and a space to dance.

“You really got us, oppa. Or should I call you CEO-nim?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I’ll call you oppa.”

“I’d like that.”

She smiles and asks, “Where do I sign?”

———

It’s been a few weeks since the members signed their individual contracts. It didn’t take long for them to see the immediate effect, such as a new apartment with rooms of their own, access to the new building, and other perks.

“Unnie, congrats on your internship!”

“Thanks, it all happened so suddenly. I can’t wait to spend some time with you.”

“When do you fly in?”

“In a few weeks, they even gave me an apartment and are paying for my accommodations.”

“Really? That’s great. What firm are you working with?”

“That’s the funny part. I’ll be doing my internship through the Samsung group but will be in one of their subdivisions.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I got an email saying that they were looking for great talent and received a recommendation. I recently finished the acceptance process and will be signing the contract. The best part is that if they like me, they might offer me a job and pay for law school. I’m so excited, Rosie!”

Rose is more than happy to hear the good news from her sister. She’s been so supportive of her dream to become a lawyer; now it’s her time to cheer for her. The only thing is that she can’t shake off a feeling that something isn’t right, but she quickly puts it to the side and continues her talk with Alice.

——-

“Hello, mom, how is everything back home?”

“Everything is wonderful, Lisa. We have had some good news recently.”

“Really? What is it?”

“Remember how your father was thinking about expanding and was looking for investors for his restaurant?”

”Yeah, I do. He wanted to open up a new place, but it was expensive if he wanted to do it in the middle of the city.”

”Well, your dad found an investor. They want to invest in not only one restaurant but probably two or more. They want to remodel this one and expand the size. Your dad is so happy.”

”I’m so happy for him. He’s been working so hard these past few years.”

”What about you, sweetheart?”

”Good, I think coming to Korea was a great choice. I can’t tell you much right now, but I’m happy where I am. My group members make me feel at home.”

————

All the members gather in your office, the four of them excited for the weekend to begin.

“How are you four doing?”

Jennie responds, “Great, we have had a free day today, so we’ve been resting after a busy schedule.”

”Oh, I’m sorry for interrupting you all during your day off.”

The members nod, “It’s okay; we still have Saturday and Sunday off. You must have called us to say something important,” says Jisoo.

“Yes, I wanted to ask how you four are adjusting to your new life?”

Rosé responds, “I love the recording and music room. I’ve spent most of my time there.”

”For me, it’s the practice studio; it’s so nice and spacious, I love it,” says Lisa.

”What about you two?”

Jennie responds, ”Jisoo and I like our new apartment. It’s nice to have our own space.”

Jisoo nods, “I agree with Jennie; we like the new apartment. Thank you so much.” The four of them slightly bow, thanking you for their new perks.

“That’s great. I want to make sure that my future worldstars are given the best. Since you have tasted a bit of what I’m giving you, I think it's time for you to return the favor.”

The members were surprised by your comment and asked, “What do you mean?”

“The favors, remember. It’s in the contract you all signed.”

Rosé responds, “I don’t remember seeing it.”

Knowing this was bound to happen, you pulled out a copy of their contract. You flip through the numerous pages until you reach the section you want to show them. “This is the part. It clearly states that you all are required to provide me with services on a regular basis in return for the perks you receive.”

Rosé, shocked, says, “What kind of favors?”

With a straight face, you reply, “sexual favors, of course.”

Rosé, Jisoo, and Lisa look shocked at your comment; Rosé stands up and tries to leave when Jennie grabs her hand, stopping her. “Don’t.”

Rosé looks at Jennie in a serious expression and takes a seat. “Why didn’t you say anything before our contract signing?”

“I told you to check multiple times. You’re all adults.”

Jisoo asks, “Is it possible to remove that part out?”

“It’s possible, but that would mean you are breaking your contract.”

Rosé then asks, “Is that going to cost a lot?”

“In simple terms, yes. The cost of a breach in the contract is a lot, plus the cost of room and board, food, training, and other expenses can be in the billions of won.”

They all look at each other, trying to figure out what to do. They don’t want to give their bodies as payment; it seems so wrong, but the cost of paying large amounts of money also seems too much.

“What if we can pay you some other way?” says Lisa.

“Listen, I’m going to be frank with you all. I want you four, so I’m going to give you an hour to think about it. I’ll step out and come back, so expect an answer.”

You stand from your chair and begin to walk towards the door, “Just remember that this will have a great impact on both your personal and professional life,” you say before exiting.

The four of them finally get a sign of relief with you gone. They stay silent, taking in what just happened a few moments ago.

Jennie breaks the silence, “What do you all plan on doing?”

No one answers; instead, Jisoo stands up and looks around your desk for anything that can help them. She moves the mouse off your computer, causing it to turn on. She sees a folder with the initials of each member, “Girls, come here.” The members stand up and circle around the computer. Jennie grabs the mouse and clicks on the folder with her name to see basic information and a copy of your contract. “Nothing helpful.”

Suddenly, something catches Rosé's attention when she notices a fold named “Alice.” She grabs the mouse from Jennie and clicks on it. There are multiple files, but a video recording gets her attention. She clicks on the recording, and the face of her video pops out. “Hello, my name is Alice Park. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to intern at your company. You’re the biggest employer in Korea, and interning at your company is a dream come true. Pursuing law has been a passion of mine since I was young, so I will do my best to meet your expectations. Thank you so much, and hope to see you real soon.”

Rosé can’t believe it, Alice’s employer is you? Many things run through her mind to the point it’s hurting. “Did he plan everything out? What should I do? Should I tell Alice?”

Jennie and Jisoo notice Rosè’s sister in the video and try to ask her what’s going on. Instead, Rosè stays silent, gathering her thoughts and what she should do. “Rosè, what’s going on?”

Lisa continued searching when she found a file named “Restaurant Investments.” She clicks on it and sees her dad’s picture and other documents that mention investing in his business. “What’s going on?” She sees a brief interview that mentions his reason for doing what he does. He responds that he loves the expression his family makes when they taste his food, especially his daughter. However, since she was young, she would love his food which is one of the reasons he wants to do his best. “My daughter is trying her best to make her dreams come true, as an old man I should also do something that my daughter should be proud of.”

Lisa doesn’t have to think twice, she knows what she has to do. “I’m going to make sure his dreams come true no matter what.”

An hour passes by, the four of them are sitting in the chairs as you enter the room on the dot. Rosè and Lisa look at you with an intense expression while Jisoo holds both their hands. Jennie, who is sitting in the back looks at you with a slight grin but quickly hides it when you sit on your chair.

“I gave you four an hour. What are your answers?”

There is a slight hesitation as the four look at each other, thinking on what to say. Suddenly, Lisa raises her hand and says, “I’ll do whatever you want.”

The rest of her members' eyes widened as the maknae of the group was the first to respond. You can’t stop yourself from smiling, “Good choice.”

You look at the other three and say, “Lisa seems to have more conviction than anyone else in the group.” You look in Jisoo’s direction, “Jisoo, I assumed you would be the first to say something, but I guess Lisa, the youngest out of your four, has more guts.”

Jisoo clenches her fist, but she’s scared. There is no way she couldn’t be. “What about you Jennie?”

She lifts her head, “So you’ll keep your promise and make me known worldwide?”

”Yes, there wouldn’t be anywhere in the world that won’t know your name.”

’Okay, I’ll do it too. I’ll do whatever you want, even be your personal toy.”

Jisoo lifts her head, “Jennie…” Her younger members are much braver than her. She tells herself that she needs to be the one to protect them, but instead they’re taking the reins of their future. She makes up her mind, “I…I’ll do it too.”

”Great. Three out of four.” You look at Rosé who’s head is still down, debating about making the right choice. Her answer will determine not only her future but her sister’s as well. “Alright. If I do this, you promise not to do anything to Alice, right?”

”Yes, I promise.”

”Okay, I’ll do whatever you want; just keep your promise.”

You smile, knowing that the four women in front of you have decided to submit to you. “I’ll make sure to try you four with a lot of care.” You stand up and check out their body as they stand. “I want to make sure that you're all serious about your choice. Undress yourself right here, I want to see what I’m going to be working with,”

Their eyes widened from your request; they didn’t think it was going to happen so soon. “Okay.” Jennie is the first one to undress by first removing her blouse, bra, pants, and underwear.

“Good girl.”

”Thanks,” Jennie smiles from your compliment.

The other two members follow, undressing themselves until they’re completely nude. Rosé is the last one to undress, she struggles to take her panties off with one arm covering her breast.

“Take your arm off, I want to get a good look at you.” She slowly moves her arm and puts it to the side. “There, better?”

“Feisty one. If you don’t want to do this you can just leave.” Rosé pinches her arm, stopping herself from leaving. She wants to get out of there but knows she can’t. “No, I’ll behave.”

Satisfied with her answer, you continue to walk around them, inspecting their flawless body. Each one of them have small but perky tits, a flat stomach with a cute little ass. Lisa yelps when you touch her ass, while Jennie smiles.

“Since you all have the weekend together, how about we have some fun.” The girls don’t have to guess what you’re trying to say, they know what type of “fun” you’re talking about. “Any volunteers?”

There’s a silence, no one moving or reacting in any way. “No volunteers? I guess I'll choose the one I want to have first.” You go around, tracing your finger against their back. You feel them tremble, not wanting to be the first to get chosen.

“I really want to have all of you at once, but I want to give you some one-on-one attention. You’re all too good, I can't make up my mind.”

You stare and them, looking up and down as you decide on who to fuck first. You see one of them grabbing onto their arm, looking nervous. You think to yourself it's always best to pick the one who has the most to lose and make them yours.

“Rosé, I want you tonight.”��

You exit the room, leaving her standing alone in shock. She trembles, realizing that she’s going to give her body to a man. She’s never once thought about having relationships with a male, not even in the slightest.

———

Jieun walks into the room, “Rosé, dear. Why the sad expression? You should be happy that he chose you.”

There’s no response from Rosé, and instead frozen in thought.

“Anyways, I’m here because I’m going to take all you with me to choose an outfit for when he asks for you. Just remember that the more effort you put in the better the outcome,” says Jieun in a serious voice.

As they enter the room they see multiple racks of lingerie. Rosé’s eyes go wide as she figures out what she is going to wear.

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