Imagine!! Simon Ghost Riley × Blind Reader ༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻
It was just a normal walk in the park for you. Good for the legs, improved mood, and it always made you feel happy.
Your guide dog, Bolt - a well trained black Labrador - nudged your feet as you tied your boots, always so restless for the park. It was your brother’s idea to get a guide dog. And yeah, he was right for once.
“Oye, gimme just a minute, ugh,” you muttered, checking the door locks before holding the leash as he guided you out safely. Everyone in the neighbourhood knew the pair of you.
Oftentimes, you ended up with free cupcakes from the old baker down the street, daily flowers from the young florist girl, and Bolt was showered with treats at every shop. The flirty butcher handed out free ribs every week, just as an excuse to lure Bolt into his shop and to talk to you. You would laugh and tell him no everytime he tried a new cheesy pickup line.
Their kindness wasn’t out of pity, but rather the fact that you were harmless. No one in their right mind would hurt a defenceless girl.
And also because you helped everyone the best you could.
The wind was cosy as you entered the park, a smile on your face as Bolt guided you, the sun warming your cold body. You walked along, tapping your cane, a packet of frozen peas tucked inside the jacket to feed the ducks and relax.
Oh, what a day. What a lovely day.
Suddenly, the leash slipped out of your hand. Bolt charged at something in the distance. You tried pulling it back, fingers scrambling for leather - but he was faster.
“Bolt! No! Get back here! BOLT!" Your scream tore through the park.
You stood frozen, heart slamming against your ribs. This was a nightmare come alive. Your hands trembled as you swept the ground around your feet with cane. It had been a while since you’d walked without him by your side.
What if he got hurt?
What if he ran into traffic?
What if they mistook him for a violent dog who eats annoying babies for dinner???
You felt like your sight had been stolen all over again, leaving you small, helpless. Past churned its way up your throat, making it harder to breathe. Just a helpless little girl all over again.
Then -
Heavy paws.
Fast. Too fast.
At a distance, a large German Shepherd came charging forward, dragging her owner along.
“Riley! No Riley! For fuck’s sake, down, girl, will yeh?!” Simon barked, boots scraping against the path as he fought the leash.
It’ll be fun, havin’ a retired K9, they’d said.
Yeah. Fun.
She was solid muscle, years of discipline snapping loose in seconds. She’d never done this back at base. Never broke command. Simon swore under his breath.
Realising it was useless trying to haul her back, Ghost ran with her instead, making it look like they were jogging.
(Christ, his arse was being dragged.)
He tightened the leash as Riley barreled toward a black Labrador wearing a strange vest.
“Back! Riley—back! THAT IS NOT A FUCKIN DUCK YE DIMWIT”
The dogs collided in a mess of fur growling. But then - tails wagging. Playful snarls. Not a fight. The labrador licking her face as she growls . He sure had audacity for a dog half her size.
Simon loosened the leash slightly, eyes darting around.
Where’s the owner?
Meanwhile, you moved toward the sound. Slow. Careful. Every step felt wrong without Bolt guiding you. Your grip tight and trembling around the cane. Fuck this was scary!
Your breath shook as barking echoed closer, too close. And before you could call out Bolt - Impact.
A sharp pain exploded through your knees as something heavy slammed into you, sending you crashing to the ground. The air rushed from your lungs as something large and warm landed on top of you.
Not Bolt. Too heavy...
You froze as hot breath brushed your neck. A low growl vibrated through the body pinning you down. You could feel it sniffing you.
Your hand lifted - hesitant - reaching
“Riley- back off! Back off! Now! C’mon, girl!” You felt her retreat at the gruff command.
You gasped, scrambling onto your elbows, hands shaking as you searched the ground for your cane.
You pushed yourself upright - and then you felt him. Bolt’s wet nose pressed insistently against your leg, grounding you, steadying you. You immediately grab his leash.
“I-I’m so sorry!! He usually stays in line” you whispered, brushing dirt from your jeans with unsteady hands.
Suddenly - hands.
Large. Solid.
Your cane was placed back into your grip and you flinched at the contact despite yourself.
“Hey - easy, love. Easy” the man said quickly.
“It’s alright, miss. Mine lost it an’ all. Don’t happen often, honest. I apologize bout that.” He tugged the panting Shepherd back, firm now.
Simon took you in properly then. The cane. The vest. The way your gaze never quite landed.
Blind.
And shaken. He could've just turned around and left for home. But who was he to turn down a gift dropped right in his lap???
He fought the urge to brush leaves from your hair. He stared into your amber eyes that drifted aimlessly. Beautiful, like the sun breaking through clouds, he thought. Your jacket smeared with crushed peas. It was like an explosion.
He edged a bit closer, trying to get a better look at your face. Your cheeks were flushed from all the running you’d just done, then he noticed it.
The heavy tremble in your fingers. Christ she’s terrified.
“Everythin’s sorted now, yeah?” he said more gently.
“Your dog’s clever, that one. Didn’t hurt a soul, swear down. Mine’s just a daft sod sometimes.”
You pressed your palms together, voice breaking. “Please - please don’t complain, sir. The authorities will take him away… and I can’t afford a new guide dog. Please.”
Your desperation curled something sharp in his chest. Little did you know, this bastard was smirking behind his mask, clearly enjoying how flustered you looked. Eyes twinkling with the same mischief a kid gets on unboxing a present. He looked up and down sloww to check for injuries - of course ;)
“I-I’m Y/N. And this is Bolt” you added quickly.
“He’s a guide dog, but he’s still in training… as you saw.”
“Yeah” he murmured. “Figured.”
"I’m Ghost. An’ this menace is Riley. German Shepherd. Had years of trainin, an’ she still pulls shite like that.”
You tilted your head slightly to hear him better. Your other senses sharpened where sight failed you.
Definitely tall.
Voice rough-edged… Northern. Manchester. But muffled. Why muffled?
Bolt nudged your leg again, a soft whine escaping him. Feeling sorry now, was he? Idiot.
“Sit down, baby” you whisper.
But unknown to you - Simon took it as his cue and immediately dropped to his knees wondering why you'd tell him to sit. Looking up at you frowning.
Just then Bolt sat neatly at your feet.
Realisation hit him like a punch.
Heat crawled up his neck as he stayed there a second too long, silently grateful you couldn’t see his embarrassment. He was the Lieutanant of the famed 141 for fucks sake not a dog!! Here he was acting funny cause of a woman he met seconds ago. Hell even his dog had lost it.
“So, Mr Ghost, is it?” you said, forcing composure like you hadn’t nearly had heart attack moments ago.
“Can call me Simon, if that sounds too flimsy to you, miss" he replied, getting up and dusting off his knees.
Riley barked once, sharp and curious. Her head tilting at every angle looking at Bolt's vest.
“Can I uh… pet her? Simon nodded - then swore quietly remembering you can't see.
“Yeah - sorry. Yeah, y’can. Just don’t touch her ears. She gets annoyed.”
You held your hands out, inching toward the sound of happy panting. God she was huge , you didn't have to crouch to reach her.
“Good baby, Riley...such a good baby” you cooed softly.
And just like that, Simon forgot how to breathe. His chest tightened, eyes snapping away as something unsteady hit him square in the ribs. He felt like he was on frontline fighting a war. But only this time it was a damn civilian park. His poor heart was beating the same way it did when he was running laps in training sessions.
Bloody hell.
Soap was dead for naming his K9 Riley. Because right now - for the first time, Simon Ghost Riley felt weak at his knees.
❆ fluff, petnames, skinship, flirting with BSF!SEONGHYEON
୨୧ reader gets so flustered by hyeon (09) RiRI 🎧
🗻⋆꙳·❅*‧ ☃️ 3RD DAY OF CHRISTMAS ☃️‧*❆ ₊⋆ 🗻 previous
it was your favourite time of year: christmas! singing carols, eating a bunch of gingerbread, drinking hot chocolate, spending time with the people you love. every christmas was amazing for you. but there was only one tradition you’d miss out on: going under the mistletoe.
why? well, you never had anyone to do it with. you didn’t have any crushes or whatever. you wondered why you never liked anyone. it wasn’t that you hated the idea of love, infact you loved romance movies so that couldn’t have been the reason. maybe it was because you hadn’t found the right guy for you.
so you never had crushes, never had a first kiss and didn’t have an enchanting kiss under the mistletoe either. but, you had your best friend seonghyeon.
the boy you fought over the swings with and had all the sleepovers in the world. he’s mine as the best, and your best friend. you’ve always been okay with that, and he has too. so you thought?
“hyeon, can you help me here? my mom is making me put up this stupid mistletoe and it’s too high up.” you complained, standing on your tippy toes to try reach it. seonghyeon laughed as he came behind you, taking the mistletoe right off your hands.
he was close, a little too close. so close you could smell his cologne, and you could also feel this weird sensation in your stomach that made you feel sick and a rush in your heartbeat. no, it couldn’t be.
you quickly moved away to give him space, feeling flustered at how your body reacted.
“i won’t bite you, y/n. you’re always so clingy anyway, stop being weird.” he said, teasing. he caught you. screw seonghyeon for seeing right through you.
you moved closer to him, keeping a safe distance. but then seonghyeon reached out a hand to tug your wrist, pulling you right next to him. you blushed, hard, barely able to form a coherent sentence.
he continued to fix the mistletoe till it was perfect, then he turned to face you. then a voice cut in the awkward moment. “ah, you kids. always getting all excited! well go on, kiss then, i won’t interrupt.” your mother teased, letting out a chuckle before walking past you two.
your cheeks burned even harder, but seonghyeon didn’t. he instead smiled, gripping your chin to face him. “well, you heard the lady.” he whispered, and before you could argue, his lips were pressing against yours slowly.
you froze, trying to process what was going on. seonghyeon pulled you closer, his hand cupping your cheek. soon enough, you relaxed, trying to kiss him back. you were inexperienced, very. but it’s the effort that counts.
seonghyeon pulled away, his thumbs caressing your soft cheeks.
“you’re not that bad for someone that was a statue the whole time.” he teased once more, his face so close to yours. you frowned, pouting at him. “not funny, hyeon. you didn’t even give me a chance to process that.” you whined. then he leaned in again, his breath tickling your skin.
“ready this time?” he asked, scrutinizing your face like he was committing every feature to memory. you nodded, then kissed him this time. it was much gentler, much sweeter, much more affectionate. his hands grabbed your waist, your hands around his neck. then you pulled away, a soft smile on your lips.
“much better, pretty.” he said, warmer now. you laughed, ruffling his hair. “cause i’m just better.” you boasted, then yelped when he hauled you over his shoulder. “let’s see who’s better in tower of hell then, sassypants.”
you didn’t have a crush. you thought you didn’t, not until now. and well, seonghyeon was probably going to be the love of your life now.
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注記 ───MERRY CHRISTMAS SIGMA GOATS!! this fic was my favourite, it was short but it was still very fun to write so i hope you all enjoy a lot. this is for my cutie loribear @eohyeons hope you enjoy this christmas present, baby! hugs and kisses, everyone. ✶
ship: clark kent x f! reader (established relationship)
cw: (sfw) cozy domesticity, light romantic/physical intimacy (lifting/cuddling), implied mild alcohol or kitchen baking, seasonal winter aesthetic, short height/longer male height dynamics.
wc: 5.5k
an: hi my loves 🤍 thank you so much for spending day 12 with me. this one is a little love letter to quiet winter nights, soft music, and the kind of warmth that only comes from being held by someone who truly cares. thank you for being patient with me, for reading, reblogging, and leaving the sweetest words in the tags — they mean more to me than you know. i hope this felt like a gentle pause in the season, something soft to wrap around you. sending you all so much warmth and love. 🤍
now playing: i've got my love to keep me warm by frank sinatra
metropolis at christmas always felt a little unreal. the city softened in a way it never did the rest of the year. under string of lights and window displays, steel and glass warmed by gold and red reflections. snow fell in lazy drifts between skyscrapers, catching on fire escapes and street signs. somewhere below, a saxophone played from an open apartment window, muffled by distance and light snowfall. you stood at the window of clark’s apartment for a long moment, watching it all.
taxis crept through the slush-lined streets, headlights blurred into soft halos. couples walked arm in arm beneath umbrellas dusted with snow. the city hummed, quieter than usual, like it had agreed to take a collective breath. behind you, the apartment glowed. lamplight spilled across the living room,, warm and honey colored. tinsel draped loosely along the shelves, a little uneven, a little imperfect. exactly how clark liked it, the faint crackle of an old record filled the space, vinyl spinning softly as frank sinatra's voice floated throughout the room, smooth and timeless.
"the snow is snowing and the wind is blowing..." you hummed along without realizing it, turning away from the window as the song settled into your bones. you were wrapped in one of clark's sweaters, far too big on you. sleeves swallowing your hands, collar brushing your knuckles when you tugged it closer around your neck. it smelled like him; clean soap, winter air and something softer underneath that you couldn't quite name but always recognized. warmth clung to you, the kind that seeped in slowly, melting the chill you'd carried inside from outside. the apartment smelled like pine and cinnamon and sugar and something baking.
"it just needs five more minutes." clark called from the kitchen, voice carrying easily over the music. you smiled to yourself. "you said that ten minutes ago." he defended himself, instantly. "that was a different five minutes." you laughed quietly, padding across the rug toward the living room. the christmas tree stood proudly in the corner, tall and full, branches dusted with fake snow that twinkled under the lights. ornaments hung unevenly but lovingly, little pieces of clark’s life scattered among the branches. a small tractor ornament from smallville. a globe etched with the metropolis skyline.
a faded red bauble that clark had admitted came from his first apartment after college, bought with loose change and optimism. a few anonymous silver ones that looked suspiciously like they’d been purchased last minute, tags still tucked behind them. it was imperfect. it was perfect. only one thing was missing. the star sat on the coffee table between you and the couch, gold and slightly crooked, catching the lamplight. you picked it up, turning it slowly in your hands, then looked back at the tree. and up and up. you planted your hands on your hips. "okay..." you said thoughtfully, "i think it’s leaning a little to the left."
clark, kneeling by a box of ornaments near the tree, glanced up at you. his glasses caught the light, curls falling into his eyes. "the tree?" you stood back a bit. "no." you said seriously. "the star’s future placement. it needs to be… balanced." his mouth twitched, fighting a smile. "right. important work." you reached for the star again, then craned your neck upward and upward. "…yeah." you said after a moment, sighing. "there’s no way." clark bit his lip, trying not to laugh. "you want the step stool?"
you shot him a look. "the step stool is a liar and a traitor. last year it wobbled." he stiffled a chuckle. "it did not wobble." you rolled her eyes, and crossed your arms. "it wobbled in spirit." that did it. clark laughed, full and warm, the sound filling the apartment and settling into your chest. "okay, okay. what’s your plan, then?" you lifted the star, holding it up like an offering. "you." he blinked, pointing at himself "me?" you let out a light chuckle, and smirk. “you’re strong enough,” you said easily, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. that made him pause.
something softened in his expression. the teasing ease gave way to something quieter, more thoughtful. his eyes brightened just a little. "oh," he said softly. "is this what that is?" you nodded. "strong enough to lift, you know. me." he stood slowly, brushing his hands off on his jeans as he crossed the room. even without trying, he blocked out half the lamplight, tall and steady and impossibly gentle. his sweater brushed your shoulder as he leaned down slightly, careful not to crowd you. "you sure?" he asked quietly. "i don’t want to-" you place a gentle hand on him.
"clark." you said, smiling up at him. "i trust you." that did it. something settled in his chest, visible in the way his shoulders relaxed, in the way his breath steadied. his hands came to your waist carefully, reverently, like he was holding something precious. "okay." he murmured. "just- hold on." before you could respond, he lifted you. it was effortless. smooth and secure, like gravity was optional. one arm supported your legs, the other your back, pulling you close against his chest. you barely felt the shift, only the sudden change in perspective as the room dropped away beneath you.
you laughed, surprised despite yourself. "wow." clark flushed instantly, pink creeping across his cheeks. "sorry— too fast?" you blushed "no." you said quickly, one arm instinctively curling around his neck. "perfect." the music swelled softly in the background as clark took a slow step toward the tree, adjusting his grip just enough so you could lean forward comfortably. "okay." he said gently. "you got it?" you leaned forward, star in hand, focusing as you reached the top of the tree. the lights blinked softly beneath your fingers, the gold surface of the star catching and scattering the glow.
"and…" you murmured. "there." it settled perfectly, straight and shining. you leaned back, admiring your work. "nailed it." clark didn’t move. you glanced down at him, eyebrow lifting. "you can put me down now." he met your eyes, smiling - soft, affectionate, just a little shy. "i could..." he said. "…but?" he sighed, "...but i don’t really want to." your heart skipped.
outside, snow drifted past the windows, city lights glowing like distant stars. the music shifted, the gentle swing of the orchestra wrapping around you both. clark swayed slightly, almost unconsciously, like the rhythm had found him. "are you… dancing?' you asked, amused. "maybe." he said, sheepish. "only if that’s okay." you smiled, resting your forehead against his. "it’s more than okay." he moved slowly, carefully, rocking you side to side. your feet dangled inches above the floor, and somehow you felt safer than if they were planted there. his warmth surrounded you, solid and steady. "you’re really warm." you murmured. he huffed a quiet laugh.
"yeah, i get that a lot." you shook your head. "must be nice." you teased.he glanced down at you, eyes soft. "i’ve got my love to keep me warm." he said, almost under his breath. you stilled. then smiled. "frank would approve." he chuckled, continuing to sway, the room shrinking around you until it felt like just the two of you and the glow of the tree. and clark still didn’t put you down.
the night deepened almost without you noticing.
the city outside dimmed as windows went dark one by one, the constant hum of metropolis settling into something quieter, gentler. snow kept falling, thick and slow now, clinging to ledges and fire escapes until the city looked softened at the edges, like it had been wrapped in wool. inside, clark’s apartment felt cocooned from it all. the record finished its side with a soft hiss, the needle lifting automatically. clark didn’t move to flip it right away. instead, he stayed still, arms wrapped around you, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head. you were warm. not just from the blanket or the cocoa or the heater humming quietly in the background but from him.
from the way he held you like there was nowhere else he needed to be. "you’re getting sleepy." he murmured, voice low and fond. you hummed in response, eyes half-lidded. "mm. comfortable." he smiled. you could hear it in his voice. "i’ll take that as a compliment." you nuzzled into clark's chest further. "you should." you said softly. "you’re very… good at this." he chuckled softly, not to disturb the peacefulness of it all. "at holding you?" you playfully hit him, sighing aloud. "at being here." you replied. "present." his fingers stilled in your hair for just a moment before resuming their gentle path. "i like being someone you can rest with." he said. “" don’t always get to be that."
you lifted your head slightly, just enough to look at him. his eyes were soft behind his glasses, reflecting the glow of the tree lights. there was something thoughtful there, something vulnerable. "you are." you said. "to me." he swallowed, nodding once. "yeah?" he mimicked you. "yeah." the silence that followed wasn’t heavy. it felt earned. shared. eventually, clark shifted carefully, adjusting the blanket around you again. "do you want to move to the bedroom?" he asked gently. "or… stay here?"
you considered it, then settled back against him with a sigh. hmm, here’s nice." he chuckled softly. "yeah. it is." he stretched just enough to reach the light switch near the couch, dimming the room until only the tree lights and city glow remained. the apartment felt smaller then, cozier, like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. you listened to his heartbeat again, steady and strong beneath your ear. it was grounding in a way few things were. "clark?" you called out quietly. he ackowledged you with a short hum. "mm?" your voice small, whispered to him sweetly. "you know you don’t have to be strong all the time, right?"
his breath hitched almost imperceptibly. "i know." he said after a moment. "but… sometimes i like being strong for you." you smiled, fingers curling into his sweater. "i like that too." he shifted again, just enough to press a kiss to your hair. then another to your temple. each one slow and unhurried, like he was memorizing the moment. outside, a distant siren echoed faintly before fading away. somewhere far below, laughter drifted up from the street, carried by the cold air. metropolis kept moving. but here, time seemed content to pause. you must have drifted off at some point, because the next thing you noticed was clark’s breathing evening out beneath you, slow and steady.
his arm was still wrapped securely around you, hand warm at your side, thumb resting just below your ribs like it had found its natural place. the star atop the tree glowed softly, watching over the room. you shifted slightly, and clark stirred, eyes fluttering open. "hey." he whispered sleepily. "hey." you murmured back. he smiled, half-asleep, pulling you a little closer. "still okay?" you nodded, pressing your face into his chest. "yeah. i’m perfect." he let out a quiet breath, content. "good."
the record sat silent now. the cookies cooled forgotten in the kitchen. snow continued to fall, blanketing the city in white. and wrapped in clark kent’s arms. held close lifted not just strength but by care- you felt like the warmth would last far beyond the night. winter could have the city. you had each other.
author’s note:
hey loves 🤍 thank you so much for reading! this one was all about clark being his utterly wholesome, effortlessly strong, totally himself self — and i just couldn’t resist writing a little moment where he lifts you up, literally and figuratively. it felt so relatable and super cute to me, like the kind of cozy winter memory i’d want to keep forever. i hope it wrapped around you like one of clark’s warm hugs and made you smile a little. sending all the soft, festive vibes your way! ✨
❆₊ ⊹ 🧁 hot chocolate, cinnamon, and sugar were swept up in the warm air of your cozy apartment. basked in the dim amber glow of a cake-scented candle, you did the best you could to busy yourself with mindless tasks. halfway re-organizing the refrigerator, adjusting the box of gingerbread houses on the counter for the third time, considering if you should swap out one ornament for another on your christmas tree, fluffing up the snowflake-shaped pillows on your couch despite not liking them very much.
no matter how much you attempted to hide it from yourself, your body wouldn’t let you lie.
your heart was beating a bit too rapidly. you were fidgeting with your appearance, and for the life of you, you couldn’t seem to find a comfortable place to wait.
you were nervous.
it was the kind of nervousness that weighed your heart down and made everything seem important, even the smallest details. it was almost suffocating. yet you wanted tonight to be perfect, almost dreamlike, for your lovely boyfriend: toji “i don’t really care about christmas” fushiguro.
the two of you were still in that odd stage that occurred in the beginning of every relationship. the one that's made up of kisses that still made you dizzy despite already knowing one another, longing gazes, wandering hands, and grand gestures that made you wonder if it was too early to be putting in this much effort. you could only hope that what you had planned for tonight would come off more endearing rather than overbearing.
the slight wiggle of the doorknob startled you out of your thoughts. he'd finally come home, and much sooner than you anticipated. without thinking, you stood from your spot on the couch. you were almost too stiff, attempting to stash away your jittering nerves.
you're quick to scan his face as he takes two slow steps into the apartment, pausing in front of the doorway before slowly closing it. there was something like confusion sprinkled across his brows, dark hair falling over steely green eyes that you could only hope were filled with surprise.
he didn't speak right away, instead taking the time to analyze the decorations spread throughout your shared home. you were starting to wonder if it was too much before he smiled. it was small, like he wanted to laugh but was unsure if this was the right moment.
"what's all this?" toji's voice lilted calmly as he walked over to you.
you smiled. "do you like it? i thought it'd be nice to have the place decorated. and also-" you quickly stepped over to the kitchen counter to grab the bright red and green box you were fussing over earlier. "i was hoping we could do this together!" you rattled the box lightly, listening to the deconstructed pieces rattle together.
however, you didn't miss the way his brows furrowed, taking off his boots as he groaned a little. "gingerbread houses? what are you, five?"
"no? it's not childish, toji, it's festive." you scoff, a little offended. only a little.
he rolled his eyes as he walked closer to you. smelling like snow and something a little bitter. "is this something you actually wanna do, or are you fuckin' with me?" one of his large hands is steady on your waist, bringing you closer to his warm chest as he looks down at you, his once unreadable gaze becoming softer with each passing moment. gentle, as he took you in.
"yes, it is. i wanted to spend a little time with you. i know you don't really care about holiday stuff, but i wanted you to do this with me. maybe you'll like it!" you didn't give him any time to respond as you dragged him to the middle of the kitchen and eagerly opened the box, inhaling the sweet scent of ginger and carefully taking out each set of houses. he sat on the other side of the table, watching you get excited over the smallest of details.
before you knew it, the two of you were fully engrossed in the gingerbread house making process. tubes of white frosting were strewn across the floor, sugar cookies resting at the center of the table, nostalgic christmas music filling the space of your home.
toji was starting to grow slightly annoyed at his house. with each step he took towards progression, it only seemed to worsen as it fell apart every few seconds.
"you know..." your voice was careful as you debated on where your next gumdrop should go, "you might have an easier time if you followed the directions." a small smile crept onto your face as you saw his mouth twitch.
an annoyed grunt left him. "i don't need those dumb directions. i know what m'doin." he twisted the half-eaten candy cane that was hanging out the side of his mouth, looking at the difference between your two houses. he didn't say it out loud of course, but you could tell he was starting to get frustrated. the walls of his house were starting to collapse, the roof was completely lopsided. his entire project was a lost cause.
so instead of trying to make things better, he leaned back in his chair. he watched you closely, admiring how you carefully thought out each part of your gingerbread house. unconsciously smiling at your cute face, scrunching up every time you made a mistake.
without saying anything, he quietly got up from the table. heavy strides were made as he went to dig around his work bag on the other side of the living room. after a few seconds, he returned with a small box. it was neatly decorated in red wrapping paper, a white bow placed in the center. he stayed silent as he handed it to you.
"you got something for me?" you asked sweetly, quickly placing the gumdrops in your hand on the table to hold the gift in your hands.
"obviously."
you smiled. "with what money?"
"watch it." his words were fierce yet held no true annoyance towards you. instead they were full of something like pride as he watched you admire the small box. happy to be able to do something for you.
you couldn't stop the way your heart fluttered as you looked up at him, a swirling feeling of true love settling over your skin. "this is really sweet toji, thank you."
he didn't meet your gaze right away, looking down at his feet in a rare moment of vulnerability.
suddenly his large arms were wrapped around you, breathing you in. "you're the sweet one. doin' all of this for me. i don't know what i did to deserve you."
his kind words ignited the butterflies in your stomach, rattling within you, making it hard to think. you tried your best to cover it up, hoping he wouldn't see the way he made you melt so easily.
"i'm not too sure either. honestly, you should feel lucky i'm in your life."
he squeezed you tighter. "don't get cocky."
"you love it."
he let out a long sigh before he spoke again, almost like he was admitting to a defeat.
"unfortunately, i do." his lips were on yours after a few moments. delicate and consuming as he pulled you closer. the thought of gingerbread houses were long gone, and the only thing that seemed to matter was the two of you.
a/n 🪽: this might be a bit ooc but who cares!! oh how i love toji and how i loveeeee christmas!!! art credits: yunonoai on inst/x ; gif divider made by @/dollywons
Sitting in the kitchen of your strangely quiet apartment, you stared at your phone, waiting for anything from him. It's your first Christmas together… if he even shows up. You've set up the table, decorated your place, and cooked a good amount of dishes for both of you.
But what was meant for two people would turn cold long before Phainon could reply to your messages. He was supposed to be here an hour ago, after he told you he was on the way.
A plethora of thoughts circulated in your brain as you nervously waited. What if something happened to him? Did he lie about leaving on time? Did he forget something back at his place? Did he get lost? Wait, no, he's been to your apartment before, multiple times at that.
As you fidget with your fingers, a thought you've been burying at the back of your mind keeps pestering you.
What if… he forgot? Surely not? Phainon isn't the type.
But even after knowing that, all you could do was hope that he would prove you wrong.
He's late. Extremely late.
Phainon grips the steering wheel of his car, pushing more energy than he realizes. He was supposed to be at your place an hour ago, but on the way, he passed by a pop-up flower stand and couldn't pass on the opportunity.
The bouquet he picked out for you was beautiful—perfectly and carefully selected flowers that perfectly matched your taste and personality. But he didn't take into account how long it would take him. I mean, you're just too lovely that every flower suited you!
And now he's stuck in unbelievable traffic, reminding him why he was supposed to leave early. He did! But uhm… got sidetracked. Not to mention that his phone was dead, so he couldn't even tell you what happened and where he was.
He was about to cry.
He is crying.
Another 30 minutes pass by, and now the food is cold, and you're left sitting—looking as if you've been abandoned—and at this point? You might as well be.
Anger, worry, and sorrow fueled your mind as you stared at your phone. Messages you've sent to Phainon being left on delivered.
Maybe he did forget.
Feeling dejected, you finally made up your mind and started placing the lids back on the dishes you've made.
Ding dong!
Huh.
Surely..?
Before you knew it, you were already at the door, hand on the door handle. As you carefully swing the door open, you can hear little sobs and sniffles.
"Phai—?!" You were abruptly cut off by strong arms embracing you in a tight hug.
"My dearest dawnlight! I'm so sorry, I didn't realize I was running late!" Phainon lifts you off the ground, spinning you around in excitement.
"Whoa, hey! Put me down!" With a sigh, he mutters an apology before setting you down. As your feet hit the floor, you gaze up at a fascinating sight.
He was pouting, puppy eyes on full show. Honestly? He looked like a kicked puppy with his tail tucked between his legs.
That didn't really work, though; you were still upset at him for showing up incredibly late with no notice. "Why didn't you respond to my messages? I've been waiting for around 2 hours for you!" You frown, trying your best to stay serious while he practically whimpers to gain your sympathy.
"I would if I could! I swear! My darling, my phone's dead, so I couldn't—" Before he could continue, he got distracted by the disappointed and upset look on your face. It stung his heart to know he was the one who had caused that. Oh, the world was practically ending for him at that moment.
Quickly, he picks up the bouquet he set down on the floor earlier before ringing your doorbell and offers it to you. His gaze was apologetic, his body looming over yours due to his height. Something about a tall and at times, intimidating man, downgrading to a state like this because of you felt quite enthralling.
"For you, Dawnlight. I passed by a flower stand on the way here, and I just had to get you a bouquet. And before I knew it, I already lost track of time after being so immersed in picking the best ones for you."
"And I got caught in traffic, but let's not talk about that part, please hehe." He quickly adds in a voice much smaller.
His grip tightens on the flowers, but not too tight as to damage the stems. A desperate, almost pathetic voice comes out as he opens his mouth to speak again.
"Forgive me, please?"
And as much as you wanted to hate him right now. As much as you were upset that the food you'd spent hours cooking was now cold. Plus the fact that he was late. You couldn't bring yourself to be mad at him right now.
The bouquet looked stunning. It was all your favorite flowers and some additional ones. Ones that reminded Phainon of you, you assumed. With your heart softening up for him, you sigh as you accept the flowers. In which his eyes practically light up as you do so. If he had a tail, it would be wagging excitedly by now.
"Does that mean you forgive me, Dawnlight? I promise I won't do it again! I'm so sorr—"
His ramblings are then met by you, catching his lips in a kiss to shut him up. Not that he was complaining, he practically melted immediately under your touch.
At least he didn't forget, and now he's in your arms once more.
pairing; steve harrington x fem!reader
word count; 5.8k
synopsis; after coming home to hawkins for christmas, you found yourself reunited with steve harrington, your ex-boyfriend, at his parents’ annual christmas party. its difficult for the both of you but its the difficulty that brings you two back together.
warnings; cussing, drinking, relationship problems
a/n; sorry, i know this is a day after christmas!! i really tried to get it out on time but i was so busy with family and whatnot that it was just impossible. i was gonna scrap it completely but in honor of volume 2 i figured i should just release it anyways
liked this story? check out my masterlist
likes + comments + reblogs are always very appreciated
“some time of year to be with the one you love so won’t you tell me you’ll never more roam?”
You found yourself being jostled to your family’s car with a certain apathy spreading through your heart. The stockings hugged your legs uncomfortably and the way your skirt hung around your thighs was a sensory hell. Suddenly, you found yourself growing overheated underneath the knitting of your sweater. Your mother’s frazzled complaints grew overwhelming as she steered you towards the car and your father had gone nonverbal an hour ago.
It was Christmas Eve and your family was heading to the Harringtons’. Mr. and Mrs. Harrington had been friends with your parents for quite some time now. Every year, they hosted a nice, respectable Christmas party. Every year, you were forced to go. Their Christmas party attendees consisted of the biggest douchebags in Hawkins, you felt. Misogynistic men, housewives, and their children of suburbia who were inevitably bound to take after them all hung amongst the house. It was truly miserable.
The only thing – only person – who made those annual Christmas parties slightly less miserable was Steve Harrington. All throughout middle school and high school he seemed to be the only tolerable person there. The two of you would always sneak off to either his backyard or simply outside, prowling the neighborhood just to get away from the confines of the Harringtons’ house.
In sophomore year, the two of you wandered the neighborhood and he taught you how to smoke properly. In junior year, the two of you started dating. Six months ago, the two of you broke up. You found yourself dreading the parties once again.
“Mom, you and dad can drive without me, I’ll take my car,” you announced halfway to your family’s car, finding yourself desperate to get out of driving with them. “I’ll follow you guys right over and I can take the poinsettias and the wine so you guys don’t have to carry as much.”
Your mom, already discombobulated, just nodded rapidly before spluttering, “Sure. Sure, honey. Okay.” She handed you the bottle of sherry and the big bouquet of poinsettias before strutting off to the car with your father.
You carefully walked over to your own car, fumbling for your keys while trying to balance the offerings for the party in the other arm and trying not to fall on the icy driveway in your heels simultaneously. You finally heaved into your car. You turned on the car and sat there for a moment, waiting for your parents to pull out. Fiddling on the radio, a staticky noise filled the car before you heard Robin’s voice filter through, gradually growing clearer. You heard her familiar Christmas Eve evening monologue that she had practiced for you so many times. Her voice became something of a momentary soothing balm.
“Well, I’ll get out of everyone’s hair for the rest of the evening. We’ll be playing Christmas tunes for the rest of the night! And don’t forget to go to sleep early, ladies and gentlemen, because our dear old Saint Nick is gonna be coming ‘round Hawkins before you know it. Now playing ‘Please come home for Christmas’ by the Eagles. You’re listening to the Squawk and this is Rockin’ Robin signing off! Merry Christmas, happy holidays, good night to all, and to all a good night.”
With that, you backed out of your driveway and mentally prepared for the evening to come.
₊˚｡ ❆
Steve was miserable. He was sitting around pathetically feeling like the same dejected boy he felt like every Christmas party. He was wearing the sweater you had gotten him two Christmases ago. He remembered how the two of you had snuck away to exchange gifts amidst the celebration. It had been nearing midnight and the two of you were sick of drunk, pretentious adults. The two of you had snuck out, giggling, and ran to the park down the street from his neighborhood. You two were sitting in the playground structure, high up by the slides. He remembered how happy you looked giving it to him, how your nose was red with how cold it was. He remembered everything about you that night in particular. He remembered exactly how your giggle sounded, how you crawled into his lap after the gift exchange – the wrapping paper drifting off loosely, how you kissed him softly, how you two laid back to watch the stars, how you two murmured against each others skin, how your hot breath felt against his cold skin. He remembered it all.
He heard a knock at the door and stood immediately to avoid his mother’s withering glare as she hissed “Steven, get up.”
The door opened and he was met with your parents. Your parents but you, the only person he seemed to be able to form a thought on these days, were nowhere to be found. The greeting between his parents and yours was familiar. A part of him was glad that the breakup hadn’t changed that, a part of him felt like it was cruel that both couples could carry on so normally like it was nothing more than an inconvenience.
“Where’s Miss Y/n?” Mrs. Harrington asked, peering around to find her. Steve waited with baited breath for the answer.
Your mother just exhaled, dramatic as ever, and waved her hands dismissively. “Insisted on taking her car. God knows where she is.” Your mother looked behind her, out of the open doorway, before her face lit up. “Oh, look at that, she just pulled in.”
Steve saw your familiar red car pull in and felt his heart painfully squeeze. Before he could stand there stupidly, his father nudged him before reality set in.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, let me take that,” Steve announced, taking the box of cookies and the gifts out of your parents’ arms. They laughed with overlapped praise for what a good host he was. He felt his face burn with a sense of relief, glad he didn’t have to stand there like a wallowing idiot another second.
He returned to the “welcoming committee” as you walked through the door.
Time practically stopped.
There were snowflakes in your hair.
You were dressed like you were the main character straight out of a Christmas rom-com.
There was sherry in one hand, which you were gripping by the neck of the bottle, and poinsettias in the other hand.
You were smiling that fake smile he knew all too well, the one he always saw on Christmas Eve evening. Convincing but entirely artificial, to him at least.
He felt a pounding in his head.
“I’m here with the good stuff,” you announced with a soft laugh as you shut the door with your hip, raising the offerings in your hands. This earned a laugh from his parents. Your parents had already disappeared into the group of other guests.
“Oh, you sweet girl, you shouldn’t have,” Mrs. Harrington said, kissing your cheeks. You reciprocated the motion naturally.
Mr. Harrington gave you a rare smile and a familiar tight nod. “Merry Christmas, Y/n.”
You reciprocated that too, initiating a handshake with Mr. Harrington that only made him more pleased with Mrs. Harrington close by your side, beaming.
Steve thought he was gonna be sick.
“Merry Christmas,” you said. “This place looks beautiful. You always do such an amazing job at making it look festive here.” You smiled before quickly adding, “But in a classy way, not a tacky way.”
Mrs. Harrington laughed. “You always know just what to say.”
Steve felt his head reeling.
Mrs. Harrington snapped her gaze towards her son. “Steve, be a dear and take this stuff off her hands. Be a gentleman.”
Steve nodded obediently before walking over awkwardly.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
The two of you stood there, gazing at each other for a moment before it grew uncomfortable. Both of you looked away at the same time.
“I can take that.”
“No, it’s okay. I got it.”
“No, really, you’re a guest. Let me.”
You finally relented. Steve took this as an opportunity to leave the suddenly stuffy foyer. By the time he had put the items on his kitchen island and returned, you and Mrs. Harrington had barely moved. The two women were still chatting. His father was taking your coat and scarf and you were issuing polite thanks and gratitude.
Steve’s parents had sauntered off, leaving you alone in the foyer with Steve. You could see the gears twisting in Steve’s head, you could see him working up something to say. But at the very same time, you caught a glimpse of your mother beckoning you over to her in an obnoxious fashion. You glanced back sheepishly at the despondent man before you before making your way over to your parents.
Seeing Steve felt like a sick punch to the gut. He still looked as beautiful as ever. A part of you was hoping that he would look terrible, you felt like that’d make yourself feel better. You were sorely mistaken. He looked really good. He looked really miserable. And that did not make you feel better in the slightest.
The fact that he was adorning your gifted sweater didn’t slip your notice. You stared at him as he walked around wearing it, no doubt intentionally, with his collared shirt and tie beneath it tucked neatly. He looked so prim and proper, a side of Steve he rarely wrangled out in front of you. It looked so unnatural.
You stood uncomfortably still, conversing politely with everyone as you held your glass of sherry in a death grip. You were too nauseous to drink and certainly too nauseous to eat but simply holding the drink seemed to keep you grounded.
“Do you still work at the radio station?” an older guest who you recognized from years past asked Steve, her voice wobbling slightly. She still, even in her late years, carried a certain haughtiness that you distinctly remember secretly making fun of with Steve years ago.
Steve nodded curtly, his lips pressed in a tight line. “Yes, ma’am. I do.”
She shook her head before her husband piped up. “You know, I could get you a job, son. At my firm. Hell, you can start Monday!” This earned chuckles from the group.
Steve’s father spoke up. “That’s kind of you. We’ll think about that offer.” He slapped Steve jovially on the back, clearly drunk. “I keep telling him he needs to get a real job. He needs to build a career. You know, it’s not about just what brings the money in. It’s about the legacy.”
It was times like these when you remembered just how much of a raging dickhead Mr. Harrington really was.
“What is it that you’re doing?” another elderly man asked you. The group’s attention turned from Steve’s lack of a proper, respectable job to you, clutching your sherry, looking like death herself.
You blinked for a moment, realizing the focus was on you. You heard Christmas music playing softly. You saw Steve’s eyes on you, his damned honey eyes. The ones you used to find solace in, the ones that soothed you like real honey, the ones that once held all the answers, the ones that were now adding insult to injury.
“Oh, I work at this newspaper,” you supplied with an artificial smile. It seemed like it was the millionth of the evening.
“Really? These damn paper companies are still running?” some older man chortled.
You forced a laugh and shook your head sheepishly. “I suppose so. We’re doing our best.”
There was a hum of amusement.
Steve watched you with a feeling of yearning bubbling in his soul, sizzling and boiling and burning up his insides. It felt like he got shot in the chest, the feeling of misery filling his body like lead. He just swallowed his cocktail of sadness with notes of sherry.
Throughout the night, you felt yourself glancing off at Steve every few minutes. You couldn’t help it. It was instinctual, in your defense. You didn’t know what it was like to be a stranger to Steve. You found yourself naturally good at a multitude of things but being apathetic to Steve’s presence wasn’t one of them. You would have to teach yourself how to forget him, how to pull him out of the magic fabric of your soul.
As you sat stoically on the stiff and expensive floral fabrics that donned the Harringtons’ couch, still clutching your untouched sherry, you took your first sip of the evening. The haziness met your system immediately. You had never been too good with drinks. It was almost seconds before you found yourself getting met with a flood of memories, ones that you successfully shunned out of your headspace on a daily basis.
You remembered it all.
You remembered the envelope that the beginning of the end got mailed to you in. It was your standard white one but with an ornate, purple waxen seal. On the back read “NYU” in beautiful lettering. The letter was like a kiss of death, a bittersweet ode to your past and your future. Steve had seen it before you did. He always brought the mail into your house on his way in. He had burst through the front door, waving your NYU letter over his head excitedly. The two of you read it in unison. You cried. Steve held you. He kissed you all over, murmuring, “Can’t believe you thought for a second you weren’t gonna get it” and “my pretty girl. I’m so proud, baby.”
You took another sip.
You remembered the day you confirmed your seat. Maybe that was when it was truly the beginning of the end. You were never quite sure. It was that night you and Steve lay on his rooftop, stargazing together on a blanket. You were curled against him, tucked beneath his arm. “Are things gonna be different?” he had asked seriously. “Well, of course they will. Not for worse. For better,” you promised back reassuringly. But you could hear the fear in his voice and the hesitance of confirmation in your own voice did nothing to sooth him. You weren’t even soothing yourself.
You took another sip.
You remembered the first big fight following your acceptance to NYU. It started off with you on Steve’s couch, waiting for him to come home from his shift at the Squawk. You had begged your boss to let you go at eight o’clock instead of ten so you and Steve could have a movie night, something the two of you hadn’t had in ages it seemed. The two of you were just so busy recently. You had been excited for this movie night. You missed your sweet boyfriend more than anything. You had sat there bleary-eyed, watching as the first digit on the clock morphed from a seven to an eight before it went from eight to nine. Finally, the clock was reading ten o’clock when you had been woken up from a light slumber to the sound of keys in the door. In walked Steve. “Where were you?” you asked, your voice slightly accusatory. Steve rubbed his eyes. “Oh, my baby, I’m so sorry. I forgot. Robin asked me to stay later so she could go on her date with Vickie. I completely forgot you were out at eight.” You sighed, “Whatever. It’s fine.” It ended up a boisterous slamming on doors and exhaust in Steve’s driveway before you peeled out and drove home.
You took another sip.
You remembered the days leading up to you moving to New York. You thought back on the days worth of meals that you found yourself unable to stomach at the thought of leaving the only home you’d ever known, the only people you’d ever called home, the only person who’d ever been your home. You thought back on the hours you’d spent holding yourself and sobbing in your room, wondering to everything holy and higher why you couldn’t have just been okay with going to Indiana State University, or somewhere local. You thought back on those last days you had spent with Steve. In a way, in hindsight, you felt the divide then. You felt the slow pull that both of you were acting in order to remedy the pain you both knew would fall inevitably. You thought back on Steve helping you pack, on him holding back tears, on the memory of you practically feeling the burning of his throat through his kisses, the kisses of death.
You took another sip.
You remembered the day you left. You remembered how Steve came early that morning, packed everything into your car before laying in your bed with you the whole morning. Your empty room felt haunting, even then. He had felt a hollow aching pain as he held you like a lifeline, lying in the shell of your room. You remembered the exact light pattern that reflected onto the duvet you were leaving behind. You remembered the feel of his arms around you. You remembered the steady thumping of his heart against your body. You remembered the way the two of you were too saddened to talk but it was okay. The silence had been a comfort.
You remembered as the hours dissipated, how before you knew it your mom had entered your room with a soft knock and announced gently, “Sweetie, we have to leave in fifteen minutes. I… I just thought I’d give you a heads up.” She had given Steve a tender look.
You took another sip.
You remembered how the two of you sat up, holding each other still. You remembered how a sob racked suddenly through your body. It was one sob. Then another. Then another. Then another. You found yourself unable to stop. You found Steve gently and far more quietly sobbing with you, not letting his hold on you falter. “Oh, my sweet, sweet girl,” he choked. “I’m gonna miss you. I’m gonna miss you so much. I can’t believe you’re going. I’m so proud of you. I just… I’m… It’s not going to be the same without you.” You buried your face into his sweater-clad chest. “Stevie.”
You took another sip.
You remembered the next moments better than anything. You had sat up more, looking at Steve with watery, sore eyes and a shaky frame. “Are we breaking up?”
Steve looked at you, completely taken aback by your question and still leaving his fingers closely intertwined with yours. “What?”
“Is this it?”
“Is it?”
The two of you had shaken in each other’s arms, crying hard. It really was over. It really was the end. The end of the end.
You set your glass down, your lips stained wine red as you sat there painfully still. You looked up to find Steve staring silently at you from across the room.
Everything became too much for you to handle. Between the painful small talk with everyone and their mothers – quite literally – and the slight buzz of intoxication coursing through your system, you found yourself needing an escape. You stood up with finality and pushed past bustles and gaggles of older guests, muttering half-hearted apologies and ignoring your mother calling for you. You foolishly didn’t even bother grabbing your coat or your scarf on the way out.
You speed walked down the street. You didn’t know where you were going, where you wanted to go, or anything of that nature. All you knew was that you needed to get out of that damn Harrington household.
Maybe walk to the Squawk, you thought in a fleeting moment of weakness. You talked yourself down from that. The Squawk building was over three miles away and there was no way you’d even make it a third of the way in the freezing Indiana snow or in the heels you were wearing. Plus, even if you did miraculously make it there, Robin had probably gone home which meant you sitting alone there stupidly.
You were a few streets from the Harrington house. At this rate, you figured you’d just walk to your house. Sure, you’d have a lot of explaining to do to your parents when they got home and you’d have to go back to the Harringtons’ on Christmas Day to retrieve your car. This would lead to you getting dragged inside, naturally, by Mrs. Harrington. Although that seemed like hell in itself, anything was better than sitting there tonight trying to avoid Steve’s sad puppy dog eyed stare.
You were too absorbed in your own thoughts, in Steve, to hear the slow crawl of a car approaching you from behind. Your arms were crossed tight over your chest, desperately trying to generate some warmth, when the car pulled up beside you and stopped.
You froze immediately, recognizing that sickeningly familiar maroon BMW.
Before you could really react, the window rolled down.
“Y/N,” Steve called from his car. He fumbled around, muttering as he brought his car to a full stop. “Fuck.”
He threw his door open and leapt out as if he was scared you’d take off and outrun him at any given moment. After he realized you weren’t going to run or anything of the sort, he approached you slowly, holding your coat and scarf that you had left at his house before darting.
“Here,” he mumbled, bringing the scarf around your neck, moving it to surround your neck loosely, just how you liked it. He tried to remain a respectful distance, one that was appropriate between exes, but he found himself awkwardly moving closer to fix your scarf. You could see his hands shaking slightly. Steve brought the coat around your shoulders and helped you slide your arms into it.
He stepped back slightly. “Sorry. Sorry, that was… Fuck. Sorry,” he blabbered. He ran a hand through his hair nervously. “I mean, if you’re gonna dart out because my parents’ Christmas party is a shitshow, at least bundle up so you don’t have to come back.”
You had been standing there, frozen, until his slightly deprecating joke seemed to thaw you, dissolving you into a soft laugh. You bit your lip and looked down, shaking your head slightly.
“No, it was nice,” you amended, ever-appeasing as always. Steve’s heart clenched as he found himself confronted with the rude reminder that some things never change. You noticed the look of skepticism on his face and you laughed again. “No, it really was. Your parents do know how to throw a party, even if they’re assholes.” You muttered the last part under your breath but Steve caught it – of course he did – and grinned.
“And that’s being respectful,” he agreed. His grin was so familiar. It made your heart clench miserably. You were gazing up at him, trying to etch every bit of his face into your memory – not like you had forgotten much of it.
“Thank you, by the way,” you added after a beat of silence. How was it silent? There was so much you wanted, needed, to tell him. There was so much he needed to tell you. The weight of it all hung between the two of you like something rotten and dead. “For bringing my coat and scarf. I was freezing my ass off but I was too stubborn to turn back,” you admitted sheepishly.
Steve smiled. It wasn’t a grin or anything of the sort. It was more of a thick reminder of the fact that you two knew too much of each other for too long to simply forget, even if you both pretended that was possible.
“You always were very stubborn,” Steve agreed. The cadence of his voice almost sounded saddened, wet even.
Your lips sunk a little into an almost-teary frown. It was a thing you did whenever you were somber over something. Steve remembered that so clearly. Towards the end of your relationship, he saw it more than ever.
“I still am,” you confirmed with a forced, almost jerky, shrug. You had meant it to assure Steve that he still knew you and everything that came with you but it came off as a harsh reminder that you needed to even do that.
Steve shoved his hands into his pockets, looking down and rocking back and forth. “Do you wanna get in the car? We don’t have to go back or anything, I just don’t want you getting sick or anything.”
You nodded with a small smile at Steve’s offer. His relief hit his face like a wrecking ball and he quickly raced around to open your car door. He always did that, even long before the two of you ever started dating. Whether he was sick, whether he was upset with you, whether you were mad at him, he always did it without fail. Whenever you were with him, you never seemed to be touching handles of any kind.
When he slid into his own seat, you buckled in and glanced over at him. “You’re still very chivalrous.”
He gloated ever so slightly. It was almost imperceptible but you picked up on it. You picked up on everything.
“You’re gloating,” you commented, almost teasingly. Almost. There was still a level of distance between the two of you but it seemed that more and more, the two of you broke down this distance. Slowly. Baby steps.
He shrugged, a pleased look on his face. “I’m not gloating. Gloating is a bit much. A bit too strong of a word.”
“Gloating is a strong word?”
“Yeah,” Steve affirmed adamantly. You recognized the slight smirk toying at the corners of his mouth. He always had that look when the two of you would banter. Some things never change.
“You’re gloating,” you repeated with a knowing smile as you watched him drive.
“Maybe a little,” he relented. His eyes faced the road. “It’s just nice to know that you don’t think I’m a terrible, awful person.”
“I don’t think that,” you told him quietly. “I never have.”
“Are you sure?”
“I promise,” you replied firmly. You paused, wondering if it was too juvenile, if it was something the two of you had buried with your relationship. “I pinky promise.”
Steve didn’t wince in the slightest. He just rested his elbow on the console, copying you, and stuck out his pinky. The two of you intertwined pinkies as he drove, not pulling away even after the promise had long since been made.
The silence lingered in the car. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence – quite the opposite actually. The two of you found yourselves, pinkies intertwined, missing each other’s domestic company. Neither of you spoke this thought aloud but both of you thought it.
You weren’t really paying too much attention to where Steve was driving. It didn’t spark your memory as the route to any place in particular so you just figured he was just driving. That was until he pulled to a stop right outside the neighborhood playground.
The same one where you had spent a few Christmases with him in years past, particularly last year.
“C’mon,” Steve muttered as he jumped out and, like clockwork, helped you out of the car.
He never let go of your hand as he led you along to your familiar perch on the plastic structure.
The two of you sat together, shoulder to shoulder. It was for warmth that you kept repeating in your head. You tried to ignore the rhythmic beating of your heart that reverberated through the entirety of your body.
“I thought you didn’t want me getting sick or anything,” you teased, glancing at Steve with a slight smile on your face.
“Well, I feel like it’d be worth it here, you know,” Steve rebutted with a smile as he gazed at you. “Nostalgic.”
“Nostalgic.”
“I have something for you,” Steve announced suddenly as he reached into the pocket of his own jacket. He pulled out a small wrapped gift and handed it to you.
You stopped, your heart sinking. “No, I can’t accept this. Steve, I didn’t get you anything. I didn’t think we were exchanging gifts. Hell, I didn’t even know I was still invited to your parents’ party until like two nights ago.”
Steve chuckled and shook his head. “First of all, you’re always invited. No matter what. Second of all, you have to accept this. I wasn’t expecting a gift. And this isn’t really a gift. I don’t know if you’ll like it anyways. It’s more of a shot in the dark. Please, Y/N?”
You obeyed with your chin tucked into your sweater, almost shamefully. “Okay, Steve. I feel bad though.”
“Don’t.”
You accepted his gift graciously and tucked your finger into a fold in the wrapping paper. Sliding your finger, you neatly tore the paper. Steve watched you with rapt attention. He had always admired the way you completed mundane tasks. It was enchanting really. You always did everything so elegantly and neatly. Unwrapping gifts was no different.
Beneath the wrapping paper was a small notebook. The cover rose slightly after the pressure of the paper was relieved as if someone had already opened it.
“Oh, Steve, thank you,” you murmured. It was a pretty notebook too, something you had always been a sucker for. It was brownish and smooth with yellowy pages.
Steve shook his head. “No, open it.”
You did.
Within the notebook were pages and pages of writing. It was only then you pieced together that Steve had gifted you a used journal. Your eyebrows narrowed slightly. You flipped to the first page and shifted slightly – coincidentally, closer to Steve – so you could use the moonlight to decipher what the writing said.
Your heart stopped and instantly burned its way to your throat the second you began reading the first entry.
Dear Y/N,
I don’t really know what I’m doing. I mean that in terms of this journal but honestly in general at this point. We broke up yesterday which also coincidentally happens to be the day you moved away – to NYC, to be exact.
I’m proud of you. I really am. You’ve always wanted this and I’m so grateful that I got to see you achieve at least one of your goals, even if I won’t be kept around for the rest of them.
Anyways, I bought this journal last night in a moment of weakness. It was bittersweet for me because I remember always teasing you about your constant journaling. It was cute to me but I never saw myself actually personally doing it. I imagined you laughing at me as I swiped my credit card and saying something like “See, I knew you’d cave.” And then we’d laugh together. I didn’t even really think about buying it. I just did it. I feel like I had – have – a lot I need to write down and get off my chest. With you gone, I have no one to openly talk to you, if that makes sense. My parents are entirely off the table for obvious reasons. Robin is great but I don’t wanna put all that on her. Dustin is still a kid. Even though he’s slightly more mature than a five year old – big strides, I know – I still don’t think he’s ready for all my bullshit. And no one else really understands.
That’s when I had the brilliant idea. Because you’re the only one who understands, I’ll just pretend like I’m writing to you. Maybe one day you’ll read these. I don’t know. I don’t know anything it appears.
It’s been less than 24 hours and life already isn’t the same. I miss your voice, your laugh, your touch, your everything. I miss your room, your dog who hated me for years but then ended up liking me more than you, the faces you’d make behind your parents’ backs, your pink fluffy bedding that I insisted “infringed on my masculinity” – it didn’t by the way, I always loved it. I miss your life being intertwined in mine.
My sweet girl. I hope the big apple is treating you well. A part of me, the selfish part, hopes you’ll come back and decide to stay in Hawkins forever. But I really am happy for you. You deserve everything under the sun and then some. I just miss you a whole fucking lot. I love you. I always will. Always.
Sincerely yours,
Steve
Every page was filled with entries from the day after you two broke up until the pages ended on which happened to be yesterday. Your shaky hand was covering your mouth tightly as you blinked back tears, only resulting in them splatting wetly on the pages. This felt uncomfortably surreal like an out of body experience.
“Stevie,” you croaked as your throat burned and the lump made it impossible to speak.
“Shh,” was all you heard from him before you were pulling into his chest. You were clutching the notebook to your chest in a death grip as Steve held you close to him. You were in a state of shock. It was only seconds later after you had recovered when you wrapped your arms around him tightly, burying your face into his neck. His cologne was sickeningly familiar. The scent used to invade your car, your room, your house, your clothes, your everything. It felt like going back home.
“Why did you do this?” you questioned quietly, still holding him.
“I needed to talk to you,” he replied simply. “Any way possible.”
You dissolved back into a state of gentle tears and a burning lump lodged in your throat. Steve tenderly stroked your back like he had done so many times before in the past.
“I’m sorry, Stevie,” you murmured. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to break up with you. I missed you so much. I shouldn’t have done it. We could’ve made it work. I’ve been so miserable. I’m so sorry.”
It wasn’t until you were fully crying when you swallowed the rest of your slews of sorrow. Steve continued to hold you tenderly and lovingly.
“It’s okay, baby,” he murmured back. “I know. Shh, I know. I’m not upset. I was sad too. It’s okay now. You’re back. We’re back. Shh. I’m here. I’m here.”
It wasn’t perfect. It was a start. Beginnings are never perfect but this was pretty damn close for both of you. In the past, things had been rough and precarious. Now, although it was still uncertain and difficult, the two of you were more mature. You wouldn’t lose each other again. Maybe coming home for Christmas wasn’t all that bad.
⛇☃︎ The concept of a christmas with Rin, your reserved boyfriend, and how your warmth melts his icy, guarded heart.
Or... You spend your first christmas with Rin, and he brings you to the Itoshi's Christmas Dinner™ as his emotional support so he doesn't sulk the entire night.
It's your first christmas with Rin, and you're planning to get the most out of it. The moment he told you he wanted to spend the holiday with you, you arranged all sorts of activities so you could make this day unforgettable.
...And so you could distract the both of you, because Rin asked if you wanted to join his family dinner as well, and though you've always wanted to meet everyone, the thought is making you kinda nervous.
"You don't have to come," Rin reminds you as you adjust your scarf, "It's going to be tense. I'm just going out of compromise."
"Don't worry about it," You reassure him, "I want to meet your parents, and I don't want you to be there alone when I could make it less bothersome for you."
Rin's gaze softens for a split second, before hardening again. "Tch. I don't need your comfort."
You smile, "Just in case."
The two of you begin walking, and Rin glances your way. He can tell you have today all planned out just from the look in your eyes and the quirk of your lips. He looks back ahead. "Where to?"
"This cafe I've been eyeing for a while." You respond, happy he asked. "I've heard they serve the best hot chocolate in town."
Rin scoffs at your answer, mumbling something like 'of course you'd want to drink that'. Still, he rests a hand on your lower back, a subtle gesture to keep you close as you lead the way.
Once there, you make a point to go all out with your drink. You ask for whipped cream, top it with tons of marshmallows and sprinkle it with cinnamon for good measure. You're the proudest you've ever been, while Rin glares at your drink and calls it a sugary abomination.
His comment doesn't deter you in the slightest, as you mischievously ask the barista to pour some chocolate syrup on top of it all.
"You're a menace," Rin deadpans.
"You love it," You quip back.
Rin grumbles and looks away. That's how you know you've got him.
"Will you try the hot chocolate too?" You ask him, and he shakes his head and asks for coffee. Yeah, just that. Doesn't even specify which kind. You give him a judgemental look.
"What?" Rin quirks an eyebrow.
"That's too simple!" You immediately counter. "Only coffee? You're not even gonna add milk?"
"Adding milk is for the weak."
"Drinking plain coffee is basic and boring!"
Rin looks offended by your comment, and the barista is growing nervous— unaware this is your typical session of bantering. Yeah, you wanted Rin to relax and forget about the dinner, but can you really resist ragebaiting him? It distracts him, after all! You're doing a great job! The barista, still, decides to interject, trying to go back to just doing their work.
"Why don't you try our seasonal coffee? It's a twist with spices that goes along with the holidays." They suggest, and Rin wants to groan at the mere thought. He thinks it's unnecessary to complicate the drink, but you speak before he gets the chance to refuse.
"Rin, it's christmas coffee! You should try it."
Rin looks at you like you're stupid.
Which he certainly does not think, because he buys it the moment you mention it.
You bump your shoulder with his when you're outside, blowing on your chocolate. "I saw you didn't really wanna try it."
Rin hums like he doesn't see the point to your comment, gaze averted. "I changed my mind."
"Because of me?" You ask with a smirk.
He shakes his head, but the blush dusting his cheeks betrays him.
You let it go with a soft laugh, sipping on your drink. Humming in delight as the taste overwhelms your senses, you glance at him again. "You really should try this."
Rin grimaces. "I won't."
Yet while ducking his head shyly, he adds, "...But you can try mine."
You accept gladly, and actually enjoy it. When you're done with the chocolate, Rin extends his cup to you.
"I didn't like it that much." He explains, offering you some coffee he left there. You know he did, in fact, like it, you caught him closing his eyes in bliss while he drank. But you also know this is his way of showing he cares, so you can't bring yourself to tease him.
Just like that, you accept his offering. You both pretend he's saying the truth... and that you didn't see him stealing a marshmallow from your cup when he thought you weren't looking.
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After finishing your drinks, you moved onto the next activity of your list: snowman building. Rin pretended it was stupid as expected, but it only took some egging from your part for him to start making his own.
It only takes you a few minutes to have a decent-looking snowman. You decorate with twigs and nuts you found around, and immediately turn around to boast about your creation.
"Rin, look at mine!" You call out, and he inspects it. "What do you think?"
"It's a snowman, I guess." You glare at him at his half-assed answer, and he sighs. "...And it's yours."
"Yeah...?" You cross your arms, "That doesn't tell me anything."
"It's fine because you made it," Rin mutters as quick as he can, and your eyes light up.
"So yo do like it!"
"That's not-" he groans, "...just look at mine."
You pause mid smirk, before turning to Rin's snowman. Which looks decent, just too... meek? to be your typical snowman. He didn't even bother making it smile, placing a branch flatly against its face and letting that do the work.
You stifle a laugh at the view, shaking your head. "Your snowman looks bored. Like, 'tired from living' bored."
"That's a valid feeling." He retorts weakly.
"Props to you for being original, I guess." You tease again.
As Rin sulks over your comments, you take off your scarf so you can put it on your snowman. Rin's gaze immediately follows you, dissaproving. "You'll get cold."
"It's just the scarf, Rin," You respond amusedly, "It's not like I'm giving it my coat."
Rin rolls his eyes, but let's you do what you want. Eventually, he mirrors you, giving his snowman his own scarf.
"See? They're even cuter now." You comment as you look at your creations. The contrast between the two is funny to watch, making you poke Rin playfully. "They're literally us."
"That's... silly." Rin mumbles, and you grin.
"It's not silly if it's true. Mine is all smiley, while yours is grumpy like you."
Rin glares at you in feigned annoyance, but the thought makes his heart annoyingly soft. It's hard to pretend to be mad when you're smiling like that, fawning over snow constructions that happen to share resemblances with the two of you.
Your attention is stolen by them again, as you take off your hat and gloves to decorate yours further. He doesn't even argue this time, quietly glad that you're not looking at him so you don't notice him going soft. He stares quietly, gaze growing gentle, until you're finished with the last-minute details.
"There... All dressed up now," You comment, smiling widely. You're satisfied with your work, but you're quickly growing cold as Rin predicted, which he can tell by your more frequent shivers and the reddening of your hands.
He clicks his tongue, taking your hands while you're distracted. You give him a questioning look, but his eyes are trained in your hands.
"....You get cold so easily." He breaks the silence, rubbing your hands between his to keep them warm. "And yet, you're careless. So annoying."
"Rin...?" You mutter bashfully, and he shakes his head. "No excuses, I warned you. Just let me help."
Your cheeks grow warm, and this time it's not because of the cold. You bite your lip. "You don't have to... I can put them on again."
Rin arches an eyebrow in confusion, looking back at you. He notices your expression, and smirks in a way that tells you he knows exactly how you're feeling. He doesn't call you out, though, too embarrased himself to do so. He simply dismisses your remark, continuing the motions. "Let me handle it."
....Yeah, eventually, you both take back your stuff. You put your gloves back on, and quietly resume your walk. But your heart feels warm in a way that makes you forget about the biting cold around. And with the way Rin now holds your hand instead of letting it hover by your back? You can tell you're in the same boat.
₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊
You and Rin stand in front of the giant christmas tree that was lit up in the city. The sky's already darkening, and it was the final place you wanted to visit. The colorful lights reflect on your faces, and despite the crowd gathered there for the same reason, the moment feels almost peaceful.
You squeeze Rin's hand absently—he never really let go— and glance his way. You were hoping to catch him staring as you had done quite a few times, but his gaze was lost in the scenery. Not admiring... but unfocused. Like his thoughts took advantage of the silence to get louder.
Your expression softens, and you tug at his hand again. "Are you okay?"
He nods, but doesn’t look at you. You prod further. "Are you worried about later?"
He stiffens slightly, and you can tell you hit the nail on the head. He sighs. "I don't want to face him again. To have to sit there and pretend like nothing happened... I'd rather eat glass."
The confession slips his lips in a soft, vulnerable tone. You don't have to ask to know who he's refering to, and you know it's not easy for him to admit these things.
You can't help but feel warm inside, knowing that he chooses you to be open like this. And in turn? You always have your arms open for him.
"You don't have to pretend with me." You reassure, and his lips part in awe. His eyes flicker from you to the ground, and then back up at you... Before he squeezes your hand like you did his.
"I know... I'm ready."
You smile, and the two of you begin the walk to Rin's childhood home.
₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊
The Itoshi's dinner is... interesting, to say the least.
Don't get me wrong, the food was amazing, you gave Rin's parents a good impression, and they clearly did their best to be great hosts.
The issue was the Itoshi brothers, as expected.
The tension's thick between them, and not even their parents best efforts to keep a nice atmosphere could change that. Rin cared too much and Sae too little. Sae's comments were cryptic in a way that made them sound backhanded, and Rin's responses never lacked his biting sarcasm. And when anyone brought up football to the table... let's just say you could feel the competitiveness in the air.
By the time everyone finished eating, Rin immediately stood up to go get some air. Sae excused himself, mumbling something about Rin being childish. You were worried, but you knew Rin would likely appreciate having time to cool off on his own, so you didn't go after him immediately.
...It didn't take long before you couldn't handle the wait anymore, though. Even his parents encouraged you to go see him if you wanted to. That's how you find him right outside the house, fists clenched and brows furrowed.
You lightly tap Rin's shoulder, making him flinch slightly. He was clearly lost in his thoughts, but his body relaxes when his eyes take you in.
"It's you..." He whispers, "you didn’t have to come see me. I'm fine."
"I came because I wanted to see you," You correct, "but if you need time alone, I can go back inside."
Rin shakes his head, exhaling slowly. He can't say no to you, and you’re probably the only person whose presence he can tolerate at the moment. Not to mention the one he feels at ease with... but he lets his acceptance do the talking. "You can stay."
You don't say anything for a little while, not wanting to do anything rash. When you hear his breaths slow down, you lean in slightly, and though hesitantly, he responds in kind.
"That was intense, huh?" You prompt, hoping to get him to vent a bit. Rin huffs, the memory making his brows pull together. "That's one way to put it."
You notice the way his eyes avoid yours, and you can tell his walls are still up. Seeing you won't get anything by striking casual conversation, you change the approach, gently taking his hands in yours. "Rin."
His eyes go back to you in surprise, hands twitching like they forgot what it felt like to be held by you. He doesn't pull away, though, his tone meek and low. "What...?"
"You remember what I said, right? You don't have to pretend with me."
Rin mulls over your words, but he's clearly struggling to voice anything. When you notice, you squeeze his hand as always, getting his attention back on you.
"You don't have to tell me anything. We don't have to talk about your emotions if you're not feeling it. But you can rest for a bit... You don't have to keep your guard up around me."
Rin blinks, reluctant to comply, before his hands relax against yours. He slowly leans his body forward, until his head meets your shoulder. You move your hands to wrap them around him, gently rubbing his back.
"There..." You mutter, and he closes his eyes. He lets out a quiet breath, feeling some of the tension leave his body. And though he didn't have much faith in this, he can't deny just being close to you makes his weary self feel relief.
"This is nice..." he confesses quietly, his hands grasping your clothes like you might run away. "Thank you."
You smile, holding him closer. "Always."
He stays quiet some more, before speaking in a whisper. "Don't tell anyone about this." You laugh under your breath, "I won't."
You feel him nuzzle against your neck, and you swear this moment is healing you, too. You let him have his moment of much needed peace and quiet, until you feel him slowly draw back.
"Better?" You ask, and he nods. He looks a bit self-conscious over what just happened, but he's significantly soft regardless. There's a moment in which he just gazes into your eyes, before he carefully addresses you again.
"...I wasn't wrong to ask you to come with me." Rin breathes out. "I thought it was pointless, and that I'd just burden you. That I'd benefit from your presence, while you had to face this side of me again... but you handle it gracefully every time."
"It's not a nuisance for me to be there for you," you remind him, "I enjoy it."
"See? That's what I'm talking about. You're just... you, and it makes me go soft. It's a problem." He complains, that faint blush returning to his face. He can't even pretend to hate the amused look you're giving him.
"But I... don't mind it." He continues. "Not now, at least. I'll hate that I said this tomorrow, though... I'm talking too much." Rin trails off, and you have to agree that he's talked more than usual. Maybe he drank too much wine during dinner. No, he definitely did, but was probably too pissy earlier to let the effects show.
...Or maybe you really broke him, plain and simple. Guess that's what happens to a touch starved boy when you give him too much affection in one go.
You set your musings aside, drinking in the sight of this flustered (and possibly drunk...?) version of Rin you now have in front of you. He's looked away again, but you're not having that this time, extending a hand to cup his face and make him look at you.
Rin freezes, but catches on that you want him to keep talking. With a sigh, he meets his gaze again. "What I'm saying is... You make things more bearable."
"Yeah, I love you too."
"That's not..."
"That's what I heard."
He exhales shakily, too emotionally overwhelmed to fight you. You let him breathe for once, your hand tracing circles on his cheek.
And in the quiet of the moment, he finally pulls you in, gently pressing his lips against yours.
The kiss is soft and gentle, telling you of everything he struggled to convey with words. He draws it out for longer than usual, if just to memorize the softness of your lips, before reluctantly pulling back.
"Merry christmas, Rin." You say with a warm smile, forehead resting against his.
"Yeah... Merry christmas." He replies despite himself.
And right when you're about to go in for another kiss,
"Are you two coming back inside or not?" Sae's voice cuts through the air, making you and Rin break apart in surprise. He's leaning against the house's wall nonchantly, and you can only pray that he had just arrived and didn't witness the intimate moment between you and his brother.
Sae shakes his head dissaprovingly before you can even get a word out, heading back inside. You're both terribly embarrased now, fidgetting nervously.
"That was- we should- let's go back." You stammer, and Rin nods stiffly. "Just... give me a moment."
You both take a minute to breathe, avoiding each other's gazes. You slowly go back to your senses, and return side by side.
And maybe the night had been uncomfortable as hell at first, and maybe Rin would end up tensing up again despite his (and your) best efforts. But you were there with him, your presence grounding him.
And even for someone who claimed holidays were stupid,
Rin knows in his heart that this is the best christmas he's ever had.
Notes: The pic with of the snowmen is sooo cute like you can't tell me the one with the black scarf isn't Rin 😭❤ this was longer than expected, I think I wrote Rin a liiitle ooc and I had to rush to finish this, but I'm happy with the results all things considered :) happy holidays to those who celebrate! (and hbd kaiser i guess... /j) thanks to everyone who took the time to read 💝
Tropes: Athlete x Athlete (Power Couple Energy)/ Secret Identity / Hidden Talent / "Teaching the Expert" / Domestic/First Date Fluff/ Ice Skating Date
Summary: Kimi Antonelli thinks he’s pulling the ultimate romantic move by renting out a private ice rink to teach you—a "beginner"—how to skate without the pressure of a crowd. It’s sweet, charming, and totally unnecessary because you’re secretly an Olympic qualifier desperately trying to act like a normal civilian. You play along with his "lessons" to protect his ego, but when a stumble turns into a near-disaster, your muscle memory takes over. Suddenly, the "clumsy beginner" is landing a perfect spin, and Kimi is left questioning reality (and his own coaching skills) on the ice.
Word Count: 2.4k
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 📼 masterlist. 🏎️ inbox. 🏁 taglist
The air inside the private rink was crisp, smelling faintly of ozone and Zamboni fumes. But tonight, it just made your stomach do a nervous flip.
Kimi Antonelli stood by the entrance, looking effortlessly stylish in a thick wool coat and a scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. He rubbed his gloved hands together, his breath puffing out in small white clouds. This was it. The first official date, and you were currently suffocating under the weight of a very stupid, very well-intentioned lie.
It hadn’t started maliciously. In fact, it started because you were desperate to be anyone other than who you were. To the rest of the world, you were an ice skating prodigy. You were currently the top qualifier for the upcoming Winter Olympics, carrying the weight of a nation’s gold-medal hopes on your back.
Then you met Kimi. He didn't know about the medals or the grueling schedule. To him, you were just a girl he met at a party who had a nice laugh and pretty eyes. You wanted to keep it that way. You wanted to know if he liked you, not the athlete on the Wheaties box.
The "lie" had happened a week ago, during a casual text conversation. You were lying on your couch with an ice pack on your knee, exhausted after a six-hour training block, when his name popped up on your screen. You were talking about holiday plans.
Kimi: I drove past that outdoor rink downtown today. It looks really cool with all the trees lit up.
You: Yeah, it’s really pretty this time of year.
Kimi: Have you been? We should go.
You had hesitated, your thumbs hovering over the screen. The last thing you wanted to do was tell him that the rink was your office, your torture chamber, and your sanctuary all wrapped in one. You didn't want to explain that you couldn't go to a public rink because you’d be recognized, or that skating on chopped-up public ice was a recipe for a twisted ankle.
So, you tried your best to shoot it down fast.
You: Honestly? I haven't gone skating just for fun in years. I’m probably totally out of the loop.
It was technically true. You hadn't skated for fun since you were six.
But judging by your current circumstance, he probably had interpreted that text very differently. He probably read “I haven't done this in years” as “I don't know how to skate, and I'm nervous.”
Kimi: That’s a crime. Everyone needs to skate at Christmas. Are you free on Friday?
Kimi: Don't worry about being rusty. I played a little hockey growing up. I’ll teach you.
You had stared at the phone, a laugh bubbling in your chest. Kimi Antonelli, offering to teach you, an ice princess, how to skate. It was the cutest, most ridiculous thing you’d ever heard. You didn't have the heart to correct him then because it felt rude to shut down his enthusiasm. You figured you’d tell him later.
But "later" never happened. And now, standing at the edge of the rink he had rented out specifically so you wouldn't be embarrassed by your “lack of skill”, you realized it didn't feel harmless anymore…in fact, it felt like a ticking time bomb.
"So," Kimi said, a boyish grin spreading across his face as he gestured to the expanse of white. "Surprise."
You blinked, looking around. The rink was silent—no screaming kids, no hockey practice, no other couples. It was just the two of you.
"Where is everyone?" you asked, clutching your tote bag tighter.
"I rented it out," Kimi said, looking proud of himself. "Two hours. Just us."
Your heart sank. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for you, and it was also a tactical disaster.
"I figured we could use the space," he continued, leaning in conspiratorially. "Plus, I didn't want you to feel self-conscious if you fell. And... well, honestly, I know how the press gets. I didn't want you waking up to news articles micro-analyzing everything just because you were seen with me. I wanted to save you the burden."
He paused, the realization of his own words hitting him. He grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Wow. Okay. I realize I sound like a total ego-maniac right now. 'Oh no, the world is obsessed with me.' Please pretend I didn't say that. I just... I want this to be perfect."
A knot of guilt tightened in your stomach. He wasn't doing this to show off; he was genuinely trying to protect you. If you dropped the bomb now, you wouldn’t just be clearing up a misunderstanding. You’d be taking this incredibly thoughtful, romantic gesture and turning it into a punchline at his expense. You couldn't humiliate him like that, not when he looked so earnest.
"That's... that's amazing, Kimi," you managed, forcing a smile.
"Do you need rentals?" he asked, pointing to the counter.
You hesitated. Your custom Edea boots with the gold-plated blades were actually in the trunk of your car, hidden under a blanket. But walking in with professional gear would be an immediate confession. You had to commit.
"Yeah," you lied, forcing a cheerful smile. "I definitely don't own any."
You were officially a liar.
—————————————
Ten minutes later, you were sitting on the bench, watching Kimi lace up his rental skates. He moved with the easy physical confidence of a Formula 1 driver.
He stood up, wobbling only slightly on the hard rubber mats before stepping onto the ice. He wasn't a figure skater, but he had that natural athlete's center of gravity. He skated backward a few feet, rough and scratching the ice, then held his hands out to you.
"Come on," he beckoned, his eyes warm. "Grab my hands. The ice is slippery, but don't worry. I've got you."
You stepped onto the ice. Your body instantly tried to engage—knees bent, weight over the ball of your foot, shoulders aligned. You had to fight your muscle memory actively, stiffening your legs and letting your ankles wobble artificially.
You grabbed his forearms, clinging to him like a lifeline. "Okay," you squeaked. "Okay, I'm up."
Kimi beamed, taking his role as protector very seriously. He began to pull you forward slowly. "See? Not so bad. Just keep your knees bent more. You're too stiff."
"Like this?" You bent your knees, and you didn't want to ruin his moment.
"Yeah, exactly. And look where you want to go, not at your feet," he coached. His voice was soft, a stark contrast to your coach, who usually barked this specific instruction across a freezing arena at 6:00 AM. "If you look down, you fall."
"That makes sense," you murmured.
You stopped worrying about the lie for a moment and just looked at him. He was just... caring. For the first time in years, you weren't the expert everyone was critiquing. You were just a girl holding a boy's hand, and he was genuinely worried about you skinning your knees. It was surprisingly nice to let someone else take care of you.
As his confidence grew, he loosened up. He dropped your hand for a second, picking up speed. He did a quick lap around you, the wind ruffling his hair, before executing a loud, spraying hockey stop right in front of you.
He looked up, breathless and grinning, waiting for your reaction. He looked so proud of himself that your heart actually squeezed in your chest. He put his hand back with yours.
"See?" he beamed, eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's all about the edges."
—————————————
Kimi was skating backward, his eyes locked on yours, his smile confident and distracted. He never saw the deep, jagged rut left by a previous skater’s toe-pick.
His left blade hit the gouge and locked instantly. His legs flew out from under him, sending Kimi crashing down, his heavy wool coat hitting the ice with a dull, sickening thud.
But because he was holding your hands, he didn't just fall but also took you with him.
He jerked you forward with violent force. You were pulled off your center of gravity, your dull rental skates clattering against his as you stumbled over his prone form.
"Whoa!" Kimi shouted.
Instinctively, he let go of your hands to break his fall. It was the chivalrous thing to do, but physically, it was the worst possible variable.
You were launched.
The stumble propelled you like a stone from a sling, hurling you toward the rink boards. A true beginner would have flailed, panicked, and braced for impact, likely shattering a wrist or a nose against the unforgiving hard plastic.
But you didn't think. Your instinct took over.
You were falling forward, inches from the disaster. Instead of crashing, your core engaged with a violent, steel-trap snap. You slammed your right blade into the ice, forcing an edge out of the dull rental steel that shouldn't have been physically possible.
You turned a fatal stumble into a low, crouching lunge.
You were hurtling toward the wall at speed, but you punched your left toe-pick into the ice in time, whipping your body around in a blur of kinetic energy.
SCREEEEECH.
You spun out of the momentum—three rapid rotations on one foot, a blur of perfect axis and balance—before checking out of the spin with a sharp, professional snap of your arms.
You came to a dead, silent halt.
You were alive and safe, but you had just outed yourself completely.
You slowly slid into a graceful rest position and turned around.
Absolute, heavy silence, broken only by the low hum of the rink’s generator and the ragged sound of your own breathing.
Kimi was still sitting on the ice. He was propped up on his elbows, legs sprawled. His beanie had slid over his eyes, but he pushed it back with a trembling hand. He wasn't looking at his bruised knees. He was staring at you as if he’d just watched an abomination.
You stood there, the adrenaline crash hitting you, replaced instantly by a wave of hot mortification.
"Are..." Kimi’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," you breathed out, smoothing your coat.
Kimi pointed a gloved finger at you, then at the wall, then back at you.
"You just..." He mimicked a spinning motion with his hand, looking bewildered. "You just Matrixed that wall."
"I..." You scrambled for an excuse. Beginner's luck? Extreme Yoga?
But there is no explaining away a bracket turning into a scratch spin on rental skates.
Kimi scrambled to his feet, ignoring the snow clinging to his coat. He skated over to you. He stopped a few feet away, staring at your battered rental skates as if they were alien technology.
"That wasn't an accident," he said, his voice breathless. He pointed a trembling finger at your feet. "You just did a perfect axle.”
He looked up, searching your face like he was seeing it for the first time. The dim rink lighting cast shadows across his features as the gears in his head finally clicked into place. He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head.
"Kimi—" you started, trying to interrupt the train wreck.
"Who are you?" he asked, genuine panic bleeding into his tone. "Normal people don't do that. Are you a pro or something??”
"It started as a joke!" you said quickly, hands flying up in defense. "And then you were being so sweet, and holding my hand, and I didn't want to make you feel bad!"
"I literally explained to you how to balance on ice five minutes ago," Kimi said, his voice rising an octave. He ran a hand through his messy hair, looking genuinely distressed. "I was 'teaching' you. I was holding your hand so you wouldn't fall. And you... You're a pro. How deep does this go?”
"I qualified for the Olympic team last week," you admitted, wincing as the words hit the air.
Kimi made a strangled, dying noise. He turned around, skated a small, clumsy circle, and buried his face in his hands.
"I am never going to recover from this," came his muffled voice. "I felt so cool. I told you to bend your knees! I told an Olympian to bend her knees!"
"If it makes you feel better," you said, skating closer, smoothly now, and gently prying his hands away from his face. "My coach yells at me about my knees, too."
He peeked through his fingers. His face was flushed bright red, a combination of the biting cold and catastrophic embarrassment. "I looked stupid."
"You didn't look stupid," you said softly. "You looked gallant…until you tripped."
He groaned, finally dropping his hands to his sides. "I nearly killed you, and then you turned into a ninja."
"I have good reflexes," you offered with a sheepish smile.
"No," he shook his head, looking at you with a new, intense kind of awe. "You're just amazing."
———————————————
The power dynamic had shifted entirely, but the tension had evaporated. For the last twenty minutes of the session, the charade was dead.
"Okay, but seriously," Kimi said, watching you skate backward with effortless speed, his eyes filled with envy. "How did you find an edge on these? They're like butter knives."
"Fear is a great motivator," you laughed, spinning around to face him. "Here, give me your hands."
You took his hands. "Shift your weight to your heels and stop fighting the ice."
You spent the rest of the time actually teaching him. He was a quick learner; his driver’s brain understood weight transfer and instinct once you explained the mechanics.
As the overhead lights flickered, signaling the end of the session, you stepped off the ice. "You know," he said as you walked out into the biting cold of the parking lot, snow beginning to drift down around you.
"What?" you asked, wrapping your coat tighter against the wind.
He stopped at the car, opening the passenger door for you. He looked at you, his eyes dancing with a competitive spark that you recognized all too well. It was the look of an athlete who had just lost a round and was already planning the rematch.
"Next date," he declared, "we are going go-karting."
You laughed, pausing as you climbed in. "Why?"
"So I can regain my dignity," he said, dead serious.
"Deal," you grinned.
He leaned in then, the cold air between you vanishing. He kissed you. It was soft, sweet, and lingering under the falling snow. It felt better than any podium finish.
"But just so you know," you whispered against his lips, pulling back just an inch. "I'm a fast learner."
Kimi groaned, resting his forehead against yours, defeated but smiling. "Please, just let me win one."
