#Magnet(ic Fluid)

[titaniumions]

type of stuff LSCC cryptographers get up to when no one's looking

[satellite-evans]

clumsy

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Your clumsiness is going to be the death of Lando.

Word count: 2k+

Warnings: injuries, fluff, worried Lando

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The first time Lando saw you trip over nothing, he thought it was a one-time thing. Maybe you were just tired, maybe the floor was uneven, maybe it was just bad luck. But after months of dating, he realized it was just... you.

You were a walking hazard. A human magnet for misfortune. A professional at collecting bruises, scrapes, and band-aids like they were limited-edition collectibles.

And, unfortunately for Lando, that meant he was constantly on high alert.

“Babe!” His panicked voice rang out as he watched you stumble over absolutely nothing on the kitchen floor. In one fluid motion, he darted forward, catching you before you could face-plant into the counter. His arms wrapped securely around your waist, keeping you from further self-destruction.

You blinked up at him, sheepish. “Oops.”

Lando let out a dramatic sigh, holding you steady. “How does this keep happening?”

“I have my theories.” You shrugged, playfully tapping your temple. “Faulty wiring.”

He shook his head, scanning you for any new injuries with the practiced precision of someone who had done this far too many times. “You need bubble wrap. No, actually, I’m getting you a helmet.”

You giggled, resting your hands on his chest. “A helmet for walking?”

“Yes. And knee pads. And elbow pads. And maybe a full-body suit.” He crouched slightly, running his fingers over a fresh bruise forming on your knee. His lips pressed together in frustration. “When did this happen?”

You followed his gaze, only now noticing the purple splotch decorating your skin. “Uh… I have no idea actually.”

Lando groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Love, you’re killing me.”

You grinned, cupping his face between your hands. “But you love me anyway.”

“Unfortunately.” He sighed dramatically, but the fond smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “I swear, one of these days, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“I’ll try not to,” you teased, pecking his lips. “No promises, though.”

Despite his exaggerated complaints, he was always there to patch you up. He had a first-aid kit permanently stocked—no, actually, he had multiple, one in the car, one in the bathroom, and a travel-sized version in his bag. He had mastered the art of wrapping bandages, applying ointments, and kissing away the pain (even if you insisted that last part was unnecessary).

At this point, he was convinced he could get a medical degree solely from the amount of practice he had.

And yet, no matter how many times he swore he’d wrap you in protective gear, he never failed to hold onto you just a little tighter, watching out for stray corners, slippery floors, and rogue table edges like they were mortal enemies.

Because, as exhausting as it was, he wouldn’t trade you—or your inexplicable ability to defy gravity—for anything.

Even if it meant keeping an ice pack ready at all times.

As if on cue, you turned to walk away and immediately stubbed your toe on the kitchen island.

“Ow! Shit!”

Lando just groaned, rubbing his temples. “That’s it. I’m putting you in a bubble.”

“That seems excessive.”

“You just injured yourself standing still!”

You grinned sheepishly. “Okay, fair point.”

Shaking his head, he pulled you into a hug, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re a menace.”

“Your menace,” you corrected, snuggling into him.

He sighed, but you could hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah. My menace.”

You were chopping vegetables, fully focused—well, as focused as you ever were when handling sharp objects—when you somehow managed to cut yourself with the knife.

The sharp sting made you gasp, and almost instantly, blood welled up from the deeper cut. Before you could even fully process what had happened, Lando was already at your side. He had been watching you closely (as he often did whenever you were near anything remotely dangerous), and the moment he saw the slip, he sprang into action.

“Shit,” he muttered, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly. “Alright, that’s enough knife duty for you.”

His voice was laced with worry, though he tried to mask it with his usual teasing tone. His eyes darted to your finger, the cut deeper than the usual minor scrapes you tended to collect. Without hesitation, he led you to the sink, turning on the tap and holding your hand under the cool water.

“You know, normal people don’t injure themselves every day,” he tried to joke, though his brows were furrowed as he watched the water run red.

You hissed at the sting but still managed a lopsided grin. “I like to keep life exciting.”

Lando huffed a laugh, though there was a tightness in his jaw. “Yeah, well, I’d prefer if you found a less hazardous way to do that.”

After patting your hand dry with a towel, he grabbed the first-aid kit (which, at this point, he always kept within arm’s reach). His movements were careful, almost practiced, as he disinfected the wound. His fingers ghosted over your skin with such tenderness it almost distracted you from the sting of the antiseptic.

“This is deeper than your usual cuts,” he muttered, pressing a sterile gauze pad to your finger before wrapping it securely in a bandage. “It doesn't need stitches thankfully but you really need to be more careful.”

You winced, flexing your fingers slightly. “Well, at least I have you to patch me up.”

He sighed, shaking his head, but the corner of his lips twitched upward. When he was done, he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles.

“There. Good as new,” he murmured, but his grip on your hand remained firm, like he was reluctant to let go.

You wiggled your fingers dramatically. “Wow, a miraculous recovery. See? This is why I keep you around.”

Lando scoffed, feigning offense. “Oh, so I’m just your personal medic now?”

“Pretty much.” You shot him a cheeky wink before immediately reaching for the knife again.

Before you could even graze the handle, Lando snatched it away with lightning-fast reflexes. “Absolutely not.”

You pouted, eyes wide with faux innocence. “I was just gonna—”

“Nope.” He held the knife out of your reach, shooting you a pointed look. “I’m officially banning you from sharp objects.”

You crossed your arms, watching as he took over the cutting board and started chopping with ease. “So, what, I just sit here and do nothing?”

Lando smirked. “Exactly. Just sit there and be adorable.”

Your lips curled into a slow grin. “You think I’m adorable?”

His chopping faltered for a split second, and you caught the way his ears tinged pink. He rolled his eyes, refusing to meet your gaze. “Shut up.”

But when you leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, you felt him smile against your touch.

A few days later, the two of you were strolling through the paddock, the soft air filled with chatter. It was the usual pre-race chaos—engineers darting between garages, reporters setting up for interviews, and fans cheering from the barriers.

Lando had a firm grip on your hand, partly because he liked holding it, but mostly because he had learned that letting go of you for even a second increased the chances of you tripping over something by approximately 100%.

Still, despite his best efforts, it happened.

One second, you were walking beside him, mid-sentence about what snacks they had in hospitality. The next, you were suddenly pitching forward with a startled yelp, your foot catching on a stray cable snaking across the ground.

Lando reacted instantly. With reflexes honed by years of racing at breakneck speeds, he lunged forward, his arm wrapping tightly around your waist just before you could crash onto the hard concrete.

“Alright, that’s it,” he huffed, keeping you firmly against him as you steadied yourself. “I’m officially holding onto you for the rest of the day.”

You barely even fought it, leaning into him with an amused grin. “I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather you not break an ankle before my race,” he muttered, shooting a glance down at your shin. His jaw clenched at the sight of fresh bruises already forming. “How do you even manage this?”

You shrugged as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Raw talent.”

Lando scoffed, shaking his head, though the corners of his lips twitched. He tugged you even closer, keeping a protective arm around your waist as the two of you continued walking. From then on, any time there was so much as a crack in the pavement, he subtly steered you around it, refusing to take any more chances.

Lando’s race had gone well. Not a win, but a solid finish—good points, a few impressive overtakes, and, most importantly, no major mistakes. After the usual post-race interviews and debrief, all he wanted was to find you, wrap you up in a hug, and maybe gloat a little about how well he managed his tires.

But when he finally spotted you in the motorhome, his relief was short-lived.

You were sitting on one of the couches, clutching your ankle with an ice pack balanced precariously over what looked like a nasty bruise. Your expression was sheepish, but there was a telltale wince every time you shifted.

Lando’s stomach dropped.

“What the hell happened?” His voice was sharp with concern as he strode over, kneeling beside you in an instant. His eyes scanned over you, heart pounding at the thought of what he might find.

You attempted a grin, lifting the ice pack slightly to show off the deepening purple splotch spreading over your skin. “Well, you told me not to break anything before your race… so I did it during your race instead.”

You let out a small, nervous chuckle, expecting him to roll his eyes or make some sarcastic comment.

But Lando didn’t laugh.

His jaw clenched, his usual lighthearted expression darkened with something much more serious. “That’s not funny.” His voice was quieter now, more strained.

You swallowed, the weight of his worry sinking in. “Lando, it’s just a bruise. I didn’t actually break anything.”

He exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his damp curls. “What happened?”

You shifted slightly, the movement making you wince again. “I was walking back from the paddock, and some guy wasn’t looking where he was going—ran right into me. I tripped over a barrier and, well… gravity did its thing.”

Lando closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if trying to contain his frustration. “Jesus, Y/N.” His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure where he could touch without hurting you.

You sighed, placing your hand over his. “Hey, it’s okay. It just looks worse than it is.”

He gave you a look—one of those signature Lando Norris you’re full of shit expressions. “Yeah? So if I press here, it won’t hurt?” He gently placed his hand near the worst of the bruise.

You immediately flinched. “Ow, okay! Point made.”

Lando groaned, rubbing his face. “I leave you alone for one race.”

You pouted. “To be fair, I survived the whole weekend without getting injured until the race. I think that’s progress.”

Lando wasn’t amused. Instead, he carefully lifted your injured leg, maneuvering it so it was resting on his lap as he adjusted the ice pack. His touch was gentle, but his brows remained furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line.

After a long moment of silence, he finally spoke, his voice softer now. “I just… hate seeing you get hurt.”

Your chest tightened at the genuine concern laced in his words. You reached up, cupping his face with your free hand. “I know.”

His blue eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching. “Promise me you’ll at least try to be more careful?”

You smiled, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “I promise to try.”

Lando huffed, clearly not satisfied, but he let it go—mostly. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before shifting to kiss the top of your knee, just above the bruise.

“You’re still getting the bubble wrap,” he mumbled against your skin.

You giggled. “And a helmet?”

“And a helmet.”

[ldrfanatic]

Don't Let Me Fall

Part one of a new HockeyPlayer!Theo x fem!reader

two three

my bookshelf slytherin boys masterlist

college au! where theo is a hockey player at a big hockey school but reader doesn't much care for sports. they become unexpected friends.

It was a Saturday afternoon when your friend, Hazel, dragged you to the university’s hockey rink. You weren't a sports person by any means. Books, art, and cozy coffee shops were your world, not cold arenas filled with fast-paced action and adrenaline. But Hazel—being the die-hard hockey fan she was—had somehow convinced you that this was the "ultimate school experience," and if you didn't show up, you’d be "missing out on something special."

You’d tried to get out of it, claiming you had work to do, but Hazel wouldn’t take no for an answer. And now, here you were, standing at the top of a crowded rink, clenching your coat tightly around your body as you tried to figure out what was going on down on the ice.

The cold air hit you as you stepped further into the stands, the scent of freshly sharpened skates and the unmistakable hum of the crowd in the arena. You settled into your seat, watching the players skate around in their jerseys, all bundled up in their pads and gear. You had no idea who was who, and honestly, the speed of it all made your head spin.

"Okay, so who's that one?" you asked, pointing vaguely at a figure racing down the ice, stick in hand.

Hazel glanced over, then grinned. "That’s Theo Nott, our star player. He’s usually the offensive MVP. You’re gonna love him."

You weren’t sure what to make of that. As far as you were concerned, they were all just guys on skates. But you nodded, pretending to be interested, and focused on the game as best you could.

Your attention shifted quickly, however, when the crowd erupted into cheers. Theo had just scored a goal. You blinked, unsure of what exactly had just happened, but everyone around you seemed ecstatic, shouting and clapping. Your eyes fell on him—Theo Nott. He was standing at the center of the rink, raising his arms in victory, the brightest spotlight suddenly on him. His dark hair was a little tousled under his helmet, and his expression was almost eerily calm for someone who had just scored in a packed arena.

Despite yourself, you couldn't help but stare at him. His movements were fluid, controlled, as if everything he did on the ice was second nature. There was a quiet intensity in his eyes that set him apart from the other players, something you couldn’t quite place but was undeniably magnetic.

Hazel noticed where your eyes were locked. “See? I told you. He’s got the whole ‘mysterious and brooding’ thing down to an art form.”

You weren’t sure what it was, but there was something captivating about him. It wasn’t just his skill—it was the way he carried himself. The calmness, the way he moved, almost like he wasn’t even trying. You couldn’t deny the pull.

“Not bad,” you muttered, just loud enough for Hazel to hear.

“Not bad? He’s the best!” Hazel practically squealed. "You’ll see. He’s got this quiet confidence, but off the ice, he’s super chill. Wait until you meet him."

You gave her a skeptical look. "Meet him? How would I meet him?"

She waved it off, clearly uninterested in answering the question, but you didn’t think much of it. Hazel had a way of exaggerating. You didn’t exactly imagine yourself becoming best friends with Theo Nott anytime soon.

As the game progressed, you found yourself zoning in and out of focus. You didn’t quite understand all the rules—how a penalty worked, what the offsides meant, or even how someone managed to get the puck into the net. But you watched as Theo skated circles around the other team, weaving in and out with impressive speed, like he was born for the ice. It was clear he was the standout player, effortlessly leading his own team with a cool head.

By the end of the game, when the final buzzer sounded, you found yourself still glued to your seat, watching as the players skated around the rink to acknowledge the crowd. You had no idea what had happened during the match, but you couldn’t stop thinking about that strange pull you felt toward Theo Nott.

After the game was over, as you walked through the parking lot with Hazel, you didn’t notice the figure walking straight toward you until it was too late.

You collided with him—hard.

The sound of the impact rang through your ears as you stumbled back, and the drink you’d been holding splashed all over his jersey.

"Shit, I’m so sorry!” you exclaimed, immediately scrambling tp wipe at his shirt with the sleeves of your sweater. You were horrified.

Theo stood there for a moment, a stunned look on his face. He blinked a few times before a small chuckle escaped his lips. "Well, this isn’t how I imagined meeting when Hazel told me she was inviting you."

You froze. Your eyes shot up to his face, realizing that this was the very man you’d been silently watching for the past two hours.

“I—I didn’t mean to—" You were rambling now, unable to stop the flood of embarrassment. "I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going, and—"

“Relax,” Theo interrupted, his voice surprisingly smooth and calm. "It’s just a jersey. I’m sure it’ll survive."

You couldn’t help but laugh nervously at how nonchalant he was about the whole thing. “I’ll buy you a new one or something.”

Theo raised an eyebrow, and the corner of his lips twitched into a smile. "You’re going to buy me a new jersey? That's quite the offer."

You hesitated, unsure of what you should do next. “I—uh, I don’t know... I feel terrible.”

He shook his head. "Honestly, it's fine. Been through much worse than a spilled soda." His smile softened, and there was something about it that made your heart skip a beat. "I’m Theo, by the way."

"Y/N," you replied, still feeling your cheeks burn from the awkwardness. “I didn’t mean to crash your evening.”

“No big deal,” Theo said casually, as if getting splashed by a stranger was a daily occurrence. “But hey, if you’re not busy, I could grab a drink with you sometime. Just, you know... a chance to make it up to me?”

You blinked in surprise, unsure of how to respond. He was staring at you with a mischievous and playful look in his eyes. Did Theo Nott just ask you to hang out? And why did it feel like more than just an apology?

Before you could form a coherent sentence, Hazel, who had been standing a little behind you, grinned like she knew something you didn’t.

“Looks like you’re making a friend,” she teased, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

Theo’s smile turned knowing as he glanced at you, but it was warm, unassuming. “Oh c'mon Hazel. Only if she wants to,” he said to you, his voice quiet, but there was something in it that made you think he was genuine.

You cleared your throat, finally finding your voice. “Sure. A drink sounds good. Um, just don’t expect me to know anything about hockey.”

Theo chuckled softly. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to talk hockey.”

[lifeofpriya]

One Shift at a Time - Nico Hischier

[gif credit goes to @ohmypuckingod]

a/n: hey y'all! i'm back with my fic for @wyattjohnston's winter fic exchange 2k25 :) i had the pleasure and honor to write for @hischierjustscored! i went outside my comfort zone this time by writing a fic with an OC, something that i've never done before 😅 i hope y'all enjoy this fic and yeah...that's pretty much it

summary: Lila and Nico never really saw eye-to-eye, but all of that changed after a bet...

wc: 3.7k

The coffee shop was a hum of quiet chatter and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. Lila Castellanos sat in her favorite corner booth, laptop open, scrolling through the latest sports articles. She was deep in thought, her dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail that swayed slightly as she nodded along to the words on her screen. The scent of freshly baked pastries filled the air, mingling with the aroma of dark roast coffee. The bell above the door jingled, snapping her out of her focus.

In walked Nico Hischier, the captain of the New Jersey Devils, looking every bit the pro athlete in his casual gear. His eyes scanned the room until they met hers. Lila felt a jolt of both excitement and annoyance at the sight of him. They had a history of rivalry, both on and off the ice. Despite her better judgment, she couldn't help but admire his strong jawline and the way his sweatshirt clung to his broad shoulders. The tension between them was palpable, a silent battle of wills as they both pretended not to notice each other.

Nico approached the counter and ordered a black coffee. His Swiss accent was subtle but noticeable, a hint of his origins that always made Lila's heart flutter. As he waited, he glanced over at her, their eyes locking for a brief moment. Lila felt the heat rise to her cheeks and quickly turned back to her screen, pretending to be engrossed in her work. The barista called out his order, and the sound of the porcelain cup hitting the saucer was like a starting gun.

With his coffee in hand, Nico made his way over to her table, his movements fluid and deliberate. He set the cup down across from her with a cocky smile. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, his tone light yet challenging.

Lila's eyes narrowed, but she gestured to the seat with a flick of her hand. "Be my guest," she said, her voice calm. Inside, she was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She had spent countless hours crafting social media posts that subtly poked fun at his team, and he had retaliated with his own brand of good-natured ribbing on his own platform.

Nico slid into the booth, his tall frame fitting surprisingly well into the space. He took a sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim of his cup. "I noticed you weren't at the last game," he said, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Lila's hand hovered over her keyboard. "Yeah, had some work to catch up on," she replied nonchalantly, hoping he wouldn't see the lie. The truth was she had been nursing a cold and didn't want to admit to missing a single match, especially not to him.

Nico leaned back, his gaze never leaving hers. "Ah, too bad. It was quite the show." His voice was warm, with a hint of tease. Lila felt her annoyance growing. She didn't need a recap from the enemy, especially when the Hurricanes had won. But she couldn't resist. "How did your team fare?" she asked, a smirk playing on her lips.

He chuckled. "Not as well as we'd like. But we're working on it." His eyes searched hers, and she saw the competitive fire flicker. They both knew it was more than just a game; it was a battle of pride. The silence grew thick as they both sipped their coffee, the steam rising to create a momentary barrier between them.

Lila felt a strange pull toward Nico, a blend of attraction and challenge that she hadn't experienced with anyone else. His confidence was like a magnet, drawing her in despite her best efforts to resist. She took in his features: the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled, the way his dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, the strong line of his jaw. She realized she was staring and quickly averted her gaze, focusing instead on the screen of her laptop.

"So, Lila," Nico began, breaking the silence, "I've noticed your… creative flair for social media. You've got a way with words." His tone was light, but the underlying message was clear: he'd seen her snarky posts about the Devils.

She raised an eyebrow, ready to defend her work. "What can I say? I call 'em like I see 'em," she quipped, her voice filled with more bravado than she felt.

Nico leaned in, his smile turning into a grin. "Is that so?" He took out his phone and scrolled through the Devils' social media feed, pulling up a particularly cheeky post from Lila. "I see you've had some fun at our expense."

Lila felt a twinge of guilt but held her ground. "Just doing my job," she said with a shrug. "Keeping the fans entertained."

Nico's grin widened. "I can see that. But maybe it's time we turn the tables." He tapped the screen of her laptop, drawing her attention to an article detailing the Hurricanes' recent winning streak. "How about a little wager?"

Her pulse quickened at the prospect. "What did you have in mind?"

"If the Devils win the next game," Nico began, his eyes gleaming with mischief, "you have to post something nice about us on the Hurricanes' official account."

Lila's competitive spirit flared. "And if the Hurricanes win?"

Nico's eyes searched hers for a moment before he spoke. "If the 'Canes win, I'll take you out for dinner. Anywhere you want."

The challenge in his voice was unmistakable, and Lila felt a thrill at the idea of besting him. She took a deep breath, considering the stakes. "Alright," she said, extending her hand. "You've got yourself a bet."

Nico's handshake was firm and warm, sending a shiver down her spine. He nodded, his eyes holding hers for a beat longer than necessary. "Looking forward to it," he murmured, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

The days leading up to the game were a whirlwind of anticipation. Lila found herself checking the Devils' stats and news more often than she cared to admit. Nico's face kept popping up in her thoughts, a constant reminder of their bet. She crafted a few potential posts in her mind, ready for either outcome, her heart racing at the thought of what a win would mean for both her and the team.

On the night of the game, Lila was in the stands, her heart in her throat as the teams took to the ice. She watched as Nico skated out for the opening face-off, his eyes scanning the crowd until they found hers. He gave a slight nod, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a knowing smile. The tension between them was like a live wire, crackling with energy.

The game was a nail-biter, each team giving their all, trading goals and penalties. The atmosphere in the arena was electric, the fans on their feet, shouting and cheering. Lila's hands were clenched tightly around her coffee, her nails digging into the cardboard cup. The score remained tied until the final minutes of the third period.

As the clock ticked down, Nico made a break for the Hurricanes' net, dodging players with a grace that seemed almost unnatural. Lila held her breath, her heart pounding in her chest. The puck was on his stick, the goalie braced for impact, and then—a whirlwind of motion. The puck flew through the air and smacked against the crossbar.

The crowd groaned, and Lila felt a mix of relief and disappointment. She looked at Nico, who skated back to his position, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. The game went into overtime, and the tension in the arena grew thicker. Each shot on goal was met with gasps and cheers, the air charged with anticipation.

Finally, with just seconds remaining, the Hurricanes scored. The crowd erupted, and Lila leapt to her feet, fists pumping the air. She couldn't resist looking over at Nico, who had slammed his stick against the boards in frustration. Their eyes met briefly, and she saw the spark of challenge in his gaze. She knew he wouldn't forget this.

The days that followed were filled with trash talk and good-natured jibes, both on social media and in person. Lila couldn't help but feel a thrill every time Nico's name popped up on her notifications. She had to admit, he was a worthy opponent. Despite the rivalry, she found herself looking forward to their next encounter, eager to see what he'd come up with to one-up her.

The evening of the dinner finally arrived, and Lila chose a chic restaurant in Manhattan, one that she knew would make a statement. Nico arrived in a sleek black suit that made him look more like a GQ model than a hockey player. His eyes lit up when he saw her, dressed in a form-fitting dress that made her feel powerful and alluring.

"You look… wow," he said, his voice gruff with genuine surprise.

Lila's cheeks flushed, and she gave a small smile. "Thank you, Nico." She felt a twirl of nerves and excitement.

As they sat down, the hostess handed them menus, and Nico couldn't help but lean closer. "So, what's good here?"

Lila's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Everything, but I recommend the truffle risotto." She knew it was one of the priciest dishes, but she wasn't about to let him off easy.

The dinner was a dance of wit and sarcasm, with a side of surprising camaraderie. They talked about their careers, their families, and their shared love for the sport that had brought them together in such an unlikely way. Nico spoke about his childhood in Bern, the long road to becoming a professional athlete, and the passion that fueled his drive. Lila found herself captivated by his stories, his accent lending a charm to every word.

In between bites of the rich, creamy risotto, they dissected the game, each one pointing out moments of brilliance and strategy. Nico's admiration for her knowledge of the sport was clear, and she felt a sense of pride in being recognized by someone she considered to be one of the best in the league. They laughed at their own team's blunders and nodded in understanding at the others' triumphs.

As the meal progressed, the conversation grew more personal. Lila talked about her Cuban heritage and how she ended up in the world of hockey, a sport not typically associated with New York City. Nico listened intently, his eyes never leaving hers as she spoke. He revealed his own path to the NHL, the sacrifices he'd made to follow his dream, and the loneliness that sometimes came with being so far from home.

The wine flowed, loosening their tongues and lowering their guards. They found themselves sharing stories from their childhoods, their voices filled with nostalgia. Lila spoke of her abuelo's love for baseball and how she'd sneak into his room to watch games with him late into the night. Nico's eyes lit up as he reminisced about skating on the frozen lakes of Switzerland with his father.

The conversation grew quieter, more intimate. Lila felt a warmth spreading through her chest, the kind she hadn't felt in a long time. The rivalry that had once felt so intense now seemed like a playful game, a mask for the connection that had been simmering just beneath the surface.

Nico leaned in, his elbow resting on the table, his hand playing with the edge of his empty wine glass. "You know, I've always wondered," he began, his eyes searching hers, "what it would be like to have someone who truly gets it."

Lila swallowed a mouthful of her dessert, her heart skipping a beat. "Gets what?" she asked, playing coy.

Nico's gaze was intense, his voice low. "This life. The games, the travel, the pressure. Someone who doesn't just support you from the sidelines but understands it from the inside." His thumb traced the rim of the glass, and Lila felt the weight of his words.

Her heart thudded in her chest, and she leaned in slightly, her eyes never leaving his. "It's not easy," she said softly, "but when you love the game as much as we do, it's worth it."

Nico nodded, his gaze never wavering. "I know," he said, his voice thick with feeling. "But it's different when you find someone who loves it just as much as you do. Someone who gets the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat."

Their eyes held for a moment, the air between them thick with unspoken understanding. Lila felt a flutter in her stomach, the kind she hadn't experienced since she was a teenager with her first crush. The realization hit her like a slap in the face: she was falling for Nico Hischier, the captain of her team's rival. But as she looked into his eyes, she knew it was more than just the thrill of the game that drew them together.

Nico reached out and placed his hand over hers, his thumb brushing against her knuckles. The simple gesture sent a jolt of electricity through her, and she found herself leaning closer to him, drawn in by the warmth of his touch. "I think we might have more in common than just our jobs," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lila felt the heat of his hand, the calluses a stark contrast to the smoothness of her skin. She knew he was right, that there was something deeper connecting them than just their love for hockey. The rivalry had been a shield, a way to keep the other at bay, but now it felt like the thinnest of veils.

"You might be onto something there," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the clinking of silverware and the low murmur of the other diners.

Nico's hand remained on hers, and she felt the warmth spread up her arm, igniting a fire within her that she hadn't felt in a long time. The air between them was charged with something more than rivalry, something that made her pulse race and her mind swirl with possibilities.

"Lila," Nico said, his voice earnest. "I know this isn't easy, but I can't ignore how much I enjoy being around you. The banter, the challenge, it's all part of what makes us… us." He took a deep breath. "What I'm trying to say is, I'd like to explore this. Off the ice, I mean."

Lila's heart pounded in her chest. The thought of crossing that line, of mixing her personal and professional life, was terrifying and thrilling all at once. But as she looked into his eyes, she knew she couldn't resist. "Okay," she breathed, her voice shaky. "Let's do it."

Nico's smile was like the sun breaking through clouds. He squeezed her hand gently before pulling away to signal for the check. The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of laughter and nerves. As they stepped out into the cool Manhattan night, the reality of what they had agreed to hang in the air like the first snowflakes of winter.

"Wait, I thought you were based in Raleigh," Nico said, as they stepped onto the sidewalk, the sounds of the city muffled by the gentle hum of traffic. "Why did you pick a place in Manhattan?"

"I was in town visiting my family," Lila replied, her heart racing. She hadn't planned on revealing this, but it felt right, like the universe had brought them together for more than just a rivalry-driven bet. Nico nodded, his gaze searching hers as the city lights danced in his eyes.

They walked down the street, their breaths misting in the cold air. The quiet between them was comfortable, a stark contrast to the heated banter of their usual interactions. "Do you come here often?" Nico asked, his voice tentative.

Lila chuckled, feeling more at ease than she had in his presence before. "Not really. I usually stay with my abuela in Newark when I visit, but I wanted to treat myself to a night out in the city."

Nico nodded, his eyes taking in the bustling streets of Manhattan. "It's a beautiful place," he murmured, his breath fogging in the cool air.

Lila couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia. "Yeah, it is. I miss it sometimes."

Nico glanced over at her, his expression gentle. "I can imagine. Being so far from home can be tough."

Lila nodded, feeling the weight of her decision to pursue a career in Raleigh. "But it's all worth it for the love of the game, right?"

Nico looked at her, his eyes softening. "More than you know." He paused, then added, "And maybe, for other reasons too."

Lila felt a warmth spread through her, and she looked away, trying to play it cool. "Well, you know what they say. When in New York…"

Nico chuckled, his arm brushing against hers. "I suppose we should make the most of it."

They strolled through the city, their conversation flowing easily as they explored the bright lights and bustling streets of Manhattan. The tension of their rivalry had dissipated, replaced by a tentative friendship that felt more natural than either of them could have anticipated. They wandered into a small park, the lights from the surrounding buildings casting a soft glow on the bare trees and the frozen pond.

Lila watched as Nico's eyes lit up at the sight of the ice. "You miss it?" she asked, her voice gentle.

He nodded, a wistful smile on his lips. "Sometimes. But the lakes aren't quite the same without the mountains."

Lila knew what he meant. "It's the memories that make a place special," she said, her voice soft.

Nico turned to her, his gaze intense. "And the people you share them with."

Their eyes held for a moment before Lila looked away, the warmth in her cheeks spreading down her neck. They continued walking in companionable silence, the sound of their footsteps echoing through the quiet park. The air was crisp and cold, but the warmth of their bodies was enough to keep them comfortable.

"You know I saw you staring at me during the game," Nico said suddenly, breaking the quiet. Lila's heart skipped a beat, and she turned to look at him. His eyes were on the pond, but she could feel the weight of his gaze.

"Staring? I was just keeping an eye on the enemy," she retorted, her voice light.

Nico chuckled, a sound that sent a thrill through her. "Is that what you call it?" His eyes met hers, a playful glint in his gaze.

Lila felt her cheeks warm even further. "Well, you know what they say about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer." She tried to sound flippant, but her voice betrayed her, a slight waver that she hoped he didn't catch.

Nico's smile grew, his teeth flashing in the moonlight. "Is that what I am to you, Lila? An enemy?"

Her heart thudded in her chest, the question hanging in the air like a puck in a still rink. "Well, we are rivals," she said, trying to keep the tremor from her voice.

Nico stopped, turning to face her. The moon cast shadows on his face, highlighting his strong jaw and the intensity in his eyes. "But are we enemies?"

Lila's throat went dry. She searched for the right words, but all she could do was shake her head. "No," she admitted. "Not really."

Nico took a step closer, closing the gap between them. "What are we, then?" His voice was low and gruff, the warmth of his breath reaching her face.

Lila's eyes searched his, the question in hers unspoken. For a moment, they stood there, the world around them fading into the background. The sound of their breathing seemed amplified in the stillness of the night. Then, with a smile that made her knees wobble, Nico reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Maybe we're just two people who were too stupid to realize their feelings sooner," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before she could respond, his hand cupped her cheek, and he leaned in, closing the distance between them. Their lips met in a kiss that was as sweet and thrilling as a game-winning goal. It was gentle at first, a question more than a declaration. But as Lila melted into him, Nico deepened the kiss, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her closer.

The cold air was forgotten as the warmth of his embrace surrounded her. Lila felt the tension of the months of rivalry and flirtation dissolve into something new and exciting. His lips were soft yet firm, his touch tender but insistent. It was a kiss that held the promise of more, a kiss that spoke of shared passions and the beginnings of something real.

As they pulled apart, Lila's eyes searched Nico's, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But all she saw was the same spark that had ignited in her own heart. He leaned his forehead against hers, his warm breath mixing with hers. "I've wanted to do that for a long time," he murmured.

Lila felt her pulse race. "Me too," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She reached up, her hand resting on the back of his neck, her fingers curling into the soft strands of his hair. The kiss had been a surprise, but it was a surprise she hadn't wanted to end.

Nico's hand slid down to the small of her back, pulling her closer until their bodies were pressed together. The heat from his chest was a welcome warmth against the chill of the evening. Lila felt her heart flutter, a feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time. The line between rivalry and something more had been blurred, and now it was gone, replaced by a desire that was undeniable.

They stood there for a moment, lost in the kiss, before Nico pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers. "Lila," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "I don't know how this will work, but I don't want to stop."

Lila's heart raced, her mind spinning with the implications of what they were starting. "Neither do I," she whispered, "but let's just… take it one shift at a time."

Nico chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and into her own. "Fair enough," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "One shift at a time."

[xprinceling]

╰┈➤ enhypen as greek gods °˖➴࣪ ִֶָ☾.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺

• heeseung - apollo ּ ֶָ֢.๑ˎˊ˗

⋮ heeseung embodies a radiant muse of melody and light, his voice a golden thread weaving through the tapestry of sound. with every note, he commands the sun to rise, his presence an eternal harmony of grace and power. he’s a god of artistry, who dances on the strings of creativity, his melodic laughter echoing the warmth of dawn. in heeseung’s eyes, the fire of inspiration burns, and in his hands, the lyre of perfection rests.

• jay - hermes ༄.°

⋮ jay, like hermes, is a swift-footed enchanter, weaving charm and wit into every step he takes. the words he speaks are winged, carrying laughter and warmth like a gentle summer breeze, while the presence he carries is magnetic, drawing souls with effortless ease. a master of many realms, truly - he moves through the world with a clever spark, a messenger of glee, leaving trails of light wherever he goes.

• jake - eros ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

⋮ the man is a bearer of tender pink-colored flames, his smile a spark that ignites the hearts of many with effortless charm. his voice resembles a soft, yet stirring melody, that carries the warmth of affection, wrapping listeners in a cocoon of comfort. with each glance, he weaves invisible threads of connection through souls, his presence a gentle reminder of love’s innocent, sugary pull. jake is playful yet profound, embodying the duality of the greek deity - both the flutter of a first crush and the depth of enduring devotion.

• sunghoon - artemis જ⁀➴

⋮ sunghoon glides through the world with a quiet moonlit grace, just like artemis, his movements as precise and fluid as an arrow in flight. his poise, born from years on ice, mirrors the goddess’ untouchable, infinite elegance, resembling a blend of strength and serenity. with a gaze as sharp as the huntress’ aim and a presence as calming as the night sky, he commands attention to himself without uttering a single word. his being is a blend between mystery and radiance, forever tied to the waltz of the moon and the wilderness.

• sunoo - dionysus ❦

⋮ he is a complete burst of joy, his laughter a flowing melody that dances through the air like the clink of dionysus�� wine glasses. his smile - one that blooms like the first light of dawn, brings warmth to every moment in the nychthemeron. sunoo’s energy is intoxicating, a whirlwind of teasing and charm, yet beneath it lies a depth of emotion that connects souls. he is a bringer of celebration, a weaver of bonds, who turns every space into a garden of delight and pleasure.

• jungwon - athena 🀢𓍼ོ

⋮ jungwon, like athena, holds the quiet strength of a leader, his wisdom shining through every decision and gesture. carrying a mind as sharp as her spear and a heart as steady as her shield, he guides with calm precision, which is a beacon of clarity in the surrounding chaos. the presence of his takes both a commanding and nurturing role, a carefully curated balance of intellect and care, much like the goddess who champions those very qualities. he embodies thoughtfulness and resilience, protecting those he holds dear by any means.

• ni-ki - hades ♱

⋮ ni-ki dances with moves of quiet intensity, his presence resembling a shadow of utter power and mystery. on stage he gracefully commands the underworld of performance with movements sharp and deliberate, drawing eyes like a magnet to his realm. beneath the man’s cool exterior lies a deep void of passion and resilience, truly a king of his craft who rules with unwavering dedication. his presence is darkly captivating, fiercely talented, and a force that cannot possibly be ignored.

[urlocalmultigroupfan]

ice.cream

pairing: barista!hyunjin x fem!reader

summary: based off of ice.cream by hyunjin....

tags/warnings: mentions of food, americano reference, non-kiwijin jinnie, ice cream (obviously), not that proofread, kind of suggestive if you squint, really short, prob forgot something

a/n: wait so many people liked deep end omg??? apparently if you change your aesthetic it gets more likes lmao....anyways....

this is a hyunjin oneshot based off of ice.cream!! hope yall enjoy <3

The sound of soft jazz filled the cozy café, blending seamlessly with the low hum of conversation. You sat at a corner table, a half-finished iced coffee sweating against your palm. It was an escape, a moment stolen from the chaos of your week. The air-conditioning kept the room cool, but your attention was drawn to the man behind the counter, his movements fluid as he worked.

Hyunjin.

The name sounded like a secret on your lips, though it wasn’t the first time you’d been here, not the first time you’d noticed him. He was magnetic in the way only some people could be without trying. The kind of person who could make stirring a cup of iced Americano look like performance art. His dark hair was pushed back, a loose strand rebelliously framing his face, and he wore a confident smirk that seemed to say he knew exactly the kind of effect he had on people.

Today was no exception.

“Another iced coffee?” His voice startled you, even though you’d been staring long enough to know it was inevitable he’d catch you.

You nodded, your throat suddenly dry. “Yeah. Sure.”

He leaned forward across the counter, a playful gleam in his eyes. “You know, we have a new special today. Something sweeter. Ice cream. You might like it.”

You raised a brow, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened. “Are you saying I don’t like my coffee?”

“No,” he said smoothly, the smirk deepening. “Just saying you might want to try something… refreshing. Different.”

Before you could respond, he disappeared into the back, returning moments later with a small dish of ice cream. It was delicately presented, the creamy dessert dusted with a hint of cocoa powder and topped with a single mint leaf. He slid it in front of you, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest second—a spark that felt deliberate.

“On the house,” he murmured, his voice low enough to feel like a secret shared just between the two of you.

You hesitated before taking a bite, but the sweetness of the dessert melted on your tongue, its coolness contrasting with the heat creeping up your neck. When you looked up, he was still watching, leaning casually against the counter like he had all the time in the world.

“Good?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you replied, barely audible.

The smirk softened into something warmer. “I thought so.”

As the café slowly emptied, Hyunjin’s confidence lingered in the air. When he finally came around to clear the table next to yours, he paused, leaning just close enough for his cologne to mix with the lingering scent of coffee and sugar.

“You know,” he said, his voice teasing but somehow serious all at once, “if you like the ice cream, there’s more where that came from.”

His eyes lingered on yours, the challenge unmistakable.

And just like that, you knew—this was only the beginning.

hope yall enjoyed <3

todays writing playlist....

case 143 by stray kids, down bad by taylor swift, hype boy by newjeans, sour grapes by le sserafim, lose my breath by stray kids, twilight by stray kids, super shy by newjeans, how sweet by newjeans, love, money, and fame by seventeen, hall of fame by stray kids, flower by jisoo, cherish (my love) by illit, omg by newjeans, thinking out loud by ed sheeran, hold my hand by han, ice.cream by hyunjin, secret secret by stray kids, walkin on water by straykids, chk chk boom by stray kids, u by tablo and stray kids, happily ever after by txt, ain't shit by doja cat, industry baby by lil nas x, die for you by the weekend, not like us by kendrick lamar

*bold for explicit songs*

my playlist!

masterlist

taglist is open! comment if you want to join <3

[estapa-edwards]

MEDIA GIRL - L. HUGHES

paring: Luke Hughes x fem! reader

word count: 2.4k

requested? yes - luke falling in love with the media girl at the new jersey devil and finally asking her out

warnings: use of y/n. multiple pov

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I've been working closely with the Devils for the past couple of years, crafting content, capturing moments, and sharing the team's journey with fans around the world. It's a job I love, immersed in the world of hockey and surrounded by passionate individuals who share the same love for the sport.

One player, in particular, had caught my eye since he joined the team – Luke Hughes. As a rising star defenseman, he commanded attention on the ice with his skillful play and undeniable charisma. But it wasn't just his performance on the rink that intrigued me; there was something about his infectious smile and genuine personality that drew me in.

As the seasons passed and the rhythm of the hockey calendar dictated our lives, Luke and I found ourselves drawn together by the magnetic pull of our shared experiences. It was during those moments in between the action, the quiet lulls amidst the chaos, that our connection began to deepen.

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During interviews, our conversations would often veer off course, wandering into topics far beyond the scope of the game. Luke's genuine curiosity about my life outside of the arena was both surprising and endearing. We swapped stories about our childhoods, our favorite movies, and our shared love for good food. It was during these impromptu exchanges that I discovered the layers beneath the confident exterior of the hockey star – the insecurities, the dreams, the quirks that made him undeniably human.

Promotional shoots became an opportunity for us to explore our creative sides together. Whether we were brainstorming ideas for social media campaigns or striking poses for team merchandise, there was an undeniable synergy between us. Luke's playful nature brought out the best in me, inspiring me to push the boundaries of my creativity and embrace the spontaneity of the moment.

And then there were the social media campaigns – our bread and butter in the digital age of sports marketing. As the social media coordinator for the Devils, I was responsible for crafting content that resonated with fans and showcased the team's personality both on and off the ice. Luke, with his infectious energy and natural charisma, was the perfect partner in crime. Whether we were filming behind-the-scenes videos, hosting live Q&A sessions, or engaging with fans on Twitter, our dynamic duo captured the hearts of Devils fans everywhere.

But amidst the whirlwind of interviews, shoots, and campaigns, it was the quiet moments in between that I cherished the most. The stolen glances across a crowded room, the shared smiles that spoke volumes without a single word exchanged. It was during those moments that I felt the walls around my heart slowly crumbling, giving way to the possibility of something more than just friendship.

And as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, I couldn't shake the feeling that Luke Hughes had become more than just a teammate or a colleague – he had become a permanent fixture in my life, a constant presence that I couldn't imagine living without. 

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As the final buzzer sounded, signaling the Devils' hard-fought victory on the ice, the arena erupted into a cacophony of cheers and applause. Luke and Y/N found themselves caught up in the swell of excitement and emotion, the electric atmosphere pulsating around them like a living, breathing entity.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she watched with bated breath, her eyes fixed on Luke as he skated across the rink, his movements fluid and graceful, his arms raised triumphantly in the air. In that moment, he was more than just a hockey player – he was a hero, a symbol of strength and resilience in the face of adversity.

"That was incredible," Y/N exclaimed, her voice tinged with awe as she watched him bask in the glow of their win. The pride swelling in her chest was palpable, a surge of emotion threatening to overwhelm her as she realized the magnitude of what they had accomplished together.

Luke flashed her a grin, his eyes shining with adrenaline-fueled excitement. "Thanks, Y/N," he replied, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. "I couldn't have done it without your support."

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat at his words, her heart skipping a beat as she absorbed the weight of his gratitude. It was a simple acknowledgment, a fleeting moment in the grand scheme of things, but to her, it meant everything. It was validation – validation of her hard work, her dedication, her unwavering belief in him and the team.

"You're welcome," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll always be here to cheer you on, no matter what." Her words were a promise, a pledge of allegiance to the man who had captured her heart without even realizing it.

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It was during one particularly intense game that everything changed. The Devils were down a goal with minutes left on the clock, tension thick in the air as the crowd held its breath. In a dramatic turn of events, Luke managed to score the tying goal, sending the arena into a frenzy of cheers and applause.

Amidst the celebration, our eyes met across the crowded arena, a shared moment of triumph and exhilaration. And in that instant, I knew – I was falling for Luke Hughes.

But as the game ended and the crowd began to disperse, doubt crept into my mind. What if I was misreading the signs? What if our connection was nothing more than professional courtesy? I pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand as I followed the team to the locker room for post-game interviews.

It was there, amidst the chaos of the locker room, that Luke sought me out. His eyes were bright with excitement, a victorious grin playing on his lips as he approached me.

"Hey, Y/N," he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth. "I just wanted to say thanks for all your hard work. That goal wouldn't have been possible without you."

I felt my cheeks flush with heat, a rush of emotions swirling inside me as I met his gaze. "It was all you out there," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. "You played an amazing game."

Luke smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned in closer. "Hey, do you maybe want to grab dinner sometime? You know, to celebrate the win?"

My heart skipped a beat, the world around us fading away as I processed his words. Luke Hughes, asking me out on a date? It felt like a dream come true.

"Um, yeah," I stammered, a smile spreading across my face. "I would love to."

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

LUKES POV

Luke Hughes sat in the locker room, his mind swirling with thoughts of the game ahead. The adrenaline coursed through his veins, his heart pounding with anticipation. But amidst the excitement of the upcoming match, there was another thought that lingered at the back of his mind – Y/N.

From the moment he first laid eyes on her, Luke knew there was something special about Y/N. It wasn't just her beauty or her infectious smile that drew him in; it was the way she carried herself, with a confidence and grace that was impossible to ignore. And as he got to know her better, he discovered that beneath the surface, there was a kindness and warmth that made her truly captivating.

As the seasons passed and their paths continued to intertwine, Luke found himself drawn to Y/N in ways he couldn't explain. There was a magnetic pull between them, a natural chemistry that made every interaction feel effortless and meaningful. Whether they were working together on promotional shoots or sharing moments of quiet camaraderie in between interviews, Luke felt a connection with Y/N that went beyond words.

But it wasn't just her professional prowess that impressed him – it was her passion for the game, her dedication to her craft, and her unwavering support for the team that truly captured his heart. In Y/N, Luke found a kindred spirit, someone who shared his love for hockey and understood the sacrifices he made to pursue his dreams.

And as he sat in the locker room, preparing to take the ice with his teammates, Luke couldn't shake the feeling that Y/N was more than just a colleague or a friend – she was someone he could see himself building a future with. But he also knew that crossing that line was fraught with uncertainty and risk. What if she didn't feel the same way? What if their relationship changed the dynamic of their team?

Luke Hughes leaned against the wall of the locker room, his heart pounding in his chest as he stole a glance at Y/N across the room. She was engrossed in conversation with a colleague, her laughter ringing out like music in the air. For a moment, he hesitated, his mind swirling with doubts and uncertainties. But then he remembered the way she had looked at him during the game, the spark of excitement in her eyes as they celebrated their victory together. And in that moment, he knew – he had to take a chance.

Pushing himself away from the wall, Luke crossed the room with determined strides, his heart racing with nerves as he approached Y/N. As he drew closer, he could feel the weight of his words hanging in the air, a lump forming in his throat as he struggled to find the right thing to say.

"Hey, Y/N," he said, his voice slightly shaky but filled with genuine warmth. "I just wanted to say thanks for all your hard work tonight. That goal wouldn't have been possible without you."

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes shining with surprise and gratitude. "Oh, it was nothing," she replied, her voice soft but sincere. "You played an amazing game out there."

Luke smiled, his confidence growing with each passing moment. "Listen, I was thinking," he began, his words tumbling out in a rush of excitement. "Would you maybe want to grab dinner sometime? You know, to celebrate the win?"

As he waited for her response, Luke felt a surge of nervous energy coursing through his veins. What if she said no? What if he had misread the signs and made a fool of himself? But then Y/N's face broke into a radiant smile, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Um, yeah," she stammered, her cheeks flushing with color. "I would love to."

A wave of relief washed over Luke as he took in her words, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Great," he said, unable to contain his excitement. "How about tomorrow night? I know this great Italian place downtown."

Y/N nodded eagerly, her smile widening with each passing second. "Sounds perfect," she replied, her voice filled with genuine enthusiasm.

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The soft glow of candlelight bathed the cozy Italian restaurant in a warm, inviting ambiance as Luke and I sat across from each other, our conversation flowing effortlessly like a river winding its way through the night. From the moment we arrived, there had been a palpable energy between us – a sense of anticipation that hung in the air like a promise waiting to be fulfilled.

As we sipped on glasses of red wine and savored bites of delicious pasta, the outside world faded away, leaving only the two of us lost in our own little bubble of bliss. Luke's laughter filled the air, a melodic symphony that echoed in my ears like music to my soul.

"So, tell me more about yourself," he said, his eyes sparkling with genuine curiosity. "What do you like to do when you're not busy running the Devils' social media empire?"

I couldn't help but smile at his playful tone, the warmth of his gaze sending shivers down my spine. "Well, I'm a bit of a bookworm," I confessed, feeling a rush of excitement as I shared a piece of myself with him. "I love getting lost in a good novel, especially anything with a bit of mystery or romance."

Luke nodded, his expression thoughtful as he leaned in closer. "I can relate to that," he admitted, his voice low and intimate. "There's something magical about getting lost in a story, isn't there? It's like you're transported to a whole other world."

As the night wore on and the hours slipped away, our conversation deepened, weaving through topics both trivial and profound. We talked about our hopes and dreams, our fears and insecurities, laying bare our souls like open books for the other to read.

And then, amidst the laughter and the shared moments of connection, there was a shift in the air – a subtle change that left me breathless with anticipation. As Luke reached across the table to refill my wine glass, his touch sent a jolt of electricity coursing through my veins, igniting a fire deep within my heart.

"Y/N," he began, his voice soft but filled with conviction. "There's something I need to tell you."

I held my breath, my heart pounding in my chest as I waited for him to continue. In that moment, the world around us seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us suspended in time, lost in a moment of shared intimacy.

"I know we've only known each other for a relatively short time," Luke continued, his eyes locked with mine, "but from the moment I met you, I felt something special – something I've never felt before."

I felt a rush of warmth flood my cheeks as I listened to his words, my heart swelling with emotion. "Luke," I whispered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I feel it too."

And then, without hesitation, he reached across the table and took my hand in his, his touch sending a wave of tingles dancing across my skin. "Y/N," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "I know this might sound crazy, but I think I'm falling for you."

Tears welled up in my eyes as I gazed into his, the depth of his feelings mirrored in the depths of his soul. In that moment, I knew – I was falling for him too, falling harder and faster than I ever thought possible.

And as we sat there, hand in hand, lost in the glow of the candlelight and the warmth of each other's presence, I couldn't help but feel like the luckiest girl in the world. For in Luke Hughes, I had found not just a teammate or a colleague, but a kindred spirit – someone who saw me for who I truly was and loved me all the more for it.

And as our eyes met across the table, a silent vow passed between us – a promise to cherish this moment, this connection, for as long as our hearts beat as one.

[enflixx]

let loose - park sunghoon

summary: Routinely working your job, you’ve always kept your distance from the skaters, watching them glide effortlessly across the ice. But when one particular skater, with a dark, magnetic presence, catches your attention, the lines between professional and personal blur. As your connection deepens, he offers more than just a taste of something forbidden. And you begin to question whether you're falling for the thrill of the chase or something far more dangerous.

genre: suggestive

warnings: lots of kissing and touching

word count: 1,936

You’ve worked the check-in stand at Ice Rink for almost a year now, and nothing ever really changes. Parents drag their kids in for lessons. Teens show up in packs, squealing over rented skates. The occasional serious skater breezes through, headphones in, eyes focused on the ice. It’s routine. Predictable. Safe.

You’ve been working here ever since you moved to this city to start fresh. It was supposed to be a temporary gig while you figured out your next move, but something about the rhythm of it felt comforting. The hum of the rink's lights, the soft scrape of blades against ice, the familiar faces that come and go. It didn’t require much. You just checked people in, handed them their skates, and occasionally fielded questions about when the rink would be free for open skating.

You had your little corner of the rink, your small space behind the counter where the smell of fresh wax and chilled air was a constant. And you, well, you became part of the background noise. There were no exciting conversations, no long-lasting connections. Just the occasional smile exchanged with a regular or a polite “have a good time” to a family on their way out.

But then he walked in.

It was late one evening, after most of the kids had left, when you saw him. He slid across the ice effortlessly, his movements fluid and controlled, like he belonged there. It wasn’t a practice session or a casual skate. This was something else entirely—an artist performing for an audience that didn’t exist.

You had seen him around before, occasionally, but tonight was different. Tonight, he wasn’t just a guy skating. He was that guy, the one focused on the rhythm, and somehow a little untouchable. He wore the same hoodie and sweatpants he usually did, but there was something about the way he moved that made it seem like the rink was his world, and everyone else was just a visitor.

At first, you didn’t even realize you were staring. It was hard not to. But when he skated over to the edge of the rink, and his eyes met yours, you quickly looked away, pretending to busy yourself with the next person in line.

“Got a minute?” His voice was soft but direct, and you didn’t need to look up to know he was talking to you.

You glanced over at him, your heart beating a little faster than it should. You nodded, unsure of what to expect. He was standing there, dripping sweat, still looking way too good for someone who had just skated for an hour.

“Can I rent the ice for a bit?” he asked, his voice still calm, but his eyes…those were different. There was something in them, a challenge maybe, or a question, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“Uh… yeah, sure,” you stammered, tapping away on the computer, trying to seem professional. You handed him a ticket with a small smile. “That’ll be twenty for the hour.”

He took the ticket, but instead of walking away, he leaned on the counter a little, eyes glinting with something mischievous. “You know, I could use some company. I don’t usually skate alone.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, I’m not really supposed-”

“You look like you know your way around the ice,” he interrupted, his tone playful, but there was a spark in his gaze that made you pause.

“I mean, I can skate,” you said slowly, feeling a little hesitant. You weren’t a professional by any means, but you could hold your own. Still, the idea of skating with him, especially after seeing the way he moved... well, that was intimidating.

He raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? I’ll go easy on you. Pinky promise.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, despite yourself. “You’re a confident one aren’t you.”

He shrugged. “Comes with the territory.” His eyes twinkled. “So, what do you say? Let’s make it interesting.”

The challenge in his tone was undeniable, and you found yourself drawn to it—drawn to him. Before you knew it, you were lacing up your skates, the rink lights casting long shadows over the ice. He was already gliding in small circles, waiting for you.

“Come out here,” he says.

“I’m working.”

“It’s dead. No one’ll notice.”

You hesitate. Then unlatch the half-door and step onto the rubber mat.

“I don’t skate a lot,” you admit as he helps you into a pair of rentals.

“You don’t need to.” His voice drops low as he guides you onto the ice. “Just hold on to me.”

You do. And he pulls you in, hands on your waist, eyes locked on yours like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. His fingers tighten. Your cheeks flush. You slide, clumsily, but he doesn’t let go. You’re not sure if it’s the cold or the way he looks at you, but your whole body feels like it’s on fire.

“You’re not so bad,” he murmurs. “You just needed someone to hold you steady.”

Your lips part, a sharp inhale, and before you can stop it, you're wondering how steady he’d hold you off the ice.

The ice is quiet, the rink nearly deserted. Just you and Sunghoon, breathless and flushed under the hum of overhead lights. His hands stay on your hips a moment too long, thumbs brushing over your jacket like he’s memorizing how you feel. You’re not skating anymore. You’re just standing there, holding onto him like the world might tip sideways if you let go.

“You cold?” he asks, but his voice is already dark, teasing.

You shake your head. You’re burning.

Sunghoon eyes drop to your mouth. “You keep looking at me like that and I’m not gonna let you go back behind that counter.”

The heat between you snaps tight.

You try to laugh, to play it off. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

He skates you both toward the boards, backing you into the wall with slow, easy confidence. One arm braces beside your head. The other slides down, catching your waist, steadying you on the ice. His breath is warm, lips inches from yours.

You whisper, “What are you doing?”

“What I’ve been thinking about every night since I saw you behind that glass.”

You don’t move. Don’t speak. Just press a little closer.

And that’s all he needs.

His mouth finds yours in a kiss that starts soft but deepens fast like he’s starved for it, like he’s been holding back for too long. Your fingers clutch at his jacket, nails digging in as his tongue brushes yours and a low sound rumbles from his chest. The kiss grows messier, more desperate, like you’re both skating the edge of something you can’t name but don’t want to stop.

The cold disappears. All you feel is him and the way he tastes, the way his hand slips beneath your jacket, fingertips grazing your lower back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies.

“You’re sure?” you mutter against his mouth.

“I haven’t even started,” he murmurs, lips trailing to your jaw, your neck, where he lingers just long enough to make you tremble.

You shiver. Not from the chill, but from the way his voice wraps around your spine like silk and sin.

Then you hear a door slam in the distance.

You both freeze. He groans, resting his forehead against yours, lips still brushing yours.

“Your shift’s over in twenty minutes, right?” he asks.

You nod.

“Good.” He kisses you again, slow and lingering this time. “Meet me at my car.”

Your pulse races. “And then what?”

His smirk is wicked. “Then I’ll teach you what it means to lose control.”

You pull away from him just enough to catch your breath, your pulse racing wildly in your chest. His eyes are dark, intent, but you hesitate, suddenly unsure. The heat between you both is undeniable, but something about being so close to the edge—something about it just doesn’t sit right. You swallow hard, still feeling the thrum of desire that pulses through you, but you take a step back, gently pulling your hand away from his.

“No,” you whisper, your voice trembling, but firm.

He raises an eyebrow, a wicked grin dancing at the corner of his lips. “No? You sure?”

You meet his gaze, the fire between you both undeniable, but you shake your head, a soft laugh escaping your lips despite the tension building. “I think it’s better we stay on the ice, you're the ice prince aren’t you?”

He pauses, studying you. There’s a brief flicker of confusion in his eyes, but then it softens into something else, something deeper. His breath hitches, and he steps closer to you again, this time slower, more deliberate.

“You want to stay here, on the ice?” he asks, his voice quiet, almost reverent, as if he’s waiting for you to confirm what he thinks he heard.

You nod. “I want to feel you here, in the place where everything started. Not in your car, not anywhere else… here. On the ice.”

A low growl escapes him, but there’s a tender edge to it, a softness that you hadn’t expected. He steps closer, both of you now back on the rink, the cool air swirling around you as you glide effortlessly, the weight of your words hanging between you like the tension in the air.

“You’re making me lose control,” he murmurs, his hands sliding around your waist to pull you closer.

You feel the electricity course through you again as your body brushes against his, his warmth seeping into your skin. Your breaths quicken, mingling in the cold, but it only seems to heighten the intensity of the moment. You lift your hands to his chest, your fingers pressing into the fabric of his jacket as you look into his eyes.

“I want to keep it this way, just for a little longer,” you say, the words slipping out before you can think.

His lips curl into a slow, dangerous smile. “You want to stay on the ice? Then let's see how long you can last.”

With a sudden movement, he pulls you even closer, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands slide over your hips. The cold air feels sharp against your skin, but it only adds to the fire simmering between you both. The rink beneath your skates feels like a world of its own, everything else fading into the background as the two of you share this moment, this dangerous connection.

You don’t need to say anything more, he understands. The glide of your skates across the ice becomes a rhythm, as natural as breathing. You skate together, side by side, the tension building with each movement, the sound of your breathing mingling with the soft scrape of blades against ice.

And as the world around you blurs, the only thing that matters is this moment, this feeling of being close to him, completely alive in a way you’ve never known. You want to keep it here, in this space, where everything feels just right.

“Stay with me,” he breathes, his voice low and urgent, the words resonating in the quiet, the only sound left on the ice.

You nod, not needing to say anything else. You stay close, the air between you crackling with something that neither of you can deny. And as you skate together in the dimming light, you realize that maybe, just maybe, this is the perfect place to let loose after all.

[majingojira]

Complete List of Public Domain McGuffin Materials

I wanted a clean collection of these based on @titleknown original post, just for ease of reference and adding a few along the way.

Also, HAPPY PUBLIC DOMAIN DAY!

Cavorite - An Anti-Gravity Metal from First Men On The Moon by H.G. Wells.

Hihi'irokane - From "The Takenouchi Documents" (1935). A super durable metal that never rusts and is also a conductor of heat. In other words, it's Minecraft Red Stone.

Taduki - From the Alan Quartermain stories, a drug that allows users to relive past lives via smoking. It's a great framing device, and was used as one in the original stories.

The Absolute - from "The Absolute At Large". Byproduct of a matter-to-energy conversion. Implied to be the element of 'Divinity'.

Eitr - Source of all life in Norse Mythology. The mixing of the FIres of Muspelheim and the ice of Nifilheim -- but also a deadly poison to the earth.

Fleury's Gas - Rudyard Kipling's super gas from his story "With the Night Mail." Used to run Zepplins. It expands explosively fast as a gas and is both powerful and rigid. It can be liquified with Fleury's Ray. Produces a lot of power and acts as Hydrogen. Could be used very easily in Neumatics (ROBOTS!)

Tulu Metal - Lovecraft invention. rare space-metal. Extremely magnetic. Speculatively, it could do space-warping weirdness (given Lovecraft stories, that tracks).

Abyssal Gold - The Gold of the Deep Ones. It's whitish-gold alloy with a weird lustrousness. No special properties, it's just weird. And rather pretty. Rare type of gold are sure to go for a higher market value.

Alkahest/The Universal Solvent - Alchemy dissolver. It dissolved/breaks apart whatever it comes across.

Jeckyll's Compound - Most people use the Hyde formula as shorthand to make Hulk-knockoffs, but the reality of it more than that. Hyde is not just a coalescence of a man's "Dark Impulses" but a chemical 'disguise' to allow a person to indulge in whatever a person wants.

The Red Weed - A plant native to Mars from War of the Worlds. It tastes metallic, absorbs water, grows extremely quickly, and is bioluminescent.

Starlite - A purportedly heatproof material. Up to 90% organic.

Rossum's Protoplasm - Rossum's Universal Robots, the McGuffin that makes the robots move and behave.

Liquid Electricity - Glowing energy liquid. It was a common belief about Electricity in the early days, so it ended up in a lot of stories.

Herbet West's Re-Animation Fluid - From Lovecraft's Herbet West: Reanimator. It chemically kickstarts the mechanical process of life in organic tissue.

Solarnite/Solarbenite/Solarite - Plan 9 From Outer Space. It causes light particles to... explode.

Vril - The life energies harnessed by an underground utopian civilization. The energies are controlled by staves and there's different type of staff to control Vril in different ways. It can be used to heal, to destroy, or to enhance organic material.

Herakleophorbia IV - The Food of the Gods of H.G. Well. Organisms that ingest this chemical quickly grow to 5 to 7 times their normal size. This is used primarily on livestock to increase their food yield, but it naturally gets eaten by pest animals. Many common household pest insects are now the size of a person's thumb or their hand! A rat is now 6 to 9ft long. And if some jerk feeds it to an Alligator... it now as large as a blue whale.

The New Accelerator - From the HG Wells story from the same name. Within the story, Prof. Gibberne creates a drug that enables the user’s mind and body to gain temporary super-speed, so that everything in the world appears frozen solid as time appears to slow.

There are downsides to being a 1901 version of the Flash however. Users are still subject to friction, so moving while on the drug causes your clothes to get singed (this same friction making it impossible to breathe is ignored, however).

Devil's Foot Root - From the Arthur Conan Doyle Sherlock Holmes story The Adventure of the Devil’s Foot. A poison made from an African root, which vaporizes when heated, leading to those exposed going mad or dying after inhaling the fumes.

 Basically, works like the Scarecrow’s fear toxin from Batman, and is considered rare enough that someone has to specifically use some from a stolen from the collection of someone who had to gather it personally as an explorer. At least, at the time.

The White Powder - The novel of The White Powder by Arthur Machen, wherein a student is prescribed a drug made from a mysterious white flakey substance. His sister begins to worry about his sudden changes in mood and personality, which is only compounded when his prolonged abuse of the titular White Powder causes the student to literally melt.

One of Machen’s more famous stories, would go on to be listed as among Lovecraft’s favorite's and inspiring future writers, from the finale of Lovecraft’s Cool Air to one Stephen King story where a tainted six pack turns a dude into a blob monster.

[missmaymay13]

enough - m.boldy

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

m.boldy x fem!oc | 4.5k

summary: based off of No I'm not in love & Purple lace bra by Tate Mcrae

masterlist

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Matt Boldy had been with the Minnesota Wild long enough to call the city home. The rink, the routine, the quiet post-practice coffees—he liked the rhythm of it all. Predictability was comforting. Stability, even more so.

Over the last few seasons, he'd grown especially close with defenseman Brock Faber. The Minnesota native was steady, dependable, sharp on the ice and off. The kind of guy Matt respected, the kind of friend who had his back without question. They were a well-oiled machine, on the ice and in life.

Brock talked about his family occasionally. Mentioned his parents, a few stories from childhood. But when it came to his younger sister, Alice, his tone always shifted—half amused, half exasperated.

"She's a little dangerous," Brock had warned once, during a quiet moment in the locker room. "Not in the criminal way or anything. Just... she lives on the edge. She's impulsive. A complete wild card."

Matt had nodded but didn't give it much thought. He'd met most of the Fabers already—family barbecues, charity events, the usual. But not Alice. She'd been off the grid the past few years, studying abroad, country-hopping across Europe like it was a sport. Paris, Prague, Rome, Madrid. Always somewhere new.

Now she was back.

And Matt was about to find out exactly what Brock meant.

It was after a solid home win. Spirits were high. A handful of the guys decided to grab drinks, and Matt—out of sheer camaraderie—tagged along. They ended up at a low-key bar downtown, tucked in the corner booth, still buzzing from the win.

That's when she showed up.

Alice Faber stumbled in at 11:30 p.m. like she owned the night, laughter spilling out of her as she breezed toward their table. She was already tipsy, the kind of tipsy that turned movement into a fluid sway, all confidence and chaos wrapped in one.

"Brooooock!" she sang, tossing an arm over her brother's shoulders, her hair falling in wild waves around her flushed face.

Brock didn't flinch. Just chuckled, shaking his head like he'd seen this a hundred times before.

"This," he said, glancing at the group, "is my sister. Alice."

Matt looked up, nodding politely—but the second his eyes landed on her, something lodged in his throat.

She was stunning.

Not just pretty. Stunning in that effortless, messily beautiful kind of way. Long brown hair, tousled like she hadn't bothered to brush it but still somehow perfect. Honey-tinted eyes that lit up when she laughed, her smile just on the edge of mischievous.

She was everything Matt wasn't.

He offered a hand. "Matt. Nice to meet you."

"Ooooh, the famous Boldy," she teased, dragging out his last name like it was something sweet on her tongue. Her words slurred just slightly, her smile wide. "I've heard things."

"Hope they're good," he muttered.

She laughed, loud and unbothered, before plopping down in the empty seat beside Brock, already chatting with one of the guys across the table like she'd known him for years.

Matt sat back. Watched. Listened.

She was magnetic. Loud, flirty, reckless. Her dress rode up slightly when she shifted in her seat, her boots propped on the edge of the table like she didn't have a care in the world. Her energy was all over the place—and it made his skin crawl.

She was a walking red flag for Matt. Immature. Chaotic. Exactly the kind of girl he didn't have time for.

And yet...

His eyes kept drifting back to her.

Nope. Absolutely not. Brock would kill him. And besides, he had hockey to focus on. He didn't need some adrenaline junkie with a pretty face and zero impulse control distracting him.

He didn't even like her.

So why couldn't he stop looking?

⸻

Despite the haze of vodka sodas and tequila shots that clouded that first night, Alice Faber remembered the moment she met Matt Boldy with annoying clarity.

He'd been sitting at the bar, pressed back into the booth like he was above it all. Like he'd already decided the night, and everyone in it, wasn't worth his time. Including her.

Especially her.

There was something about the way he looked at her—like she was a car crash in slow motion. Unimpressed. Detached. Like he'd already sized her up and filed her away under reckless, immature, waste of time. He didn't say much, just nodded and offered her a tight-lipped smile that didn't reach his eyes.

It pissed her off. Deep in her bones, in a way that made her fists curl and her chest burn.

And it wasn't a one-time thing. Every single time she saw him after that—at team events, at bars, at the occasional Faber-family dinner—he wore that same look. Cool. Unbothered. Detached. His default expression around her seemed to live somewhere between judgment and indifference.

She hated it.

She tried to ignore him. Truly, she did. But it was becoming increasingly difficult.

Brock had started pulling her into his world more now that she was back in Minnesota—game nights, casual hangs with the team, even weekend get-togethers that felt weirdly domestic. She wanted to be there, to be part of her brother's life again. But Matt was always there too. Lingering in corners, arms crossed, eyes on his phone or glued to the floor, never on her.

And yet she always found herself watching him.

Everyone else was intrigued by her travels. They asked questions. They listened to her stories about backpacking through the Alps or sleeping under the stars in Santorini. But not Matt.

Matt sat silently, disinterested. Detached. Like she was background noise.

God, he infuriated her.

But what infuriated her more—what confused her to no end—was the way her body betrayed her every time he was near.

The way her breath caught when she walked into Brock's apartment and saw him sitting there, shirtless, a glass of water in hand, his damp blond hair a tousled mess on top of his head. The way her spine went rigid when he met her gaze with that unreadable expression of his.

The way her pulse spiked when she watched him fight on the ice, brutal and beautiful, raw adrenaline radiating off of him.

And the suits. Don't even get her started on the game day suits.

She told herself it was just physical. That it was just a stupid, fleeting crush that would burn itself out. That if she ignored it long enough, it'd go away.

But she knew better.

There was a pull—magnetic and infuriating. She couldn't stand him. Couldn't stop thinking about him. Couldn't stop looking for him the moment she stepped into a room.

And she hated herself for it.

He didn't even know her. Not really. He had her all figured out in his stupid structured, judgmental brain, and yet somehow—despite everything—he was the one person who could make her pulse race just by breathing near her.

Alice Faber was many things—chaotic, impulsive, reckless, sure. But this?

This was dangerous.

⸻

It was a hot summer night in Minneapolis—the kind that stuck to your skin and made every breath feel a little heavier, a little slower.

The off-season had finally arrived, and for once, Matt Boldy allowed himself to relax. Just a little. A few drinks. A few laughs. He'd played well, earned his rest, and Brock had dragged him out with a group of the guys and their girlfriends for a rare night of letting loose.

It was supposed to be casual. Easy. Just a group of friends, a few rounds of tequila, and the kind of laughter that only came after a long, grinding season.

But then Alice walked in.

Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid, pieces falling into her face in that careless way that drove him insane. She wore a simple black tank top and denim shorts that looked like they'd been ripped apart by hand. Her skin glowed in the dim lighting, warm and golden, and her eyes caught his from across the room like she was daring him to keep looking.

He did.

It never should have happened. Matt knew better.

But one drink became two. Two became five. And somewhere between the third round of shots and the last call, their eyes locked—and held.

Longer than they should have.

Long enough to feel the heat bloom between them like wildfire.

The tension had been simmering for months, sharp and dangerous, waiting to ignite. And tonight, it did. It exploded.

They stumbled into his apartment like a match to gasoline. Hungry. Desperate. Clothes hit the floor like they were allergic to them, tossed into corners without a second thought. Hands roamed, mouths clashed, and gasps echoed off the walls. It was raw, breathless, messy in all the ways Matt wasn't.

But he couldn't stop. He didn't want to.

And neither did she.

It wasn't just lust. Not with the way he touched her like he'd been imagining this for months. Not with the way she whispered his name like a prayer. They were drunk, sure—but not drunk enough where they didn’t realize what they were doing. Not so drunk they couldn't feel how much they wanted each other. Despite all the alcohol, they were willing participants in this moment. They wanted this. Wanted each other.

They didn't sleep. Not really. They were too busy devouring each other.

Again. And again. And again.

And when the sun rose, casting soft light through the windows, Matt did what he always did when something scared him—

He ran.

⸻

Alice woke up alone.

The sheets were cold beside her. His side of the bed untouched, save for the lingering scent of his cologne—sharp, expensive, and infuriatingly addictive. It was soaked into her skin, tangled in her hair, imprinted into every inch of her body.

She blinked at the ceiling, heart pounding as the memories hit her all at once. The way he kissed her like he needed her. The low growl of her name. The things he said in the dark.

She'd felt it. That connection. That shift.

It hadn't been just sex. Not to her.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand—Brock.

"Hope you made it home safe. Text me when you're up."

Shit.

She sat up, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes before glancing around. Of course Matt's room was spotless. Minimalist. Everything in its exact place. The closet was color-coded, the nightstand clear except for a neatly folded oversized shirt—clearly left for her.

She tugged it on and padded into the living room.

Empty. Pristine. No sign of Matt.

"Matt?" she called out once. Twice. Nothing.

Then she saw the note.

Sitting alone on the kitchen island.

Neatly written, short, and cold.

‘Went out. Sorry for last night. Won't happen again. Just let yourself out.’

Alice stared at the words like they were in another language.

Sorry for last night.

Won't happen again.

Her jaw clenched, a flush rising up her neck that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with rage.

She had let her guard down for him. Ignored the way he looked at her like she was a disaster. Ignored every warning sign, every reason to walk away.

Because last night hadn't been meaningless. Not with the way he held her. Not with the way he touched her like he needed to prove something.

And now?

He was treating her like a one-night stand. Like some mistake he couldn't scrub off fast enough.

Alice's fists curled at her sides.

If he wanted to pretend like last night hadn't meant anything—fine.

But she was done playing nice.

Matt Boldy was about to learn what a real mistake looked like.

⸻

Alice Faber made it her personal mission to become Matt Boldy's worst nightmare.

Every time they were in the same room, she dialed it up—louder laughs, colder glances, zero effort to play polite. She didn't offer fake smiles. Didn't bother with meaningless small talk. She ignored him completely. Even if, truthfully, he hadn't exactly been begging for her attention.

Still. It was the principle.

She threw herself into chaos like it was therapy. Nights out with her friends. Flirting. Dancing. Losing herself in the noise of bars and the haze of strangers' hands. Anything to drown out the memory of that night.

That perfect, goddamn night.

For the most part, it worked—when Matt wasn't around.

But when he was...

It was useless.

Because no matter how hard she tried to bury it, she still felt it. That night clung to her skin like a bruise she couldn't shake. The way his voice dropped when he said her name. The way he touched her like he'd been starving.

She tried to convince herself it had meant nothing. A drunken mistake. A one-time lapse in judgment. But no matter how many times she repeated the lie, it didn't sit right. Not in her bones.

And deep down—deep down—she knew it hadn't been nothing to him either.

But Matt? Matt stayed quiet. Cool. Like always. And if Alice hadn't overheard him, she might've even believed he didn't care.

⸻

"Wait—you hooked up with someone?" Brock leaned over the bar, brow raised, beer in hand.

Matt shrugged, gaze fixed on the label of his bottle like it held the secrets to the universe.

Brock snorted. "Who was she?"

"Doesn't matter," Matt muttered. "It was a mistake."

A mistake.

Alice heard it from the hallway. Just a few words, muffled through the crowd, but they hit her like a gut punch.

A mistake.

Oh, screw that.

Whatever. Who cares.

She turned on her heel, eyes scanning the room until they landed on the guy who'd been trailing her all night, practically begging for a crumb of attention. Average-looking. Kind of cute. Reeked of cheap cologne and desperation. Perfect.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the crowded dance floor.

Her body moved with reckless precision—hips swaying, hair tumbling into her face, skin gleaming under the strobe lights. She didn't care that he pressed too close, didn't care that his breath smelled like beer and cigarettes.

He leaned in to kiss her, and she let him.

It was sloppy. Uninspired. Gross, really. The taste of nicotine clung to her tongue and her stomach turned—but she didn't stop.

She needed the distraction.

But all she could think about was Matt.

Matt didn't kiss like this. He kissed with control. With purpose. Like he knew he'd ruin her and was proud of it. He made her feel like nothing else existed when his lips were on hers. He made her ache.

God, stop. Stop comparing.

What the hell is going on?

⸻

From his seat across the room, Matt watched it unfold.

He saw the moment Alice grabbed that guy's hand. Saw her body moving against his like it was nothing. Saw her kiss him like she didn't care who was watching.

It made Matt's skin burn.

His fingers tightened around the neck of his beer, jaw clenched so tight it ached. He couldn't look away. Couldn't stop the nauseating twist in his gut.

He had no right to be jealous. He knew that.

He'd made his choice. He'd left her a note and walked away.

But it didn't matter.

Because there she was—right in front of him—and he wanted to rip that guy off of her like his life depended on it.

Then, just for a second, she pulled away from the guy.

And her eyes met his.

Brief. Electric. Devastating.

Something shifted that night.

Because after that, it didn't stop.

Alice was everywhere. Laughing too loud at team parties. Showing up with breathtaking outfits and different guys and that infuriating smirk that said she knew exactly what she was doing.

And Matt couldn't escape her.

Not in person. Not in his head. Not in his goddamn apartment where the left side of the bed still smelled faintly like her floral perfume. No matter how many times he washed the sheets, the scent clung.

She was a haunting.

And it was driving him insane.

Every time she walked into a room, it felt like a live wire had been dragged through his chest. Her messy hair. Her bold mouth. That effortlessly disheveled beauty that made him want to ruin her all over again.

He couldn't breathe.

She was in his blood.

And the worst part?

He wanted more.

⸻

Alice had started showing up at more games.

She'd always been around occasionally—sitting with family, tagging along to events—but now, she was frequenting. Often. Sitting in a box with her girlfriends, laughing, sipping wine, never once looking in Matt's direction.

And yet, he felt her. Every single time.

Matt made it a point to never look too obviously. Never linger too long. But he always knew where she was. Could feel her gaze—or lack of it—like a presence on his skin.

Then she brought someone new.

Jake.

Matt had seen him before. On her Instagram. In tagged photos at bars. Smiling in the background of her stories. He was everywhere. And now, apparently, here—at a home game, sitting right next to her like he belonged.

The audacity.

Matt didn't know who the guy was. Just that he wore overpriced streetwear and couldn't stop touching her arm. And that made Matt feel... something.

Something feral.

What he didn't know—what he couldn't know—was that Jake was a decoy. A distraction. A willing participant in Alice's very calculated game of emotional hide-and-seek.

They were casual. Friends, sort of. He knew she was hung up on someone else. So was he so he didn't care. They scratched an itch and moved on.

But Matt didn't know that.

All Matt saw was Alice bringing another guy to his rink.

So during warmups, Matt did something he normally never did.

He made it personal.

He skated over and situated himself directly in front of them. Firing off shots with calculated aggression, every snipe sharper than the last. His scowl deepened with each slap of the puck. Until, without a second of hesitation, he launched a shot just high enough and just fast enough to make the boards rattle like hell—right in front of Jake.

The guy flinched. Alice flinched too.

When she looked up, Matt was already staring. Not at Jake.

At her.

Eyes dark. Jaw tight.

No words.

Just a look that screamed what he wouldn't dare say out loud.

⸻

That night, everyone ended up at Brock's place. Post-win hang. Low-key.

To Matt's bitter relief, Alice showed up alone.

She floated around the room like she always did—chaotic and warm and completely untouchable. He stayed quiet. Distant. But his eyes never left her.

Until she got up to grab another drink.

He moved before he could stop himself.

Followed her into the kitchen like a shadow. Waited until she was at the island, back turned, before stepping in behind her—close enough that she could feel the heat of him.

She turned, startled—but not surprised.

His hands came down on either side of her, palms flat against the counter, caging her in.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he growled, voice low and sharp.

Alice raised an eyebrow, cool as ever. "Getting a drink?"

"You know what I mean."

Her smirk was dangerous. Lethal. She leaned in, voice sweet like poison.

“Oh Jake?”

"I'm just having fun, Matty." She dragged out the nickname like a tease.

Then she leaned in, whispering close to his ear. “After all… it was just a mistake right?”

The words sliced through him.

He stared at her, expression dark, jaw tight, chest heaving.

But she didn't give him a chance to reply.

Instead, she placed a hand on his chest, gave him a gentle little shove, and slipped past him with a sway of her hips and a flick of her hair.

Matt stood there, fists clenched at his sides, pulse pounding.

And for the first time in a long time, he realized—

He was losing control.

⸻

It was just supposed to be a normal post-game night out. Drinks. Laughter. A little celebration. Nothing wild.

But then Alice walked in.

She was wearing black—tight in all the right places, hair falling in messy curls over her shoulders, mouth painted red like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Matt saw her before anyone else did.

He felt his stomach twist the second her eyes skipped over him like he didn't exist.

Then he saw it. One of the younger guys—new to the team, clueless—grinning like an idiot and beelining toward her. Matt tried to ignore it. Tried.

Until the kid slid an arm around Alice's waist.

Until he leaned in close and whispered something in her ear.

Until she laughed.

That was it.

Matt didn't think.

He moved.

Through the crowd, past his teammates, straight toward them. The guy barely had time to register what was happening before Matt's hand was on Alice's wrist, yanking her away from the bar.

"Hey—" the guy started, confused.

"Don't," Matt growled. Didn't even look at him.

Alice tried to pull away. "What the hell—Matt?!"

He didn't answer. Didn't stop. He dragged her outside into the cool night air, jaw clenched, pulse hammering, the only thought in his head: Get her away. Now.

He opened the passenger door of his car and looked at her.

"In," he said.

"No."

"Alice."

She stared at him, furious. But something in his expression made her hesitate. Something raw. Something that looked a lot like desperation.

She got in.

The drive was silent.

Tense.

She slammed the door when they got to her apartment, storming inside with fire in her veins.

Matt followed.

The second he stepped into her space, he froze.

It was chaos. A half-made bed. Shoes by the door. Coffee mugs stacked beside plants on the windowsill. Polaroids on the fridge. Books half-open on the couch.

It was the exact opposite of his place.

It was so her.

"What the fuck was that?" she snapped, spinning to face him. "You don't get to show up out of nowhere and play caveman, Matt! You ignore me for weeks—treat me like I'm some damn mistake—and then what? You see me talking to someone and you get to just claim me?"

He didn't speak.

He just looked at her.

"Say something!" she yelled, voice cracking. "Say literally anything! Because you're driving me insane and I don't even like you and I—"

"Don't," Matt cut her off, voice low. Hoarse.

She blinked. "Don't what?"

"Don't say you hate me."

Silence.

His chest was rising and falling like he'd just skated a full period. His jaw twitched. His hands were shaking.

"I fucked up, okay?" he said, stepping closer, eyes burning into hers. "I didn't know what to do with you. You drive me fucking insane, Alice. You never stop talking. You leave a mess everywhere you go. You flirt with everyone like it's nothing. You do whatever the hell you want and it's so—you're so—"

He gripped the wall beside her, caging her in. Breathing heavy.

"I can't get you out of my head."

Her breath hitched.

"I see you in every room. I smell you on my sheets. I can't even breathe without thinking about you." His voice dropped. "You're under my skin. You ruined me."

Alice's heart pounded. Her fists clenched at her sides. "Then why did you—"

"Because I was scared."

He leaned in. Inches from her lips. "Because I knew if I let myself want you, I'd never stop."

She stared at him, lips parted, everything inside her screaming.

"Matt..."

He didn't wait.

His mouth crashed into hers.

It was rough. Desperate. All teeth and tongue and clawing hands. She moaned into him, pulling at his shirt, fingers sliding into his hair as he backed her into the wall, kissing her like he was trying to rewrite history.

His hands roamed—down her sides, gripping her thighs, lifting her like she weighed nothing as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She felt him everywhere—hot, hard, relentless.

"You're mine," he growled against her throat. "You've always been mine."

"Then prove it," she gasped.

And he did.

All. Damn. Night.

⸻

Alice never meant for it to go this far.

What started as a game—a distraction, a way to forget the boy who left her in tangled sheets and silence—turned into something she couldn't shake.

Matt Boldy had ruined her.

He ruined her with one night, one kiss, one whisper

And now, standing in the eye of the storm, hoodie on her kitchen counter, her brother's voice slicing through her walls like glass, it all came crashing down.

Brock's jaw was tight, his eyes wide with disbelief. In his hand, Matt's hoodie—the one she'd stupidly worn to grab coffee that morning.

"You want to explain this?" he asked, voice sharp.

Alice opened her mouth, but no words came out.

"Is it Matt?" Brock pressed. "Tell me it's not Matt."

She didn't have to say anything.

The silence was answer enough.

"You've been sneaking around with him?" he asked, disbelief melting into anger. "How long?"

"Brock—"

"No. You don't get to talk your way out of this. He's my teammate. My friend. And you—" he ran a hand through his hair— "You knew exactly what you were doing."

"I didn't plan it," she whispered. "It just... happened."

The front door opened.

And there he was.

Matt stepped inside, freezing the second he saw Brock, Alice, and the hoodie between them.

He looked like he'd just been shoved into a nightmare he knew was coming.

"Brock," he said quietly.

"You," Brock snapped, rounding on him. "You've got balls showing up here after this."

"I didn't know—"

"But you let it happen." Brock's voice cracked. "What was it? Just sex? Some secret thing behind my back?"

Matt was quiet.

Then he looked at Alice.

His voice dropped.

"No."

He stepped forward.

"It wasn't just sex."

Brock laughed bitterly. "Right. Okay."

"I'm in love with her."

Silence slammed into the room like a bomb.

Brock froze.

Alice's stomach dropped.

"I'm in love with her," Matt said again. "I've been trying to ignore it. I told myself I couldn't want her—that I shouldn't. But I do. I love her. I'm done pretending."

Alice's breath caught.

She hadn't expected that. Not here. Not like this.

And not from him.

Brock's anger faltered, disbelief painting his face. He knew Matt. Knew him better than almost anyone. Matt didn't do relationships. He didn't chase girls, didn't sleep around, didn't risk distractions—ever.

So if he was saying this... he meant it.

"I need some air," Brock muttered. "I need to get the hell out of here."

He didn't look back.

When the door shut, it left a silence so thick, it nearly choked her.

Alice turned slowly to Matt.

"You love me?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

He nodded. Stepped closer.

"I know I don't deserve to say it after the way I treated you. But I'm saying it anyway. Because I do."

He exhaled, finally letting himself feel it all.

"I love the way you make everything messy. I love how loud you are. How chaotic. How alive. I love that you drive me insane, because it means I actually feel something. And I don't want to go another day pretending I don't need you."

Her throat tightened.

"You hurt me," she said quietly. "You made me feel like I was something to regret."

"I know," he said. "And I'll spend every day proving you're not."

A beat of silence.

Then she smiled. Just a little.

"That hoodie's mine now."

He huffed a laugh. "It always was."

She stepped into him, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and kissed him like it was the last time.

Only it wasn't.

Because this time—it was real.

No secrets.

No running.

No games.

Just Matt and Alice. Messy. Flawed. In love.

And finally, finally—

Enough.

[charlieg1rl]

—𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐬

𝟎𝟒. 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐰𝐜. 𝟏.𝟔𝐤

the crowd roared as the auditorium lights dimmed, leaving a single spotlight to bathe the stage in a soft, anticipatory glow. it was one of the practice performances before the official announcement of the caa’s annual talent showcase though neither ryujin nor hyerin had any idea the stakes would soon escalate. for them, this was just another chance to bring their all to the stage.

dressed in complimentary outfits—hyerin in a colorful top and a black leather skirt with metallic accents that shimmered under the lights and ryujin in an equally striking white corset top and leather shorts—they exuded confidence as they took their places.

the first notes of "midas touch" echoed through the room, a hypnotic blend of synths and bass drops. the audience, a mix of students and faculty, quieted instantly, their attention glued to the two performers.

hyerin stepped forward, her voice cutting through the air with a sultry richness that sent chills down everyone’s spines. she commanded the stage effortlessly, her movements fluid and graceful as she transitioned between singing and sharp, precise steps. her years of dance training were on full display—every turn, every pop of her body perfectly aligned with the beat.

the emotions in her voice matched the lyrics of "midas touch" perfectly: longing, tension, and a hint of vulnerability. the crowd couldn’t take their eyes off her as she belted the first chorus, her voice soaring with a raw power that filled the room.

ryujin’s energy was magnetic as she stepped in for her rap verse. her sharp, staccato delivery hit like lightning, each word dripping with attitude and charisma. her movements were bold and precise, with just the right amount of swag to contrast hyerin’s elegance.

the two of them locked eyes during the transition into the pre-chorus, seamlessly syncing their moves in a jaw-dropping duet. their chemistry was undeniable—a perfect balance of fire and ice, ryujin’s fiery intensity playing off hyerin’s cool, composed aura.

when the bridge hit, the lights flashed in rhythm with the pulsating beat, illuminating the duo in alternating colors. the audience erupted in cheers as hyerin and ryujin broke into the choreography’s signature move: a synchronized spin that ended in a dramatic pose, their expressions fierce and unrelenting.

the dance break was explosive. hyerin’s movements were graceful yet powerful, her years of technical training evident in every leap and twist. ryujin matched her with raw, unfiltered energy, adding her own flair to the routine with sharp isolations and floorwork that brought an extra edge to their performance.

as the final chorus played, their voices harmonized beautifully, creating a hauntingly emotional sound that resonated with the audience. they moved across the stage as one, their steps perfectly in sync, their voices blending like they were born to perform together.

the final note lingered in the air as the two froze in their ending pose—hyerin with her hand stretched toward the crowd and ryujin kneeling with a smirk, their expressions daring anyone to challenge their dominance.

the auditorium erupted into thunderous applause, whistles, and cheers. students were on their feet, clapping and screaming their names, while the faculty exchanged impressed nods.

hyerin and ryujin walked off stage, their adrenaline still pumping.

“that was insane,” hyerin panted, running a hand through her hair.

“you weren’t so bad yourself,” ryujin teased, giving her a playful shove. “you almost missed that turn, though.”

“oh, shut up, miss ‘almost tripped during the spin,’” hyerin shot back, but her grin betrayed her playful tone.

as they reached the backstage lounge, they were greeted by their classmates, including giselle, winter, karina, and ningning, who were clapping and hyping them up.

“you guys killed it!” ningning exclaimed, practically bouncing on her heels.

“yeah, but wait until you hear this.” karina leaned in with a mischievous smirk. “did you know this year’s talent showcase has a twist?”

ryujin froze, furrowing her brow. “what twist?”

winter crossed her arms, clearly amused.

“only one member from each group can participate. and once the final four are picked, it becomes a duo competition.” giselle explained.

hyerin blinked, her mouth opening slightly in shock. “what?!”

ningning giggled. “yep. and they’re announcing it officially tomorrow.”

ryujin groaned, rubbing her temples. “great. guess we’ll have to figure out who’s taking the stage for itzy. as if that won’t be a battle in itself.”

hyerin’s mind raced, her excitement mingling with dread. the showcase was always competitive, but this year’s twist added a whole new layer of tension.

“looks like things are about to get… interesting,” she murmured, a flicker of determination sparking in her eyes.

-----

the itzy dorm was alive with chatter as the five members gathered in their living room, snacks sprawled across the coffee table and laptops open with performance clips playing on repeat. they had spent the last hour analyzing the rules for the talent showcase, but the atmosphere was tense as the reality of only sending one member to represent them sank in.

“okay,” ryujin started, leaning back against the couch. “let’s just cut to the chase. we all know the answer.”

“do we?” yuna piped up from the floor, hugging a pillow. “because i’ve been running through scenarios, and i’m not sure how we decide this.”

“i mean,” yeji said calmly, though her tone was firm, “we need someone who’s the most well-rounded. someone who can handle both singing and dancing equally well without sacrificing one for the other.”

all eyes slowly turned to hyerin, who was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, munching on a piece of dried mango. she froze mid-bite, looking up at the group like a deer caught in headlights.

“wait… me?” she asked, her voice muffled by the snack.

“of course, you,” chaeryeong said, rolling her eyes affectionately. “you’re the best fit. your breath control is insane because of all your dance training, and your vocals have only gotten stronger.”

“not to mention,” ryujin added with a smirk, “you’re the most competitive. if anyone can hold their own against whoever the other groups send, it’s you.”

“but…” hyerin hesitated, looking between her members. “what if i screw it up? this isn’t just about me—it’s about all of us.”

yeji reached over and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “that’s exactly why it has to be you. we trust you, hyerin. you’ve got this.”

hyerin swallowed hard, the weight of the decision settling in her chest. but as she looked around at her members, all of whom wore expressions of unwavering confidence, she felt a surge of determination.

“alright,” she finally said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “let’s win this thing.”

meanwhile, at the stray kids dorm, the atmosphere was equally charged. the eight boys had gathered in their living room, jisung and changbin sprawled on the floor while hyunjin was draped over the armrest of the couch. seungmin sat stiffly in an armchair, already sensing where this conversation was headed, but his mind was still on his previous conversation with hyerin and findings from last night.

“okay, we all saw the rules,” bang chan said, his voice steady but his expression serious. “only one member can represent us. we need to make the smartest choice.”

“well, it’s obvious,” felix said, leaning against the wall. “if itzy sends hyerin, we need someone who can match her.”

“match her?” jisung scoffed, shaking his head. “you mean beat her. have you heard her vocals? she’s a beast. her stage presence alone—”

“we get it, jisung,” hyunjin interrupted, waving him off. “she’s good. but we’re better.”

“not all of us are better,” changbin muttered, earning a light shove from felix.

“we need someone who can go head-to-head with her,” chan said, looking around the room. his gaze settled on seungmin, who had been suspiciously quiet the entire time.

“what?” seungmin finally asked, narrowing his eyes at the leader.

“you’re the obvious choice,” chan said simply.

“hyunjin’s a great performer,” seungmin countered. “changbin’s rap could—”

“nope,” changbin cut him off. “i’m not going up there to get steamrolled by hyerin. sorry, but her vocals are insane.”

hyunjin shrugged. “honestly, i think we all know she’s neck and neck with you, seungmin. no one else in the group—or on campus—can match her vocally like you can.”

“not to mention,” felix chimed in, “your stage presence is so polished. if she’s bringing her dance background, you’ll need that level of poise to balance it out.”

seungmin sighed, leaning back in his chair. “you’re all way too confident about this.”

“because we’ve seen you,” jisung said, a rare moment of seriousness softening his tone. “we know what you’re capable of.”

“and the campus does, too,” chan added. “if it’s hyerin versus you, it’s going to be the battle everyone’s talking about. and i’m betting on you to win.”

seungmin ran a hand through his hair, his lips pressing into a thin line. he didn’t love the idea of being singled out like this, but he couldn’t deny that the challenge intrigued him.

“fine,” he said finally, his voice steady. “but don’t come crying to me if i lose.”

the room erupted into cheers and playful shoves, but chan’s voice cut through the noise.

“you’re not going to lose, seungmin,” he said firmly. “we believe in you.”

-----

word of the itzy and stray kids picks spread like wildfire across the entertainment academy campus.

“did you hear? itzy picked hyerin. of course, they did. who else?”

“yeah, but stray kids picked seungmin. this is going to be insane. they’re both insane vocalists.”

“do you think they’ll make it to the final four? imagine them getting paired up as a duo!”

“i don’t know, man. they’re like sworn enemies or something. i heard they can’t stand each other.”

“which makes it even better! the drama is going to be wild.”

previous | masterlist | next

tags: @jeonginsbaee, @rhonnie23, @everythingboutkpop, @omgsecretsecret

[empresskrennic]

♟️👑 Empress x Krennic Chapter 1

When you throw down the gauntlet, be prepared for someone to pick it up... and kiss it.

🚫 18+, MINORS DNI

Chapter 1: Kiss the Gauntlet 🔥

When my boot crossed the edge of the Delta shuttle’s ramp and softly kissed the docking bay, a thousand stormtroopers in crisp lines of pure white snapped to attention.

Echoing in a singular clap, the sound was as clean and impressive as the station itself. Idly, I compared my glistening boot and the polished lines of the decking, wondering who had expended more effort in preparing for my arrival: Krennic, who had obviously thrown down all his chips in the hope of winning my favor…or me.

My pause was not unnoticed. I could feel the annoyance running hot in the veins of my assistants, who stood six respectful steps behind me, waiting warily for my next move and knowing they could not predict it.

I cracked an affectionate half-smile at my boot.

Their thoughts always betrayed them. I threw them off balance. Kept them wondering, never able to calibrate accurately to their Empress’s actions. I admit it, I deliberately deceived them; but in my defense, it was a great strategic game. Tons of fun.

And it was my hallmark, my callsign. Surprising, unnerving, seemingly unnecessary actions I threw my entire authority behind, threatening (and sometimes doling out) demotions or transfers to Hoth for the warm-blooded and Tatooine for those who preferred cold. I’m not mean or crazy. And I’m certainly not a psychopath, like that one-dimensional genius Palpatine.But seriously…if the Empress of the Galactic Empire wants to shine her own boots, she shouldn’t have to shoo her assistants away more than once.

But unfortunately…no, not unfortunately. It’s actually sweet. Just annoying…I had a kind of magnetism that attracted people who wanted to care for me, to protect me like some kind of incontinent grandma.

Or incontinent Grand Moff.

I chuckled to myself at the joke, eyes still studying the shiny boot tip touching the equally shiny docking bay, internally betting on who would try to get my attention first: would the stormtroopers shift uncomfortably, or would my assistants clear their throats?

They cared for me. Truly, I knew. Mentally, I forced myself to acknowledge it, to appreciate it, like a rich kid who really likes steak but is served world-class chicken instead. But I couldn’t shake the fact that I hated it. The gentle cronyism chafed like a left-handed blaster bolt in a plasma coupling.

I liked a good fight. But it felt like the galaxy had been drained of worthy opponents after the war. I hoped my successes on the Cat, the ISD Catastrophe, weren’t the cause. It very well could have been because I did so well that they made me Empress after Palpatine’s unfortunate accident that I definitely had nothing to do with.

Rustling brought my gaze up from my boot. Not my assistants; no, the sound came from straight ahead, down the middle of the stormtrooper gauntlet. All at once, my assistants’ annoyance suddenly ran ice cold.

A swath of fluttering cape in a creamy white just barely offset from the stormtroopers’ stark white—deliberately chosen to be maddening, I observed with cautiously sprouting glee—announced his arrival. The cape was so bloody interesting I stood inelegantly still with one foot forward, frozen as I drank in the fluid dynamics of his chosen game piece.

When he drew near, I tore my attention from his magnificently strategic fashion choice and stepped down, waiting for him to come to me. His body was hard and lean, his gait long and aggressive—no, get it together—and his uniform was the same rebellious cream white as his cape. His boots were as shiny as mine.

His tan face was stoic, with narrow, pouty lips and a heavy brow. The creases in his skin were created by deep concentration and study rather than humor, anger, or anxiety. His hair was a confusing tapestry of pale shades, from silver-gray to wheat blonde. Mesmerizing. Made for combing with fingers—

His eyes were the only part of him he could not strategically select for this game. They were authentic, ice blue, and bearing down on me with an equal level of assessment. But there was complexity there I couldn’t identify.

I tasted his feelings. Trepidation. Determination.

A glimmer of desire—quickly quashed.

He didn’t yet know it, but he’d just made the first move on my board.

Or did he?

“Finally,” I murmured quietly as he stepped into my personal space. He locked his lean body into a snappy, flawless salute.

But then his hand twitched.

Nearly flawless.

That was unexpected.

Our eyes locked.

It had been deliberate.

Something old and cold and cynical melted in me.

Delicious.

As he took me in for the first time in person, not in a holo, something changed in the subtle expression of his eyes, morphing into something hard and analytical. It looked good on him. I found myself ejected from my comfortable home arena and floating in his…lost, marveling, and waiting for his large, black-gloved hands to reach down from the heavens and save me from the stars.

Was I attracted to the man, or to his game?

I lost my own internal bet as I cleared my throat, regaining my attention and composure. “Director,” I said simply, offering him room for an opening gambit. Most couldn’t resist the opportunity to speak at length to the Empress. Paired with my Force sensitivity, it always telegraphed their intention and methods and made for easy conquest.

But this time, I couldn’t shake the feeling I had already lost the advantage.

I felt a flash of undefined heat…passion? What kind?... from him, then his mind closed. Either he is sensitive also, or he is in complete control of himself. Disciplined.

The latter thrilled me.

“My Empress,” Krennic said gravely, lowering his salute. His accent tasted like caramel, gritty with sea salt. A subtle emphasis on the first word shot me further out of my carefully cultivated, stable orbit and I lost control for the first time in a long time.

Electric warmth shot through my body from deep within as I gazed into the depths of his blue eyes. I sucked in a breath, my lips parting at the intensity of my sudden desire.

His focus flicked quickly to my mouth. Creases formed at the corners of his eyes. Relief? No. Satisfaction. The bastard was holding in a laugh of triumph.

That did it. Silently, I cursed and imagined slapping myself.

It was my move now. I lifted my chin.

Blowing out my breath, I paused, then held out my hand, wrist limp, palm down.

Kiss it.

It was an ancient custom that had never been observed in the Empire because who would want to kiss Palpatine’s wrinkly old fist? I’d never bothered to demand such indulgent genuflection. Until right now.

Between two master players, it was a hell of a gauntlet to throw.

Undecipherable thunder tore across his face. Then the mass of onlooking stormtroopers, the entire Stardust 3 project, and the galaxy itself faded to inconsequence as Director Krennic knelt in a grand billowing of cape, gently took my hand in his gloved hands, and pressed his soft, warm lips to my skin.

The texture of his carefully combed blonde-gray hair bent over my hand made the moment too intimate. He was too close, we were touching too much. I itched to run my fingers through it, to separate the layers, to understand him and the way he played the game.

Instead, my fingers closed around his, and I felt his clench in response. No emotions. Controlled.

But his breath betrayed…something. It was hot and quick, and I felt his lips move subtly. He stayed there far too long. Either he was taking his time, getting the measure of me to learn my weaknesses, or he had…other aspirations.

Maybe both.

His kiss felt like a promise, felt like a threat. It felt like a cheat code and a decisive defeat. It was beseeching and hungry. It was overwhelmingly everything, possibilities without probabilities.

Anticipation warmed my chest as his unreadable face lifted, his Hoth-ice eyes drilling into mine from beneath the shadow of his heavy brow. I blinked slowly, unable to tear my gaze away, unwilling to flinch first.

A promise, I decided.

But of what?

I could not wait to play Krennic’s game.

-------

CHAPTER 2: The Rough Hands of a Director 🔥 →

← BACK TO TABLE OF CONTENTS

-------

Taglist: @99tech99 😘

[feral-ferrule]

Charity and Decadence

Chapter 3

word count 5060ish

Clone Wars Echo x Earthling f!Reader OC

Fic Masterlist

warnings: angst, guilt, slavery, lactation, nothing too much yet, more flashbacks,

You figured there were a few ways to go about this. The med bay didn’t seem to have anything in the way of an NG tube which you could put in place if his swallow function was really gone. You just didn’t trust your ability with the force to manipulate the milk down his throat and into his stomach. So you just had to hope for the best and prepare the other two solutions you could find supplies for. One was simply a syringe and the other was a sponge you taped to a tongue depressor. 

You knew that you’d have to take it slow so he didn’t suffer from refeeding syndrome, a complication of starvation treatment. As his body switched from consuming its own fats and muscle and started using carbohydrates again he could develop a whole list of problems including seizures.  You found some bags of iv electrolyte fluids to administer to the implanted port on his arm you noticed yesterday. 

The schedule the med droid had left for you on a data pad showed a window of time coming up in which the man would not be online being used for their secret endeavors, so you decided to fully unhook him and bring him into the med bay. 

You went out to the control panels below the stasis chamber and could see the lights indicating whether the man was online were off so you elevated the gurney’s tilt bed into position. Then initiated the sequence of button pushing and lever pulling to safely disengage the man from the stasis life supports. For the neural anesthesia program step you had noticed a dial above its button turned all the way to full power. You dialed it back to half, grateful that this didn’t involve typing code. You hoped that would make him groggy but able to respond and swallow. Pressing the button you sent out a plea to the force for success. 

You initiated the release sequence and could hear the tubes and wiring decoupling. The chamber doors swung open with a hiss and the lift bed moved in closer which magnetized points on his metal implants to itself. You lowered the bed down out of the billowing gasses to lay flat and checked his positioning. Then you turned his head gently so his nose wasn’t smushed. He felt so cold and had spots of ice crystals scattered over him. You left the bed’s magnetization on in case he woke up and tried rolling off, but you didn’t strap him down with the restraints you had seen earlier.  You directed the bed to the med bay. 

When you got there and locked the bed to stay stationary  you realized that you hadn’t planned how to get him sat up to help swallow. So you demagnetized the surface, pressed the switch for the extension to slide out along one side of the bed and rolled him as gently as possible onto his back. Once on his back you positioned him back over onto the main surface and retracted the extension. Despite his emaciation he was still pretty solid and you had quite the work out wrangling his body into place as carefully and tenderly as possible. Fortunately his prosthetic legs were no heavier than natural legs. They must be made with advanced materials, you figured. You remagnetized the bed and slowly raised the top half so he was elevated and couldn’t slump over.  You hooked up a bag of fluids to his port on his arm and started the drip.  

You sat on a stool and took a deep breath, coughing and feeling a burning in your eyes. The air filters in this facility must not be working very well. Next time you’d for sure wear your gear. This was your first proper look at him. Despite his sunken cheeks and eyes, his features were all clone, but he was so very pale. You had seen a few clones during your time with the Union. They were easy to come by, not considered real people, and preferred experimental victims. But this was the closest you’d been to one since Dantooine when you helped search for wounded among the dead. 

His color was much too close to death. 

You noticed the bag of fluids was empty so you removed it from the port and tossed it in the disposal chute. The man stirred. His eyes blinking and scrunching shut. Then he started flinching and squirming a bit, clearly growing agitated.  ‘Oops,’ you thought, ‘guess I woke him up too much.’ You thought he must not like the brighter light so you dashed over to the switch and turned off all the lights except for the ones under the cabinets. You went back over to him and touched his hand. 

“Hi, my name is Choy, I’m here to help you, please don’t be afraid,” you soothed. 

This seemed to calm him and he tried looking at you but he didn’t seem able to open his eyes all the way or focus. So you continued talking to him in a soft voice and stroking the back of his hand.

“I was hoping you could try drinking something.”

This was it. As weird as you felt about this, you kept reminding yourself that there wasn’t any other thing you could try to save him from starvation. 

“I’m going to put something in your mouth, if that’s ok, do you think you can suck on it?”  You dipped the surgical sponge in the milk and soaked some up. Your other hand reached for his face, “I am going to touch your face if that’s ok.” Your fingertips brushed his cheek and down his jaw. He leaned into your touch as much as he could with the magnetic hold the bed had on his head. You brought the sponge up to his lips and pressed his jaw down a bit, “Open up, please.”  He did and tasted the milk on the sponge. “It’s.. milk. Try sucking it out of the sponge.”  He swallowed and you let out the breath you were holding. This was going to work.  He was doing so well. 

You soothed his cheek with your hand, “Ok open up and I’ll get more, alright?” He stopped sucking and pushed the sponge out with his tongue. You dipped the sponge back in the milk and brought it to his mouth again. He opened on his own this time and drained the sponge again, swallowing. There was enough for one more sponge-full but you wanted to try the syringe, he seemed to be doing really well swallowing. You drew up the rest into the syringe and turned back to him. He was trying to watch you through heavy lidded eyes. His hand trying to move and grasp. 

“Hey, I’m here,” you said with a smile. 

He rasped a sound trying to talk. 

“I have a little more, this time it’s in a syringe. I can put a small amount in your mouth for you to swallow.”

You held up the syringe of milk in his line of sight. His eyes widened and he tried to lean away from it, “No nononono,” he was panicking and managed to free his hand from the magnet which he brought up and smacked at the syringe sending it flying. You hopped back from him scared he’d continue to strike out at you. But he settled down mumbling “no, not again, no no no.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry, I won’t use the syringe,” he peeked up at you at the fear in your eyes and he completely deflated, a tear falling down his cheek. Dammit your heart was breaking for him, but you were also thinking now this might be a really dangerous situation. He was a clone, a trained soldier and even if he was drugged and starved he might be able to hurt you. 

He put his hand back down on the table next to him and blinked at you, more tears tracked down his cheek.  Then he passed out. The window of time you had was closing so it was just as well. You quickly rolled him onto his stomach, took him back out to the stasis room, hooking up the long lines to his head, dried his tears with your sleeve and replaced him back in the awful chamber. 

“Well that could have gone better.” You said out loud and heaved a sigh, headed back into the med bay and started cleaning up. You gathered the cup, sponge on a stick, and found the syringe still full of milk. The whole thing played over in your mind, the look of terror and pain on the man’s face, his strength and fast reflexes, your fear, his regret and then him begging for more milk. Damn, you felt so awful. As you threw the items down the chute that led to an incinerator you felt a gloom of despair and shame settle over you. Why did you think it was a good idea? Just another absurdity of your existence in this universe. This place was cruel and cold and grimey and callous. Your tears mixed with the antiseptic as you wiped down all the surfaces that you had touched in the med bay and then the repulsor lift bed. You ran the cleaning cloth over the controls for good measure and threw out the cloth. 

By then you had settled down and remembered you really didn’t have many options with the situation. The man was starving, your life may even depend on his survival. You’d seen plenty of poor job performances or accidents lead to the worker being fined and sent to even worse “assignments” to spend the rest of their lives working off the debt. That’s not far off from your current situation. Except, when you were done with this, it was off to the devil you didn’t know, but also did know- at least the movie and tv version. Which had all turned out to be tame compared to this reality so far. 

It was late, you checked the man’s vitals on the controls and left the stasis room to go down the lift to your quarters. The droids stationed at the lift scanned you and stepped aside to let you through. Back on the residential level you passed those droids and made your way to the storage in the mess, picked out a ration pack and choked it down with a water. At least the air was better on this level and your eyes and lungs weren’t irritated. 

You had a long hot shower and felt slightly better. Went through the monotony of getting ready for bed. The collar’s battery was almost dead so you took the opportunity to reach out in the force to not feel so lonely. First you felt the tower- all metal and tubing and electricity. And the man, who felt so very lonely and sad like last time, only now he also felt a glimmer of something in his heart. It was like hope-sadness-ache, you couldn’t put your finger on exactly what. Stretching further you felt a village of people who had such a strange feeling in the force you knew they were very much not human. Then you cast out as far as you could go, letting the whole of the force wash through you as much as the dying collar would let it. You sent out all your heartache and need into the force and begged for someone to come help you and help this man. “Please. If you can feel this,  we need help,” you whispered. 

And it whispered back.

[[Help you will have. For the clone you must care. In the meantime]]

 A knock came at the door and you fell on the cot. Were you floating??  

“Ma’am we are here to service your collar. Please open up and let us in.”

”Ok, hold on,” you called out, finding your footing on the floor. You hit the door switch and it slid open. The two security droids from earlier entering. 

“This won’t take long.” The one said. Then turned to the other,  “Now what did they say to do?” A thought suddenly came to you. If you could get them to depower it completely you could get full access to the force. If you came up with a plan to escape, you’d need all your abilities, especially if you were going to take the clone with you.

“You take the old one out and throw it in the garbage chute then slide the new one in place. It’s right here,” you pointed at the battery pack on the right side of the collar. As you pointed your mind slid along the droid’s circuitry and found its central processing unit. You used the force to flood its memory center with repeats of what you just said. With the collar still operational that was as good as you could do. 

“Oh yeah that sounds familiar.” Said the droid with the battery.

“Are you sure about that? I thought there was another step,” said the second droid.

“Oh that’s just you need to check the light that it’s fully charged and good to go. Last step,” you smiled, “ thank you for helping me with this.” You gave them both your most innocent and sweetest smile.

“See I told you she’s nice, not like the rest of them,” said the first one. He slid the old battery out and tossed it in the garbage and the force hit you full throttle. It had been a long time since you felt this. There were actually two power ports in the collar and the procedure was to put a fresh one in the empty side before sliding the spent one out of the other. So you hadn’t experienced the force like this since your brief time with Master Windu. You could feel exactly where in the droids’ circuitry that one little snap of metal would essentially kill them. 

*Click. Deadness, quiet. Two droids looking at your glazed expression. Oh yeah. “All good guys! Do you have names?” Droids were so easy to redirect.

“I’m RO-GR562390072-“

“No, I mean like nicknames people have given you.”

They looked at eachother and shook their heads, “No, no one’s ever given us a name,” the first one said. 

“Alright then I’ll give you names,” you clasped your hands in front of yourself and bounced on your toes looking delighted. “Now what should they be?” You thought of pairs of amusing names that you could call them to their faces. “How about Lenny and Squiggy?” 

“I call Lenny,” said the first one “You can be Squiggy.” The second droid nodded, “Wow none of the other biologicals ever gave us anything, huh, Lenny? You were right about this one. Ok ma’am see you tomorrow.”  And they left chattering about their new nicknames.

Now you could breathe and process what you had just felt in the force before those two clankers came. You had for sure felt a connection with someone out there, someone kind and powerful. Not Master Windu but not unlike him, another Jedi you hoped. What did they say? It sounded like how yoda talks. You’d have help and you had to take care of the clone. Alright. You’d do things differently tomorrow. Perhaps try again with a sponge. And you’d think of a plan to escape with the clone as soon as you got him stronger. But now you needed to try to sleep. 

Laying down, the day’s events played themselves over and over. A jumble of older memories, too. You thought about the droids. Youd need to work fast o dispatch them is the moment you had now battery in the collar. It seemed almost sad considering their odd moments of individuality and how they liked their silly names you gave them.  You haven't used your real name since you had remembered it, having gotten used to the nickname the clones on Dantooine gave you.

********

You were bundled in the thin military issue kind of blanket, your back pressed up against the wall behind the cot. The 3D video, holovid, Splint called it, was playing a segment about how to hold a baby for feeding. But you weren’t watching it. You were processing what Splint had told you about himself and all the soldier clones basically being property and enslaved to a war they were created for.  You had pressed him for more details, “What do you mean you're not even paid??” “What will happen after the war?” Splint had gone back over to the injured soldier, his identical clone brother, to give him a shot of something blue.  They both emerged, Splint telling him that it would heal overnight and to come by in the morning for a checkup.  The soldier he had shooed out came back and the two talked and you heard them talking from behind your partition, the words “daleesh” and “echoy-la” repeated a couple times.  

Splint came back over to you and you asked, “What were they saying, the earpiece wasn’t translating everything?”

He sat on the stool and took the towel and tablet. “Word has gone around about you, the ‘echoy’la dalyc’ the lost woman.”  

“Not something you see every day?”

“Well, we do encounter civilians regularly, but not one who appeared out of a force storm in a ruined Jedi temple.”  

“That’s what Master Windu is, right? A Jedi? Are there more like him? What are they exactly?” 

“There are many more Jedi, yes.” He smiled at your wide eyed rapid fire questions. “They are people like you, who can feel a power called the Force. The Jedi serve the Republic as Generals, commanding legions and battalions of troops. General Windu will tell you all about them later. Right now you should get cleaned up and rest.” He set the tablet on the counter nearby and threw the towel in a bin. You heard a knock at the door and some voices. He got up and went around the partition. Your device was once again not translating but you could feel hopefulness and curiosity off the newcomers and then disappointment when Splint thanked and dismissed them. 

“I’ve had the guys scrounge up some supplies for you. There’s a ‘fresher through that door over there where you can get cleaned up and changed. I’m sorry the only change of clothing we have for you are our uniform blacks.” He set the box on the cot and added a fresh towel on top. 

"But before that let's get you your inoculations." He disappeared again and when he came back he had a black stick-like device. "This won't hurt, but your arm may be sore later, which side?"

You turned your closer shoulder to him and said, "Either one really."

He wiped the site with a small antiseptic spongy thing and then supported your arm with that hand. His energy and feelings flooded you with strong arms, lips on your neck and- before you slammed the barrier down more. He zapped the spot with the stick. It felt weird but it was quick. His outward appearance belied nothing of what you felt in his mind. But he was avoiding your eyes.

There were booms and rumbling in the distance. The ground shook after the sounds. A light flashed on the armor on his forearm. Splint set a grim look on his face and stalked away. You could hear his voice coming through his helmet as he left the building. 

More booms in the distance.

You felt a new amped up tension around you and let the guard down that Master Windu had guided you to create. Out in the distance was something big like a huge swarm of something lifeless but active. Lots of things with goals but no hearts. Disturbed, you slammed the barrier back up, shook your head and took a look in the box. There were leggings and a long sleeve shirt, both a black ribbed material, a comb and some soap and a washcloth.  And a flower. And a piece of paper-like material with a strange language hand-written on it. Your heart softened a little, these were little tokens of care these soldiers included for you. 

Well you really had to get out of this cot now. You took the box to the door in the back of the room and looked for the handle. Noticing a flat panel to the side of it you touched it. The door slid open and revealed a fairly standard bathroom. Toilet, sink, and a shower head. You quickly undressed, noticing sand in the bottoms of the bikini you were wearing. You used the shower scrubbing off sand and dirt and milk with the washcloth and soap. The soap was really small and hard to keep a grip on and it slipped out of your grasp and you fumbled for it to stop it from falling to the floor. 

It hung there in the air between your hands.

Staring at it you could feel a sensation around it and your hands and inside your head like the push pull of magnets.  Carefully you pushed the soap higher up till it was right in front of your eyes.  You grabbed it out of the air with one hand and held up the washcloth with the other.  Focusing on it you felt for its magnetyness and raised it up in the air a little.  Then the water suddenly ran cold and you lost the contact.  It splatted to the floor as you rinsed off quickly. You were just not going to get used to the constant strangeness to everything, you thought, and that was definitely something you could never do before, you were sure of that. 

Toweling off you considered your options for dressing and decided to wash the swimsuit and just go commando till it was dry. After fixing your hair as best you could with the little comb you emerged from the fresher in the black outfit. It was too long so you had rolled up the cuffs, but it fit you ok and seemed to cling to you and support your curves like a second skin. The little flower you tucked behind your ear. You just needed shoes. 

“Hello?” You nearly jumped at the sudden voice. Over by the door there was a shy looking trooper holding his helmet in his hands. When his eyes landed on you he breathed in, almost gasped. You walked over to him across the cool smooth floor stopping a few paces away. 

“Hi, can I help you?” you said. His face was smoother than the other clones you’d seen so far. Probably a new one, younger by, what, months? 

“Oh,” he fumbled with a small object, hooking it over his ear. “Splint gave me this so I can talk to you,- or so you can talk to me- I mean you can talk just fine, it’s so I can understand-“ 

You held up your hand smiling at his flusteredness. “I have one too,” you pointed at your ear. 

He smiled and huffed a laugh at himself, “Oh right yeah well ok. I have to take you to your quarters,” he looked down at his feet and then up at your bemused face. “Oh I’m sorry I’m CT-6397, you can call me Sprout.” He held his hand out toward the door and you followed him outside. He walked across the trampled grass in the direction of a huge ship with a large cargo hold, now empty. There were not nearly as many troops around but there were still many, busy doing various things and marching in formation. The storm had cleared away, fragments of sunset skies lighting up the grounds and what looked like billowing clouds of smoke in the direction of the booming. 

He was endearingly managing his awkwardness, you thought, “Nice to meet you, Sprout.” His eyes lit up a little at his name. “I don’t know what my name is, though.”

“Well we’ve been calling you ‘Choy.’ If -if you don’t mind.” His brow wrinkled with worry and he looked at you and the ground and the building. 

“We?” You tried catching his eye with a reassuring smile.

“All the guys- in my unit anyway. It’s short for ‘echoy’la’ which means lost or searching in Mando’a.”  He looked up at you again. 

You smiled and said, “I like it, oh could you help me with something.” You pulled the folded note out of your rolled up sleeve cuff and held it up to him. “Can you read this for me?” 

He took the note and you watched his expression as he held it up to the dimming light and read its words. He swallowed and read, “a pretty flower for a pretty girl. Signed, Slick.”  His face darkened a little.  “He saw you in the med bay earlier. His hand was injured during the offloading. He and his squad were supposed to be reassigned to a different battalion, but that was delayed.”  He sounded a little bitter.  You got the distinct impression that he didn’t care for Slick.

Inside the huge cargo bay of the ship you made your way to the far wall and through a sealed doorway. Down a long hall of doors that were all open to largish rooms of rows of bunk beds.

“Choy?” a voice called from a bunk room.  You looked and saw several troopers in various states of undress. Blocking your view one came over to the door with his hand held to his chest, wrapped in a bandage. 

Sprout bristled a little behind you as the soldier you recognized as the one from the med bay walked over. Slick looked over your head and his eyes narrowed the tiniest fraction of an inch, then they softened as he looked back at you, “You're wearing the flower I picked for you,” Slick was now close enough for you to sense all the conflicting emotions you’d felt off of him before.  But he spoke with a calm and gentle voice. 

You reached up to the flower in your hair, “Thank you, it was very sweet of you to think of me.” You scanned his face and tried to get a read on him. 

“I can show Choy to her quarters from here, Sprout,” he said over your head. You turned to look at Sprout, unsure of how you felt about this since Sprout was clearly uncomfortable around him. 

“Sir, I have orders from Lieutenant Splint, I don't want to get in trouble.”  Sprout shifted back and forth on his feet.  

“No problem there, soldier, I'm giving you new ones,” Slick reasoned, “You're dismissed.” His tone left no room for argument.  

You looked at Sprout and said, “Thank you, Sprout, I'll be ok.” Sprout looked at you not quite in the eye and glanced at Slick.  

“Yes sir,” and he turned on his heel and walked back down the hallway. He was worried.

“The word around here is that the General thinks you're like a Jedi.  Are you one of them?” the way he said ‘them’ made your ears prick up and the tendons in the back of your neck stiffen a little.  

You looked away from the now distant figure of Sprout to Slick and leveled him with a steady gaze and said, “I don't even know what a Jedi is really.” This seemed to ease his tension which made our neck relax. (You really needed to figure out how to stop internalizing others’ emotions) 

He tilted his head a little, “But you can talk with the General with your mind.” 

“Well, I can. And I don't understand why, or how.” 

“That must be very confusing, you've had an awfully long day from the sound of it,” He indicated with his hand which way to go, “let's get you to your quarters so you can rest.”  You noticed the bandage on his hand he held out had a stain of bright red on it.  

“Is your hand bleeding again?” you asked him.

He looked at it, “Oh yes, it seems that the injury will require more time to heal.  We march out tomorrow to join the slaughter at the front lines and it will need to be better before then.”

You really didn't feel the same single minded valor off of him as the other clones.  And you wondered about his injury. “How did you hurt it?”

“It was a piece of equipment that fell on it.  Purely accidental. Here we are, your quarters, ma’am.” He pressed a button on a panel by a door and it opened to a small single bunk room with a fresher door just to the side.  “You get an officer’s room of course, very private.”

You nodded, “Thank you, Slick, I appreciate your help.  See you tomorrow?”

“I certainly hope so,” he said and took your hand in his good one and kissed the back of it.  You felt your face flush deeply.  Even through your strengthened mental barrier you could feel something like curiosity and calculation. He released your hand and stepped back, giving you a small bow.  “If it's not me, someone will be by in the morning to give you more assistance.” He looked down at your feet, “I think some boots are the next step for you.” He smirked at his lame pun.

You huffed a laugh, “Alright, take care of that hand, good night.”

You stepped into the room and he stalked off.  You were glad he didn't hover at the door and make it weird. What a strange interaction. As soon as you closed the door, set your still damp swimsuit down on the little table and laid down on the bed you were asleep.   

**************

Laying in your cot your memories played themselves out and you finally fell asleep, but had a terrible dream. One of the ones that frequently haunted your sleep. 

Screaming and agony all around you. The friendly, handsome face turning wicked. Something dark covering your head and something heavy clamped around your neck. Your new name being shouted, but you couldn’t see him, couldn’t feel him. You were rising fast in the darkness, awful claws grabbing you and a buzzing. Then deep and arrogant voices talking about you and how they wanted to use you.

Chapter 4

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

A clue to what lies beneath the bland surfaces of Uranus and Neptune

Layers of material that, like oil and water, don't mix can explain planets' unusual magnetic fields

Diamond rain? Super-ionic water?

These are just two proposals that planetary scientists have come up with for what lies beneath the thick, bluish, hydrogen-and-helium atmospheres of Uranus and Neptune, our solar system's unique, but superficially bland, ice giants.

A planetary scientist at the University of California, Berkeley, now proposes an alternative theory — that the interiors of both these planets are layered, and that the two layers, like oil and water, don't mix. That configuration neatly explains the planets' unusual magnetic fields and implies that earlier theories of the interiors are unlikely to be true.

In a paper appearing this week in the journal Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, Burkhard Militzer argues that a deep ocean of water lies just below the cloud layers and, below that, a highly compressed fluid of carbon, nitrogen and hydrogen. Computer simulations show that under the temperatures and pressures of the planets' interiors, a combination of water (H2O), methane (CH3) and ammonia (NH3) would naturally separate into two layers, primarily because hydrogen would be squeezed out of the methane and ammonia that comprise much of the deep interior.

These immiscible layers would explain why neither Uranus nor Neptune has a magnetic field like Earth's. That was one of the surprising discoveries about our solar system’s ice giants made by the Voyager 2 mission in the late 1980s.

"We now have, I would say, a good theory why Uranus and Neptune have really different fields, and it's very different from Earth, Jupiter and Saturn," said Militzer, a UC Berkeley professor of earth and planetary science. "We didn't know this before. It's like oil and water, except the oil goes below because hydrogen is lost."

If other star systems have similar compositions to ours, Militzer said, ice giants around those stars could well have similar internal structures. Planets about the size of Uranus and Neptune — so-called sub-Neptune planets — are among the most common exoplanets discovered to date.

Convection leads to magnetic fields

As a planet cools from its surface downward, cold and denser material sinks, while blobs of hotter fluid rise like boiling water — a process called convection. If the interior is electrically conducting, a thick layer of convecting material will generate a dipole magnetic field similar to that of a bar magnet. Earth's dipole field, created by its liquid outer iron core, produces a magnetic field that loops from the North Pole to the South Pole and is the reason compasses point toward the poles.

But Voyager 2 discovered that neither of the two ice giants has such a dipole field, only disorganized magnetic fields. This implies that there's no convective movement of material in a thick layer in the planets' deep interiors.

To explain these observations, two separate research groups proposed more than 20 years ago that the planets must have layers that can't mix, thus preventing large-scale convection and a global dipolar magnetic field. Convection in one of the layers could produce a disorganized magnetic field, however. But neither group could explain what these non-mixing layers were made of.

Ten years ago, Militzer tried repeatedly to solve the problem, using computer simulations of about 100 atoms with the proportions of carbon, oxygen, nitrogen and hydrogen reflecting the known composition of elements in the early solar system. At the pressures and temperatures predicted for the planets' interiors — 3.4 million times Earth's atmospheric pressure and 4,750 Kelvin (8,000°F), respectively — he could not find a way for layers to form.

Last year, however, with the help of machine learning, he was able to run a computer model simulating the behavior of 540 atoms and, to his surprise, found that layers naturally form as the atoms are heated and compressed.

"One day, I looked at the model, and the water had separated from the carbon and nitrogen. What I couldn't do 10 years ago was now happening," he said. "I thought, 'Wow! Now I know why the layers form: One is water-rich and the other is carbon-rich, and in Uranus and Neptune, it's the carbon-rich system that is below. The heavy part stays in the bottom, and the lighter part stays on top and it cannot do any convecting.’"

"I couldn't discover this without having a large system of atoms, and the large system I couldn't simulate 10 years ago," he added.

The amount of hydrogen squeezed out increases with pressure and depth, forming a stably stratified carbon-nitrogen-hydrogen layer, almost like a plastic polymer, he said. While the upper, water-rich layer likely convects to produce the observed disorganized magnetic field, the deeper, stratified hydrocarbon-rich layer cannot.

When he modeled the gravity produced by a layered Uranus and Neptune, the gravity fields matched those measured by Voyager 2 nearly 40 years ago.

"If you ask my colleagues, 'What do you think explains the fields of Uranus and Neptune?' they may say, ‘Well, maybe it's this diamond rain, but maybe it's this water property which we call superionic,’" he said. "From my perspective, this is not plausible. But if we have this separation into two separate layers, that should explain it."

Militzer predicts that below Uranus' 3,000-mile-thick atmosphere lies a water-rich layer about 5,000 miles thick and below that a hydrocarbon-rich layer also about 5,000 miles thick. Its rocky core is about the size of the planet Mercury. Though Neptune is more massive than Uranus, it is smaller in diameter, with a thinner atmosphere, but similarly thick water-rich and hydrocarbon rich layers. Its rocky core is slightly larger than that of Uranus, approximately the size of Mars.

He hopes to work with colleagues who can test with laboratory experiments under extremely high temperatures and pressures whether layers form in fluids with the proportions of elements found in the protosolar system. A proposed NASA mission to Uranus could also provide confirmation, if the spacecraft has on board a Doppler imager to measure the planet's vibrations. A layered planet would vibrate at different frequencies than a convecting planet, Militzere said. His next project is to use his computational model to calculate how the planetary vibrations would differ.

IMAGE: Models for the interior structures of the ice-giant planets Uranus and Neptune have two distinct, intermediate layers: an upper, water-rich convecting layer where disorganized magnetic fields are generated, and a lower, non-convecting hydrocarbon-rich layer. New computer simulations show that icy materials naturally separate at high pressure and temperature into these two layers. Credit Burkhard Militzer, UC Berkeley

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Hey, I have my first MRI on Friday, it’s going to need dye so I’m going to get an IV, and getting vials drawn at the same time. I do have a phobia of needles, is there anything I should expect or tips or something.

I apologize if this is hard to understand or anything.

What to expect:

MRIs are very powerful magnets. The providers are going to ask you a lot of questions about if you have this condition or that device implanted in you or if this has happened to you or whatnot. Basically what they’re trying to do is make sure you don’t have hardware in your body that the magnet will mess with. You’ll have to take off all your jewelry, so I don’t recommend wearing any, and you’ll have to put on a hospital gown (they give you a private room to do this with a locker to place your things).

For the IV, they’re gonna put a tourniquet on your arm. It’s tight and uncomfortable, but they do it so it creates some resistance to blood flow in your veins. Think of it as making a little beaver dam in the stream, this helps pool blood in the veins so they bulge or puff up so we can see them better and get the job done more easily. Sometimes balling your hand in a fist helps, though I personally find it doesn’t make a huge difference.

Veins have personalities! Some are extroverts, some are shy, but they all love getting massages. If your nurse/tech is having trouble finding a vein, they might tap your arm/hand or rub the area gently to help convince the little guys to peek out. Heat does the trick nicely too. I highly recommend hydrating as much as possible so your veins have fluid volume to help you out. ;) But cut off the water shortly before you get there and/or pee just before you have to go back so you’re not sitting in the scanner with a full bladder!

The worst part obviously is the little poke, but once they actually get in the vein the needle comes out super quick, and all that’s sitting in there then is basically a straw so the dye can go through. I find that I can start all the IVs in the world but I’m not the biggest fan of watching someone start one on me, so what I usually do is look somewhere else and focus on something that can distract me. Take deep breaths and don’t think about the poke, the more you brace against it, the harder it’s gonna be for the nurse/tech to get it. Stay still and think about blorbos! :) It’ll be over soon, it’ll be ok. ❤️

Once the vein is accessed, the next step is a little flush of saline to make sure they’re in the right spot. It might feel cold and you might taste salt, and that’s all totally normal! It means you’re all done with the IV establishment. :) They’ll just tape it in place so nothing gets pulled by accident. Then it’s in to the scan!

MRIs are very noisy. Ask them to give you headphones. It’s standard practice for them to give you some, but my first MRI was emergent and so I didn’t get any and boy was that unpleasant, so I always tell people to ask. They usually have options for the kind of music you can listen to as well! :)

MRIs are shaped like a long donut. You lay down in the hole of the donut. The table you’re on will do all the moving for you, so you can just lay there and chill. Idk if they do this for everyone, but sometimes they put kind of like a football helmet on you to try and help keep your head still. Movement during the scan messes the imaging up, so my best advice is close your eyes, listen to the music, and imagine you’re lounging on a beach. Slow, easy breaths and just relax. The scan won’t hurt you, it’s just noisy! ;)

The dye, once they infuse it in through the IV, may feel hot or cold, depending on what they’re using. It also may make you feel like you need to pee. That’s all totally normal and it doesn’t last more than a few seconds.

After everything’s done, they’ll remove the IV, which is a piece of cake, and then you can get dressed and go get some ice cream!

[softguarnere]

For Whatever We Find

His Girl Friday (Iron Man!Nix AU)

Lewis Nixon x OFC

Summary: The way he can go from a near death experience to business as usual irks Minerva in a way she can’t even begin to describe. God, if this idiot would stop and process things like a normal person for once, maybe they wouldn’t find themselves in half of these damn messes. A/N: Anyways! I had unstructured free time and no self-control, so here's the blurb the world absolutely did not need but that I was only too ready and too willing to provide! Warnings: Arc Reactor goo?; the author abusing her italics privileges

Minerva doesn’t hate her job. But most days, she strongly dislikes a lot of things about it. 

For starters, she never knows if Nix is going to drive Nixon Nitration Works  into the ground, or if he’s going to do something impulsive and leave her to clean up his mess, or if he might randomly decide to leave the country without telling anyone, or – 

Well, it’s not the worst job she’s ever had. It’s certainly not the best, though. There’s definitely a reason that when Sobel hired her to be Nix’s girl Friday, he had scoffed at the line on her resume stating that she used to be an elementary school teacher before looking up at her and saying, “Then you’re definitely qualified to handle Lewis.” 

Qualified doesn’t even begin to cut it anymore, though. Especially not right now. Minerva is nowhere near qualified enough to be doing this. 

The miniature Arc Reactor she’s holding feels like it could slip from her grasp at any second thanks to the goo that coats her hands. The goo that smells, and that Nix keeps assuring her is not from his body, but some sort of discharge from the device. You know, as if that’s any sort of comfort for her. God, when she became a PA, she thought she would be fetching coffee and denying requests for interviews – not performing in-home cardiac procedures. 

But this? 

“Nix, it’s gonna be okay,” Minerva assures him. Back when she taught elementary school, that was always the first thing she would say when a child would run to her with a scraped knee, paper cut, upset stomach, or any other ailment. The first and most important step was always calming them down so that they could deal with the situation. Now, Minerva finds herself repeating it over and over, turning it into a mantra. 

Nix doesn’t even seem to be listening. Which, to his credit, might be because Minerva has just accidentally ripped a magnet out of his chest – “Like a trout lure,” Nix had snarked when she did it – and sent him into cardiac arrest. 

“You’re just gonna attach that to the baseplate,” he instructs her instead of responding to any of her positive affirmations. “And make s-sure you –”

Hearing him stammer breathlessly is the fire under her ass that Minerva needs. Because if she doesn’t fix the mess she’s inadvertently caused, then she’ll have accidentally killed her boss. And that’s maybe the last thing she needs right now. 

With all her strength, she shoves the device into his chest, feeling the magnet take hold of the base. Nix lets out a sort of monotone yell the second that it connects, his eyes going wide as the monitors behind them beep frantically. 

Oh, God! She’s killed him, she’s killed Lewis Nixon, of all people, while trying to save him – 

In a split second, the beeping slows back to a normal pace. Nix’s features relax, and he gives her a deadpan look when he asks, “Now was that so hard?” Then he makes sure that the Arc Reactor is securely screwed into his own chest before proclaiming with a confidence he really shouldn’t have in this situation, “Ni-ice.” 

Minerva gapes at him for a second. Her time as a teacher put her into some gross situations and brought her into contact with all sorts of disgusting substances and fluids, but this really takes the cake. Her goo-covered hands still hover over her boss somewhat frantically as she waits for her next instruction or for the need to jump into action to arise again. Because that’s what Minerva Revels does. It’s what she’s always done – she fixes things and cleans up people’s messes.

She’s dragged out of her moment of introspective shock by the sound of laughter. Loud, genuine, boisterous laughter from beneath her. Beneath his five o’clock shadow, Nix’s face lights up as he looks at her, taking obvious delight in her expression.

Nix has made fun of her before, teased her for things, but the audacity of this – 

Minerva doesn’t care that he maybe almost just died because of her. She uses one of her goo-soaked hands to shove his shoulder. 

“Do not ever, ever, ever ask me to do something like that ever again!” She snaps with a scowl.

Damn him, Nix doesn’t look the least bit fazed by her outburst, by the fact that she’s ordering him around. Instead, he blinks up at her and admits, “I don’t have anyone but you.” 

Minerva blinks. What sort of thing is that to say? Of course he has other people besides her. He’s got Sobel and Winters and – 

But with everything going on since he got back from Germany – with his heart, with Nixon Nitration Works, with everything – who does he have besides a gal Friday that he can boss around and scare half to death at least five times a day? 

It’s maybe the most vulnerable that Minerva has ever seen her boss, and she feels the corners of her mouth tugging down into a frown without her consent as she looks at him. And Nix, for his part, must realize the implications of what he’s just said, because he raises an eyebrow in a manner that’s halfway sardonic. 

“Anyways.” He hops up from the chair he’s reclined in and starts to walk around his lab as if nothing has happened. 

The way he can go from a near death experience to business as usual irks Minerva in a way she can’t even begin to describe. God, if this idiot would stop and process things like a normal person for once, maybe they wouldn’t find themselves in half of these damn messes. 

The smell of the goo on her hands makes her gag, and she shakes them, hoping to rid herself of some of the slime until she can get to a sink. She almost knocks the old miniature Arc Reactor from its precarious perch in her frustration. 

Her hands are still so slick that she almost drops it as soon as she picks it up. She glances at Nix, a new thrill of frustration shooting through her as she watches him cleaning up his supplies from his in-home surgery. 

“What do you want to do with this?” 

Nix pauses, turning to look at her. He frowns. 

“Oh that?” He shrugs. “Destroy it.” He taps the glowing device in his chest as if to say, I’ve got it covered. 

Minerva is about to give him a lecture, to tell him that he should keep it in case of an emergency, because you never know what’s going to happen – but she feels her mouth snap shut in a way that’s most uncharacteristic of herself. Usually her interactions with Nix have a lot more snark and a lot more unsolicited advice that goes completely unheeded. 

But there’s something different about today. She’s always been worried about Nix and what he might do to himself, but this . . . This is different. He seems almost numb as he looks at her. It’s like he doesn’t even care what happens to himself anymore. And why should he, when the worst has already kind of happened to him? Then again, when did he care about what happened to himself before?

A wave of empathy washes over Minerva as she glances down at the Arc Reactor in her hands and nods. “Will that be all, Mr. Nixon?” 

Nix’s expression softens, albeit infinitesimally. “That’ll be all, Miss Revels.” 

Hesitantly, Minerva turns to leave the lab, although she pauses at the door when she hears Nix snarking at and bossing around his robots. She feels her heart soften a bit as she watches him. Because it makes her realize that, sadly, Nix is right: besides his faithful robots, he’s only got her right now. 

Despite the goo on her hands, Minerva keeps as tight a grip on the Arc Reactor as she can while she heads back upstairs to wash them. She might be Nix’s girl Friday, but that doesn’t mean that she has to follow his every order if it goes against his best interests. She’ll keep the Arc Reactor somewhere safe, just in case. His heart almost stopped today, and Minerva isn’t going to let the risk of that happen again. Not on her watch.  

Not when she’s starting to suspect that there might be proof that Lewis Nixon has a heart.