#but it pushed a lot of other things up and made a few other things i generally tolerate quietly suddenly intolerable

[ds-angel1]

TEACHERS LITTLE PET

cw: SMUT(18+), teacher x student relationship, hitting it from the back(in the classroom), big age gap(ages aren´t specified), reader is a senior, i´m not american and have no idea how the school system works so please just smile and nod

wc: ~ 5.1k

a/n: tell me what you think of this dynamic and if you want more cause i have some ideas!! also this is the longest fic i´ve ever written, not my best work but atleast i managed to write something?? keep in mind i had a fever when i wrote this

Rafe had no idea how he ended up here.

Well, if he was being honest, he did. He just hated admitting it.

He hated kids. Teenagers weren’t much better. If they weren’t whining about something trivial, they were loud, obnoxious, and bursting with opinions they thought were groundbreaking. And high schoolers? They were the worst of the lot, caught in that unbearable limbo between childhood and adulthood, convinced they knew everything and that the world had been tailor-made to inconvenience them.

He hated his job, too. But after his father had all but shoved him into college, and he had somehow managed to scrape together an art history degree through a chaotic jumble of barely thought-out course selections, he needed a paycheck. He needed something, anything, to make use of the four years he had spent drowning in essays about the Renaissance and lectures on the symbolism of Baroque architecture.

And there it was, a high school history teacher.

He was fairly certain the school had been desperate. Desperate enough to hire the first applicant who could string a coherent sentence together about the American Revolution. And lucky him, that applicant had been Rafe.

The school itself was unremarkable. Small, under 400 students, just two squat brick buildings separated by a weather-beaten schoolyard that reeked of stale cigarette smoke and teenage apathy. Five hours from the Outer Banks, he could visit home whenever he wanted. Not that he did. There was nothing left for him there, nothing worth the drive, and frankly, there was nothing for him here either.

His days were a loop, a monotonous, uninspired cycle of standing in front of rows of disinterested, hormonal teenagers, rattling off lessons about long-dead historical figures far more interesting than any of his students would ever bother to realize. He graded half-assed essays, endured halfhearted excuses about missing assignments, and spent more time than he cared to admit staring at the clock, willing the hours to pass. Then, when the final bell rang, he trudged back to his apartment, a bare, impersonal space that he never bothered to decorate. No photos, no art, and no signs that anyone lived there. Just a bed, a couch, and a kitchen table that mostly went unused.

And then there were the truly miserable days, the ones where he was roped into subbing for freshman P.E., a biweekly exercise in self-inflicted torture. Half the girls refused to break a sweat, acting as if running a single lap would somehow lead to their untimely demise. The other half of the class consisted of cocky, over-competitive boys who treated dodgeball like a blood sport. He spent most of those periods standing on the sidelines, arms crossed, blowing the whistle when things got too heated, and watching the clock even more desperately than usual.

It was a dull, uninspired existence; monotonous, predictable, and entirely void of passion. He lived his life the way his students listened to the outdated documentaries he played in class: half-awake, uninterested, just going through the motions because it had to be done.

Until you walked into his class.

The first day of school after summer break always carried a certain energy; electric, restless, filled with voices overlapping in an unfiltered rush of stories from the last few weeks. As Rafe pushed open the door to his classroom, that familiar wave of chatter hit him like a sudden gust of wind. Laughter, exclamations, the scrape of chairs against the floor—it was all as chaotic as he had expected.

With a quiet sigh, he made his way to his desk, setting his thermos down on the bleached oak surface before picking it up again almost instinctively, taking a slow sip before returning it to its place. His fingers moved on autopilot, retrieving his school-issued laptop from his bag, pressing the power button, and waiting for the screen to glow to life. His gaze lifted, sweeping across the students, his students. The same faces he’d taught last year, now a little older, a little different, officially juniors.

But one face wasn’t familiar.

You.

Rafe spotted you almost immediately, sitting in the third row, right by the window where the morning sky stretched in endless hues of soft blue. You were listening—well, nodding, at least—to Amanda, whose mouth moved a mile a minute. He didn’t have to hear her know she was spewing an endless stream of conversation; Amanda was known for filling any silence, anytime, anywhere. But his attention wasn’t on her. It was on you.

A dark navy skirt draped over your thighs, the fabric shifting in gentle waves with every slight movement. Your top, a delicate white spaghetti strap with tiny baby blue flowers, hugged your frame, lace tracing the neckline, a small bow nestled right at its center. A beige cardigan hung loosely over your shoulders, two buttons left undone as if they had never been intended for use in the first place. Your hair was pulled back into a ponytail, not rigid, not loose, just… effortless. A few strands framed your face, soft wisps that moved when you turned your head, catching the light in a way that made them seem almost ethereal.

And sure, you looked beautiful, undeniably so. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way your eyes flickered around the room, quietly observing, absorbing. The way your lips parted slightly every so often, murmuring the occasional “Uh-huh” or “Yeah” in response to Amanda’s nonstop chatter, even as your mind seemed elsewhere. There was something in your expression, an almost hesitant curiosity, a quiet awareness, that made Rafe’s fingers pause over the laptop’s keyboard.

He had seen many faces in this classroom. Some familiar, some forgettable.

But yours?

Yours was impossible to ignore.

"Uh— okay, let’s get started. Settle down," Rafe called out to the students, his voice steady despite the chaos. The room buzzed with post-summer chatter, desks scraping against the floor as students found their seats. He rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to exhale. The first day back was always like this, full of energy, distractions, and the struggle to rein everyone in. But today, there was another battle brewing beneath the surface, one he wasn’t prepared for.

He hoped that once the lesson began, he could shift his focus, and force himself to look anywhere but at you. He clung to that hope like a lifeline, but the moment he commanded their attention, he had yours.

And when your eyes locked onto him, he was trapped. Hypnotized. His breath hitched, pulse stuttering in a way it had no right to. For what felt like an eternity, he couldn’t tear his gaze away, couldn’t shake the invisible thread tightening between you. His fingers curled into his palm, nails pressing against his skin.

Shit.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself to snap out of it, dragging his attention back to the board. He took a measured breath, gripping the chalk like it might anchor him. "Alright, I know you’re all still in vacation mode, but we need to get talking about history."

The usual grumbling came, but it was muted, fading as students settled into their seats. Good. The routine was safe. The routine was predictable. The routine wouldn’t let his mind wander to places it shouldn’t.

"Before we dive in, we have a new student joining us this year from the senior class," he announced, keeping his tone even, impersonal. His gaze flickered back to you, just for a second, just long enough to acknowledge you without giving himself away. "Would you introduce yourself?"

A brief silence. You hesitated, shifting under the weight of so many eyes before murmuring your name.

"Great," Rafe said, far too quickly. He cleared his throat, turning back to the board. "So, what do we know about American history from the Industrial Revolution to the modern age?"

The next forty-five minutes passed in a blur of discussion, textbook readings, and writing exercises. Normally, this was when he’d catch up on grading or chip away at whatever administrative work he had. But today? No. Today, his focus splintered, frayed at the edges every time he felt your presence in the room.

His eyes kept drifting.

To you.

It was reckless. Stupid. He knew it was wrong, knew exactly how it would look if anyone noticed. He wasn’t blind, he’d found students attractive before, but it had always been a fleeting thing, a passing thought dismissed before it could take root. A moment, nothing more.

But this?

This was different.

This wasn’t just acknowledging that you were pretty, though you were. Incredibly so. This wasn’t just an absent-minded recognition of beauty. No, this was something deeper. Something that twisted in his gut and settled in his bones, something that made his breath catch when he wasn’t prepared for it.

Something dangerous.

His fingers raked through his hair as he stared down at his keyboard, typing nothing. He could tell himself it was just a dry spell, that he’d been avoiding distractions for too long, that it was simply physical. But that would be a lie.

Because it wasn’t just about desire.

It was about you.

And that was a problem.

The shrill chime of the bell split the air, and the classroom erupted into motion. Notebooks snapped shut, chairs scraped against the tile, and a low hum of voices swelled as students shoved books into backpacks, eager to escape into the chaotic freedom of lunch. You swung your bag over your shoulder, weaving through the shifting maze of desks, your focus locked on the door. The cafeteria was called, an oasis of noise and anonymity where you could blend in, and where no one was analyzing your every move.

But just as you stepped forward, a voice cut through the chatter behind you.

"Hey."

It wasn’t loud, but it had weight, like an anchor dropping into the sea of departing students. Something in the tone made your stomach twist. You turned, pulse hitching slightly, to find Mr. Cameron watching you from behind his desk. His expression was unreadable, calm but not necessarily kind.

"Yes, Mr. Cameron?" you asked, hesitating.

"Can I speak to you for a moment?"

It was phrased like a question, but you both knew it wasn’t. He gave a small nod toward the door as the last few stragglers trickled out, a silent instruction.

With a quiet sigh, you nudged the door shut behind them, the click of the latch sealing you in. The classroom, so full of life just seconds ago, now felt cavernous, the quiet pressing in around you. You hesitated before making your way back to his desk, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Mr. Cameron leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the surface of his desk, fingers steepled together. "So… I wanted to talk to you about last year." His voice was measured, and neutral, but something about it put you on edge. "You were in Ms. Wallace’s class, right?" His eyes flicked to a sheet of paper in front of him, though you were certain he already knew the answer.

You shifted uncomfortably. "Mhm." A simple answer for something far more complicated. Your history with Ms. Wallace wasn’t just a class; it was a long, exhausting battle, a relentless tug-of-war between frustration, unmet expectations, and a sinking feeling of inevitability.

Mr. Cameron studied you for a moment before speaking again. "Can you tell me what didn’t work? Was it her? The material? Her teaching style? Or was it something on your end?" His head tilted slightly, voice smooth, probing.

You hesitated, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your fingers clenched the strap of your bag. "I guess I was just… kind of unfocused last year," you admitted, your voice barely above a murmur.

"Mm." He hummed, eyebrows lifting just slightly. "Just last year?"

Your stomach tightened.

"Because judging by today’s lesson, it seems like you're still a little… distracted. More interested in doodles than in history, huh?"

Heat crept up your neck, shame pooling in your chest. Your gaze dropped to the floor as if looking anywhere else might soften the weight of his words.

"You’d think," he continued, his tone carrying the faintest edge, "that after the school let you pass the year and only required you to retake this class, you'd put in a little more effort."

His words landed like a slap, sharp, deliberate. He knew exactly how unfair that was. Knew how it would make you feel. And yet, for whatever reason, he didn’t stop himself.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“You want to pass, yes?”

His voice was low, almost teasing, each word curling around you like smoke. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his desk, dark eyes locked onto yours with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry, and gave a quick, eager nod.

Rafe watched you for a lingering second, dragging it out just long enough to make you shift where you stood. Then, with an exhale that was almost too casual, he pushed himself up from his chair. He didn’t simply stand, he moved. Slow. Deliberate. A quiet display of control as he braced one hand against the edge of his desk, his weight settling into a lean. The aged wood creaked under him, but he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care.

His focus remained entirely on you.

“And what do you think I could do to help you achieve that?”

Smooth. Measured. But there was something else beneath his tone, something just sharp enough to catch. Playfulness, maybe. Amusement. Or something more dangerous.

His gaze flickered, sweeping over you in a way that felt too quick at first, like a reflex he hadn’t meant to act on. But then, you saw it. The hesitation. The way his throat bobbed, how his fingers flexed at his sides before he rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to shake off whatever had just slipped through the cracks. But it was too late.

You had seen.

And by the way, his jaw clenched a second later, the way his lips pressed together, you knew he realized it too.

Your heart hammered. You didn’t answer him. Couldn’t. Instead, your fingers fidgeted with each other, twisting and untwisting, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. The silence between you stretched, thick and electric, heavy with something unspoken, something neither of you dared name but both of you felt.

Rafe inhaled deeply, the sound filling the quiet space between you. The air itself seemed different now, charged, like something unseen was pressing in, urging one of you to break.

He let the breath out slowly, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that somehow felt… controlled. Intentional. And then, his eyes moved again.

This time, there was no rush. No flicker of hesitation.

Now, he studied you.

It was slow, almost methodical, th

6e kind of look that made heat crawl up the back of your neck, the kind that lingered just long enough in places that made you second-guess every inch of yourself. When his gaze reached your thighs, a nervous jolt ran through you. Almost instinctively, you gripped the hem of your skirt, twisting the fabric in your fists, your knuckles turning white.

A nervous habit.

One he noticed.

One that made his eyes darken, not dramatically, not in some exaggerated, obvious way, but just enough. Just enough for you to catch the shift, to see the amusement flicker across his face like the hint of a smirk he didn’t fully let through.

“Hm?” The questioning hum he let out brought you back to reality, back to his question, and back to the answer that you had yet to give.

“Um… I- I don’t know…” you stammered out.

His eyes flick down again, taking in your upper body, eyes practically circling in on your chest. As if your body has a mind of its own, you straighten your back, puffing out your chest.

Rafe’s eyes flickered up to yours, and for a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

The air between you had thickened, dense with something unspoken, something dangerous. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, slow, almost pensive as if he were considering something he shouldn’t be. He exhaled sharply through his nose, a breath that almost sounded like a laugh but carried no humor, just tension.

“Yeah?” His voice was softer now, quieter like he was testing the waters, like he was trying to figure out how far this would go before one of you came to your senses.

Your lips parted, but no words came. Your throat felt tight, your skin burning where his gaze traced. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something vast, something that couldn’t be undone.

His fingers tapped once, twice against the desk, a steady rhythm that contradicted the barely concealed restraint in his posture. His body language told two different stories, one of hesitation, and another of inevitability. He was too close, and yet he wasn’t moving away.

Your breath hitched as he shifted, his body angling just slightly towards yours. It was a minuscule movement, one that could’ve been mistaken for a simple change in weight, but you knew better. It was deliberate. Calculated.

“You want to pass this class?”

The question was a mere whisper, his voice dipped in something that made your stomach twist. Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, nodding, too fast, too eager.

His lips twitched, almost smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. He leaned in just enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne, something dark and musky, something entirely him.

“Then you’re gonna have to focus.”

The way he said it—low, deliberate—sent a shiver down your spine. His words weren’t inappropriate, but the way he looked at you, the way his voice wrapped around each syllable, made them feel like something else entirely.

Your knees felt weak, your heart pounding against your ribcage as your grip tightened around the strap of your bag. The classroom, once suffocating in its quiet, now felt electric, charged with a current that neither of you dared acknowledge aloud.

Rafe exhaled again, this time slower, measured. His hand moved, not towards you, not touching, but close enough that you felt the shift in air between you.

“You’re nervous.”

It wasn’t a question.

Your breath shuddered. “I—”

His head tilted slightly, watching, waiting. His pupils were blown wide, his expression unreadable but entirely focused on you.

His jaw ticked, his fingers twitching at his side like he was fighting something. A beat of silence stretched between you.

And then, Rafe moved.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t forceful. It was a slow descent, a moment stretched into eternity. His lips hovered just above yours, close enough that you felt the ghost of his breath against your skin, close enough that your lips parted in anticipation before your mind could catch up.

He paused—just for a fraction of a second, just enough to give you the chance to pull away. Just enough to make it clear that if this happened, it was your choice, too.

But you didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

And before you could let a single other breath out, his lips met yours.

Soft at first. Testing. A barely-there brush that sent a sharp current through your veins, igniting something dangerous and uncontainable in your chest.

He exhaled against your mouth, and in that moment it seemed like something in him snapped.

His hand found your waist, fingers splaying against the fabric of your cardigan as he pulled you just slightly closer. His other hand lifted, skimming along your jaw before his fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head just so.

The kiss deepened, slow but demanding, every movement deliberate, every touch igniting another spark beneath your skin. He wasn’t rushing—no, he was savoring, taking his time like he wanted to memorize the exact way you fit against him. He knew this was a mistake but couldn’t bring himself to care.

Your hands found his chest, pressing lightly against the fabric of his dress shirt, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your palms. His fingers tightened slightly in your hair at the contact, his grip on your waist firm but careful, as if he was anchoring himself as much as he was anchoring you.

The sharp sound of footsteps in the hallway shattered the fragile haze that had settled between you two, yanking you both back into reality.

Rafe was the first to react, pulling away, but only just. His forehead remained pressed against yours, his breath still ragged, chest rising and falling in sync with yours. His fingers, warm and possessive, lingered at your waist a second too long before he finally, finally, let go, stepping back just enough to put a sliver of space between you. But not enough to erase what had just happened.

His eyes searched yours, dark blue depths swirling with something unreadable, something dangerous. His exhale was sharp, tension coiling through his jaw as he dragged a hand through his hair, his fingers gripping at the strands like he was trying to ground himself.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough and uneven. Then, with more force, “Fuck. Fuck.”

His eyes shut tight, his head shaking in frustration as if the motion itself could erase the last few minutes. When they opened again, they were filled with something even more intense. In two strides, he was in front of you again, his hands gripping your upper arms, fingertips pressing just a little too hard, just enough to make you feel trapped between the heat of his body and the reality of the situation.

“This didn’t happen, okay?” His voice was firm, but there was a slight tremor to it like he wasn’t sure if he believed the words himself. His grip tightened before loosening again, as if he was at war with himself as if he didn’t trust his restraint.

You didn’t answer. You just stared at him, your pulse thrumming wildly, your breath uneven. His eyes flickered down to your parted lips, then back to your eyes, and something in him cracked. His hands slid down your arms in a slow, deliberate motion, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. When his fingertips finally settled at your hipbones, pressing in lightly, his resolve wavered even more.

“This…” he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

His voice was different now, lower, more raw. His fingers traced absent patterns along the fabric of your skirt as his mind spiraled, thoughts tumbling into a chaotic storm. Why was he doing this? This wasn’t like him. He had met you, his student, his goddamn student, less than an hour ago, and he had already crossed every possible line. And yet, even knowing that he wasn’t pulling away. He was moving closer.

His hands ghosted up your sides, the touch sending shivers across your skin. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “Don’t tell anyone. Can you do that for me?”

If someone had asked you that morning how you thought your first day of senior year would go, never in a million years would you have said this? Sure, you’d heard the whispers in the halls, and seen the way every girl’s eyes lingered when he walked past. Mr. Cameron was the forbidden fantasy, the subject of countless rumors and stolen glances. But he was also your teacher. And he had just kissed you.

You knew it was wrong. You should run, tell someone, do the right thing. And yet, as your mind battled between logic and desire, only one thought rose above the rest: he had kissed you.

Mr. Cameron, the man every girl in school lusted after, had kissed you. Had he done this before? Had he chosen others before you? Or was this different?

Even as doubt twisted itself into a tight knot in your stomach, you found yourself nodding, unable to speak, afraid your voice would betray you with the high-pitched, breathy sound of a girl who had just been touched by fire and didn’t want to step away.

“Good.”

His voice was barely a whisper, almost more breath than sound. The tension in the room grew, thick and suffocating, but you didn’t want to breathe anything else in. His fingers glided upward again, teasing over your waist, grazing over your ribs, leaving a trail of heat that made your entire body burn with anticipation.

Then, gently, with a tenderness that contradicted the fevered hunger in his eyes, he cupped your face. For one impossible moment, you thought he was going to kiss you again, that he was going to throw every bit of logic and control out the window and claim your lips as he had minutes ago. But instead, he tilted your head slightly, his breath warm against your throat.

Then his lips were on your neck, barely touching, soft and slow.

A sound, something between a gasp and a whimper, escaped you, and his hands tightened ever so slightly, grounding you, making you feel small under his grasp. His mouth moved lower, pressing another kiss, and then another, each one more deliberate, more intoxicating than the last.

You barely registered the moment he turned you around, your back now facing him. Your hands trembled as they found purchase against the smooth surface of his desk, the dark wood cool beneath your fingertips.

Then, with the kind of confidence that sent a shiver racing down your spine, he placed his hands on your thighs, massaging them slowly, possessively.

His voice, low and dripping with something dark and dangerous, ghosted over your ear.

“Stay quiet for me.”

You sucked in a deep, long breath, letting your head fall and your eyes close.

The feel of the Rafe´s fingers slid under the skirt and the pads of his fingers started tracing along your panties, each tiny motion making your body stutter and tremble.

“You´re… you´re real special, you know that?” He spoke from behind you but you couldn’t respond, still holding your breath as if letting out the air would make the situation you found yourself in truly real.

When he had had enough of feeling the warm, twisted feeling in his stomach as he let his fingers glide over your clothed cunt, he pushed your underwear aside with his thumb, letting the tip of his index finger dip into your already quivering hole. The action intensified the feeling and buried it even deeper in his gut.

As if a shock of lightning had hit you, you bolted away from his hand a few inches, clenching your thighs tightly as you finally relieved your lungs of the air they were keeping trapped.

“M- Mr. Cameron…” You started to sputter out but stopped when you felt long, gruff fingers curl around the sides of your panties before pulling the black lace material down tantalizingly slow.

A cold rush of air hit your most intimate body part, making you gasp and pant. When you heard rustling and what you could only assume was the clink of your teacher´s belt, you shut your mouth and froze as you waited for the man´s next move.

“Listen,” he whispered your name like it was a sin he committed and you were a pastor, “You understand that this stays between us, yes?” His large hands massaged your ass and thighs, cursing under his breath when he saw how soaked you were.

“Mhm,” you hummed in agreement. You weren´t sure why. He was your teacher and by the looks of it and the feel of his hands on you, apparently a pedophile. But god did you want this; you wanted it, him, so bad.

Before you could so much as even let another thought pass through your head, he thrust forward, burying his cock inside you as deep as he could with multiple rapid movements of his hips. You moaned and practically screamed, the sounds of pleasure from you making Rafe reach around and cover practically half of your entire face.

“Fuck, you´re so tight,” he muttered sharply next to your ear as he started moving inside of you again, dragging his hips back only to snap them back forward less than a moment later.

“You like that, huh? Like being fucked by your teacher. Little teachers pet.”

He knew this was wrong, you were his student, and you probably didn´t even actually want this but for some fucked up reason that made it even better for Rafe, and as the thought crossed his mind it only made him thrust into you faster. At that point, you were damn near choking and sobbing into his hand, his palm making it hard for you to get a deep breath of fresh air in.

With a sense of panic taking over you, you tried to move your hands off of the desk to claw him off of your face but your attempts proved futile when Rafe pushed you flat onto the desk, forcing you to take his cock even deeper.

His free hand which wasn´t taking away your ability to breathe, found its way between your legs, his index, and middle fingers drawing squiggly circles on your clit. At the shock of pleasure that ran through you as he teased your extremely sensitive bundle of nerves, you clenched around his pipe and arched your back. You felt that familiar coil spring up in the depths of your stomach, your body rocking slightly backward against Rafe´s to help you relive the press soon.

Rafe pushed into you harder than he had any of the other time before then, hitting your sweet spot with a force that would have made you cry out, had you had your mouth free. His fingers applied pressure to the shapes they were making on your clit. The mix of heightened attention and force made your pussy squeeze around him and pushed you over the edge, coming with tears in your eyes.

After a few more brutal thrusts into your soppy cunt, he came as well, unloading into you, his thoughts barely registering anything at that point except for you and your body bent over his desk, his cum dripping out of your used up hole and onto your thighs.

Slowly he took away his hand from your face, a trail of spit following. As soon as you got a few much-needed breaths, you collapsed onto the desk, your body falling limp. Rafe pulled out of you, not wasting any time before he pulled his pants back on and redid his leather belt around his hips. He leaned over you, his body covering all of your sweaty skin as he dressed you in your underwear again.

“You did so good, darling. So, so good."

[beloveds-embrace]

will take quite anything you’ve got from the designationless au bc holy shit is it giving me brainworms in the best way possible

<333

The first few weeks with the 141 were… strange. Moreso for them, truthfully.

Not bad- just strange.

You could tell they weren’t sure what to make of you at first.

They were used to reading each other without words- the shift of a scent, the pull of an instinct, the push and pull of social cues as natural as breathing. But you were an anomaly. No scent to catch onto, no designation to categorize you, no instincts that guided your actions.

You could feel it in the way they watched you. Not with suspicion, but with an unspoken wariness, as if they were trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces. Honestly, it was still much better than the way a lot of other units treated you.

John was the first to adjust. He treated you no differently than any other soldier nor did he single you out, though there was a quiet sort of patience in the way he spoke to you, as if giving you space to find your place. You caught him watching you sometimes, thoughtful, assessing- but whatever thoughts he had, he never voiced them, and you didn’t feel like he was thinking badly of you.

Ghost… was harder to read. He was distant but you could feel the hesitance in the way he kept a careful distance at first, as if unsure how to act around you. He wasn’t standoffish, just… cautious. It took a while before his posture around you eased, before he stopped looking like he was waiting for something from you that would never come.

Soap tested it the first week by standing too close, brushing your arm as he leaned over to look at your tablet, waiting for any possible reaction.

Nothing.

No subconscious shift in posture, no inhaling of his scent, no reaction at all. You only glanced at him for a moment before turning back to your screen, as if you hadn’t even noticed he was trying to get a reaction out of you.

He blinked. “You always this quiet?”

You didn’t look up. “You always this chatty?”

Soap, again, was also the first to push past it. “Y’know, it’s a bit unfair,” he teased one evening, nudging you with his elbow as he sat down beside you. You knew the reet of the team could hear since they were also around. “Cannae scent when you’re in a mood. Gotta actually ask how you’re feelin’ like a proper conversation.”

You had huffed a laugh, tense shoulders relaxing. “Guess you’ll just have to deal with it.”

“Guess so,” he agreed so easily you were left blinking at him in open surprise. “Gotta say, makes you good at poker. Cannae bluff with your scent.”

Gaz had been the one to struggle the most. Not because he didn’t like you, but because, as an omega, scent and instincts were so deeply ingrained in how he interacted with the world. He was tactile, expressive, used to weaving himself into the unit with ease. But with you-

With you, there was nothing to weave into.

You weren’t rejecting him, but you weren’t responding the way he expected either. No subtle scent shifts, no automatic lean into comfort, no instinctual give and take. Just… you.

Gaz made the mistake of offering his jacket one evening when the air grew cold. You accepted it with a nod, but when he sat beside you, waiting for that quiet inhale- the subtle, unconscious gesture of taking in a packmate’s scent- he realized it wasn’t coming.

“You don’t… smell people, do you?” he asked, half-joking.

You glanced at him, brow slightly furrowed, and shook your head. “Not really.”

The weight of it settled between them.

Another time, he tried to offer comfort- a hand on your shoulder, a scent meant to soothe- and got nothing in return, he had hesitated, clearly unsure of what to do.

You had seen the flash of confusion on his face, the way he had almost pulled back.

So you had done the only thing you could. You reached up and patted his hand, offering a small smile. “I don’t really… get it. But I don’t mind.”

Gaz had studied you for a moment, then exhaled a quiet laugh. “Alright,” he had murmured, giving your shoulder a squeeze before letting go. “We’ll figure it out.”

And they did.

It took time, but eventually, they stopped hesitating.

John still gave orders with the same confidence, Ghost stopped treating you like an unknown variable, and Soap- well, he was always himself.

Gaz, despite everything, still fussed.

It wasn’t the same as what he did with the others- there was no instinctual scenting, no designation-motivated soothing. But he still checked in, still sat beside you during downtime, still pestered you when he thought you were overworking yourself.

You were different. They didn’t fully understand it, but it didn’t matter because by then?

You were one of them.

[cutehoons02]

Kiss me, don't say no!

*pairing: pervy idol Jake x writer tumblr Girl

*trope: frat boy x good girl

*synopsis: What if your favorite idol and bias discovered your Tumblr account where you wrote cute and adorable one-shot about him but also spicy? You always dreamed of going to a fan meeting of the Enhypen but what would happen if Jake had written for days in anonymous pretending to be a fan of the enhypen and then made you realize that you were writing with him and he would want to recreate those one-Spicy shot you wrote about him?

*tags: Lots of tension, fluffy, Jake slowly becomes more and more obsessed by the protagonist, white lies, possession, jealousy, the protagonist is a pretentious shy, they are both perverts, inspired by one-shot and reading, manipulation, masturbation (f.receives) touch, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) +18,pet names (good girl,angel) (jakey)

Sunghoon pt Heeseung pt

(English is not my native language)

8k (🎀)

Jake was bored. And when Jake was bored, he could only do two things: annoy the group members until he threw a pillow in his face... or get lost in the meanders of social.

Lying on the bed of his hotel room, with hair still wet after a shower and phone in hand, he was lazy on Twitter until he saw a trade of a fan account on him that posted one-shots that could be read on Tumblr and the top 10 and there were for each one-shot link and when he entered the page of Tumblr it jumped out at him: #Enhypen x Reader.

Curious, clicked and his timeline immediately filled with scenes, gifs, fanart, and especially fanfiction about them. He was used to seeing the name of Heeseung or Sunghoon at the top of those charts, but when his eyes fell on #Jake x Reader, his interest lit up instantly.

And then he saw it.

A blog with a cute icon and a sweet username that had fanfiction number one: "Vampire Jake: My Predator".

He just had to slide a few lines and feel a shiver running down his back.

"His red eyes shone in the darkness as his warm body trapped me against the wall. His breath was irregular, the canines were touching my bare neck while his fingers were gripping my life with an almost animalistic possessiveness."

Jake swallowed it. For a moment, his shy side pushed him to close everything, but his curiosity - and, okay, maybe something else - prevented him from looking away.

He continued reading, the heartbeat in his chest. The way you described it... the sweet tone, but also incredibly spicy... He made him blush to the ears. You had written about him as a dangerously seductive vampire, someone unable to follow for the desire to taste his prey: his girlfriend. Is it the worst? It almost seemed that you knew him.

When he finished reading the one-shot he thought: Wow this girl seems to know me so well for just being a fan of mine!

Then, scrolling through the other stories in your profile and seeing the number of likes and comments was quite famous, he realized that this was not an isolated case.

"Boyfriend Jake (But he’s a Pervert)"

"Golden Retriever Jake (But he’s Obsessed with You)"

"Jake Sim and the Thousand Excuses to Touch His Girlfriend"

He almost laughed. Almost because his head was now full of images... and questions. Who the hell were you? And how did you write such things about him with such confidence?

And with a clever smile, he had an idea: Jake had always been the type to be carried away by instinct. And at that moment, his instinct was only one thing: to find out who was behind the blog.

And maybe... talk a little with you, he entered the message section but first, he had to create an account that looked like the account of any fan of Enhypen and at this point himself. In the image he put a photo of him taken from Twitter and created the name with his initials and the year of his birth "J_S02" was perfect because you would have understood that he was a fan.

Message from "J_02" (aka Jake, undercover mode: activated)

Hey! I know you probably get a lot of messages, but I had to ask... why are you writing ONLY about Jake? I read your story and it’s nice but you seem to know Jake better than yourself!

Jake bit his fingernails and rubbed the towel in his hair to relax, he wanted to talk about it to his friends like Jay or Sunghoon but what would he say to him: Hey I found a fan of ours writing one-shot spicy about me, and out of curiosity I wrote a message?

Nah they would have made fun of him when he waited madly for your message and after a while arrived.

Answer from you: Oh? Another jealous Jake fan? 👀

J_S02: No no, I swear I’m not jealous! (Maybe a little hahaha) But come on, don’t the other members deserve some love? I saw your master and you only have stories about Jake

You: Jake is special, I follow him from I-land. He has that adorable golden retriever look but with a dangerous side that makes him perfect for any scenario... sometimes I take inspiration from their video clips or their songs

J_S02: Dangerous? But he seems the type that gets excited for a puppy! Have you seen how mini it is when he sees any animal but especially Layla?

You: Of course, I know that it has a sweet side! When he came out that vlog with Layla was adorable but who says you do not hide a more... spicy side?

Jake laughed when he read that message, certainly, it was not innocent as they painted some fans but did not think that some fans could think of it as a boy a little perverted to say it all.

J_S02: Okay, okay, point in your favor. But then... how do you write about him in so much detail? Do you know him by chance or is it all in your imagination?

You: Maybe yes, maybe no. 😉 But sorry, why all this interest? You wrote me because I don’t write about other members but I think seeing also your profile photo that you are a fan, right?

J_S02: Let’s put it like this: I would like to see if your descriptions are accurate and yes, I’m a fan of Jake and the Enhypen too, but I’m a boy and I don’t know if this thing could bother you...

You: Oh, finally I met some male fans of Enhypen!! Returning to the message from earlier and if I find that I have perfectly grasped his character? And that Jake could be both the cub boy and "Golden retriever" as the members describe him but also with a bit of a not-so-innocent guy side?

Jake ran his hand through his thick hair and shook his head, god was so fun to write you especially when he wanted to know someone or maybe have a girl to talk to about these things but the Idol life had strict rules, and didn't want to burst dramas especially now that they were at the peak of their careers and with a thousand things at stake.

J_S02: Then I would say that... you should give me some more details. You know, for "research purposes".

You: Tsk tsk, what a pervert. Just like the Jake of my stories...

Jake loved how you imagined it and maybe that Jake you described so well was not only the Jake of your stories but also the one in reality!

The conversation with you on Tumblr didn’t stop, and every message he received made him smile and at the same time put him in a more complicated position. " Who was this girl?" he wondered. "What would she think if she knew who I was?".

He could not reveal his identity to you, and the most fascinating part of the conversation was just that. He felt like he knew the secret, while you were completely unaware that you were talking to one of the ENHYPEN.

Meanwhile, he kept on responding to your messages, in a friendly and curious tone, but always maintaining his "normal identity".

J_S02: I wanted to ask you this weekend will you go to one of the two concerts they do in Seoul and the fan meeting?" Jake wrote, pretending to be just a normal guy who was curious to meet a fan.

You: Of course, I will. And also at the fan meeting on Monday!

You’ll be there? Interesting thought Jake when he read that you were going to see him at the concert but also the formatting, could somehow find out who you were and understand who was behind this account

J_S02: It must be a big event for you! Don’t you think it would be strange to meet one of your favorite stars live? Don’t you think it might be a little awkward? I will not be at the concert because I work but at the fan meeting I will be

After a few seconds, the phone vibrated with a new answer.

You: Oh, no! I don’t think it will be weird... maybe a little bit exciting, since I follow I-land, I dream of seeing them sing and dance live. Although I’m a bit shy, I think it would be a dream to see one of my idols so close and I can’t wait for it to be Monday; however, we could meet on Monday at the meeting!"

Jake, reading that answer, smiled and felt puzzled. Something was fascinating about the way you spoke. You looked so genuine and completely unaware of who he was.

J_S02: It seems to me that you are a really big fan, what are you preparing for the most: the concert or the fan meeting? Anyway, it would be perfect if we met at the meeting

The response came in a flash, with a line of enthusiasm that made Jake smile.

You: Both, honestly! But what excites me the most is that after the concert I’ll go to the fan meeting and, well... I guess I will see him after 4 years in the flesh! It will be a unique opportunity. I can’t wait! Well perfect then on Monday morning we agree on where to find us, I will be with my friends:)

Jake holds a smile. He felt in a sense excited by the thought that this girl would soon meet the Enhypen and especially him, But the thing that intrigued him most was how she would react when she realized he was one of the members she was feeling with.

J_S02: Oh wow, you seem excited. I wonder how you’ll react when you’re face to face with the Enhypen and Jake!

He wrote, but with a subtle play on words, pretending not to be the star she loved so much.

J_S02: We should find a way to recognize ourselves if you want to meet me at the meeting, I guess there will be a lot of people.

You: I’ll send you a picture of my outfit on the day of the fan meeting! So it will be easier to find us 😊

Jake smiled and now the game could be even more interesting.

The two concerts in Seoul were crazy, They sang and danced to thousands of fans and everyone was happy with their performances Jake was excited because he knew that in that flood of people, you were also there and he couldn’t wait to write you and see you tomorrow at the fan meeting.

Jake, still hiding behind his anonymous profile, found himself typing a message right after the end of the concert. He wanted to know everything.

J_S02: So, how was the concert? Did you have fun?

It took a while for him to get an answer, but when the phone vibrated he found a long message that made him smile.

You: Oh my God, it was AMAZING. I’m still without a voice! I screamed so much that tomorrow I probably won’t even be able to talk 😂.

Jake laughed at himself, imagining you all euphoric and out of breath after watching the show.

You: The performances were crazy! They sang all my favorite songs and I did not stop to film. I have a thousand videos and photos, literally.

J_S02: And did you get all of them or just your favorite as well as Jake Sim? 😏

You: Um... let’s say my film is 60% Jake and 40% the rest of the group.

Jake shook his head laughing. So you had eyes only for him, huh? And he decided to go a little further.

J_S02: And how was Jake live? Did he look at you at least once?

You answered immediately with a message accompanied by a video.

You: I caught him right now! Look, for a second he looked at me!"

Jake opened the video and concentrated. During all the chaos of lights, fans, and screaming, he managed to see himself on stage... and then, for a moment, he saw himself turn his gaze to the camera.

He made up his mind trying to remember that moment but there were thousands of fans that night and the thought that you had immortalized that micro-second among so many people gave him shivers.

J_S02: Wow. He looked at you. Do you remember what you thought at that moment?

You: That I would have melted away instantly. And that I was making mental films, because imagine if he had seen me"

Jake laughed. Oh, if you only knew... that he had seen you and was also writing to you

You kept writing to each other for a while, until Jake, without even thinking about it, asked you:

J_S02: What are your favorite songs?

You: It’s hard to choose just a few! I love Shout Out, Moonstrock, One in a Billion, Criminal Love, and the whole "Dark Blood" album but let’s say I love songs where Jake’s voice is strong. And also... I miss the blond Jake when I saw him blonde for the first time I thought I was in love with him haha. Even as a brunette he’s fine but blond>>>

Jake when he read that he liked the blond version wrote to his hairdresser staff that tomorrow before the fan meeting wanted to make it blonde that was a lot that did not dye his hair

Without thinking, he wrote to her:

J_S02: Well, at the fan meeting you will see him blond again.

On the other hand, you took a few seconds to answer.

You: Wait... what? It’s impossible! There is no comeback planned, no special event. He couldn’t change his look so randomly.

Jake bit his lip. He had just said too much, cabbage had been careful until now you should not get caught up in the emotions.

You: Wait, how do you know?

Jake cursed himself mentally. But why did he miss that sentence?!

J_S02: Oh... ehm... I meant that maybe it could be a surprise. You never know. I was just kidding! 😅"

You seemed to accept his answer, but he knew the damage was done. The problem? The next day he would really dye his hair blonde before the fan meeting and scrolling on Twitter and Tik Tok had read everywhere on social media how fans liked that look on him, and eventually he decided to do it but now... He felt that he had done it for one more reason.

You were excited, the fan meeting was about to start and you already heard the music coming from the theater and the various voices of the members; you had spent the morning preparing yourself, choosing carefully his outfit: a white t-shirt with small pink bows, low-waisted jeans that let a thread of skin, loose hair and Adidas Samba on the feet. Nothing too flashy, but cute enough to feel comfortable waiting in line, you got a message.

J_S02: So, are you ready?

You: More than ready! I’m already inside the arena, soon I’ll enter the fan meeting room!

J_S02: "How’s your outfit? I want to understand how you are dressed so I try to find you."

You: Mh, I have a little T-shirt with pink bows, low waist jeans, the Adidas Samba and loose hair

After a few seconds, Jake responded with a photo.

It was a slightly blurred image, taken from below, but you could see clearly: a red sweatshirt and torn jeans.

You: Wow, mysterious as always. Where are we?

J_S02: Inside the fan meeting. But I’m sure you’ll recognize me right away.

You wrinkled your forehead for a moment in what sense would you recognize him immediately? You sent around to observe all the few males that there were at the fan meeting but none had a red sweatshirt and it was strange because it was an access color and you should recognize it immediately.

You: Um, I’m already inside, but I don’t see anyone with a red sweatshirt and ripped jeans... 👀"

Jake: Wait till you get into the main hall.

You sighed, thinking he was teasing you and finally, the line came forward. With a heart full of joy, you entered the room where the Enhypen were sitting next to each other, waiting to chat with the fans and time seemed to slow down.

You saw them, all seven. The faces you knew so well, the guys you followed for years, the guys you could see grow up in recent years and watch them record after record with their songs and performances but when your gaze reached the bottom of the line... your breath stuck in your throat.

Jake was crazy alive: His hair was blonde, fluffy, and slightly ruffled, the perfect face, the smile on his lips but it wasn’t his appearance that made you tremble. It was his outfit: a red sweatshirt, and ripped jeans, exactly those of the photo, and the world around you seemed to stop for a few seconds while your brain tried to put together the pieces.

Jake... It was him... He was "J_S02". You thought he was just a fan but instead you.

You were written with Jake Sim. You sent him your videos at the concert. You told him how you would dress. And, most importantly... Jake read your fan fiction about him. You wanted to disappear and run away from the fan meeting but you couldn’t go back and the heat went up to your face so fast that you feared to faint.

What about Jake?

Jake was looking at you with a clever little grin, eyes slightly closed as if he was having a bit too much fun at your reaction, and then slowly winked at you and you saw him for a few seconds pulling out of his pocket a phone and you felt your vibrating.

J_S02: Surprise. 😉

And in that instant, you realized one thing was fundamental you were in trouble.

You stuck your phone in your jeans with a nervous gesture and your heart was pounding, you tried to stay calm, to treat that fan meeting as a normal experience. With the other members, you were perfectly at ease.

Jungwon had made a nice joke about your shirt, Jay had shown you a magic trick, and Heeseung had been incredibly sweet to you but when it was Jake’s turn ... Everything changed.

You sat in front of him, your heart pounding in your ears and you couldn’t even look at his face. It was too much: too absurd. Too surreal. Too much of him.

Jake looked at you with a hint of a smile, fingers thumping read on the table, and then, without warning, he took your hands, and contact with his hand made you feel too real.

He approached slightly, lowering his voice so that only you could hear him.

«Hello, Y/n.

God, your name said from his lips made your heart beat even faster and you clenched your lips, but before you could say anything, Jake bowed his head and his smile became more provocative.

«Or should I say... writer of spicy tales?"

A heat wave went up from your neck to your cheeks. Oh no. No, no.

You cleared your throat, retracting his hands with a quick gesture but he was faster than you and put them inside you in his big hands and squeezed them slightly.

"Stop." Jake raised a slouch and started to laugh slightly

«Why should I? It’s not my fault if you spent days writing spicy things about me!

You felt the fire rising in your stomach. You were angry, angry with him for deceiving you, angry with yourself for not realizing it before, angry because... damn, it was even more fascinating live.

"You’re unbearable," you muttered, finally taking your hands off his and crossing your arms on his chest.

Jake leaned against the back of his chair, looking at you with that look that seemed to be light inside.

«Oh, so you’ve got the wrong idea about me all these years? Did you think I was more... sweet?"

Where was the sweet, sunny, awkward Jake you always imagined? Where was the human golden retriever who made millions of fans beat their hearts?

What you had in front of you was a completely different Jake, maybe... more like the one you described in your stories.

He looked down at your shirt for a second, then slowly went up to your eyes. «Cute bows on the mesh."

You felt burning with embarrassment, especially because, as he spoke,

He had to stop it immediately with you, for you that was not a game was a dream that had been realized to see all 7 live but slowly was turning into a nightmare.

"Jake, stop," you hissed. "That’s not fair. You pretended to be an ordinary fan!" Jake raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly as if he was amused by your indignation.

«I repeat, I am not the one in error."

He looked at you with that damn arrogant grin you had never seen on him before.

«You’re the one who writes hot stories about me."

You felt yourself dying. You wanted to sink underground and never come out again.

"I... Not "You tried to say something, but the words stuck in your throat and Jake tilted his head even more, his look was amused but there was something more.

«What is it? Are you ashamed to have me before you now?"

YES. CURSED YES. But you would never admit it.

"That’s not the point!" you slammed slowly, trying to ignore the heat that was coming down your face.

Jake leaned his head closer and stood there, a few inches away from you, with that air of someone who had just found his new favorite pastime: to make fun of you.

«You know what?" he said, crossing his arms and staring at you with an almost dangerous smile. «I was intrigued by those stories."

You’ve been peeking. "W-what is it?!"

«Yes. We should talk about it better, don’t you think?"

"Talk about what?!" you said with grace that they were on fire and you could not look at him anymore but you looked from everything except him and hoped that the staff called you to send you away and Jake came closer, his eyes glued to yours.

«Of all you’ve written about me." And in that instant, you understood something very, very clearly. Jake Sim would not leave you alone.

Days had passed from the fan meeting and your life was back to calm, you went to university, studied, and went out with your friends to downtown Seoul or near the river thrusts, when you had time you read new one-shots and in your drafts there were some already set but you did not dare to publish any because Jake knew of your existence and even if he had not written since that day you always had the anxiety to receive a message.

But on the other hand, Jake saw your Instagram profile, thanks to the list he had found after the fan meeting with all the names and surnames written and it was a breeze to find your Ig profile carefully, eyes that were shining with curiosity... e desire had found you and would not let you be for long.

Your photos told him a story he already liked too much.

Shots of travel with friends, always smiling, always radiant, Photos at concerts, immersed in the crowd, your eyes illuminated by emotion. Outfit as a good girl, but with the right touch of mischief.

Jake ran his hand through his blond hair, biting the inside of his cheek. You were the perfect representation of his ideal girlfriend and now that he had seen your world... he couldn’t take his eyes off you. Then, a notification brought him back to reality.

🔔 Y/nWritings has posted a new story on Tumblr.

A shiver of excitement passed through him. Finally, he wanted too much to see what you had written about him until now you had only imagined it but now that you had seen him live and even heard him talking with you you could describe it much better; opened the post, sure that she would find a new story about him but her smile is turned off when she read the title.

"Heeseung x Reader - After the Fan Meeting..."

Jake wiped his eyelids slightly because he had read wrong but when he opened the story in a hurry, eyes running through the lines with growing annoyance and a sense of jealousy crept into his chest.

That story wasn’t about him. It was about Heeseung and it wasn’t just any story. It was spicy.

Jake clenched his jaw, the blood boiling in his veins. But what the fuck... he was your favorite. He was the one who had made her crazy for days not heeseung. He was the one who invaded your thoughts and your Tumblr profile with him as the protagonist, not Heeseung!

A dark smirk curled his lips, if you wanted to play with him, then he would play but his rules and win at any cost.

You were lying in bed with the computer playing one of your favorite TV shows in the background and you were relaxed in your room until a notification that you knew belonged to made you shudder.

J_S02: I want to see you.

You pulled yourself up with wide eyes, no, it couldn’t be you had ignored it for days, you tried to forget what happened at the fan meeting but you knew that sooner or later he would rewrite you and maybe you played with the wrong person because fatality had rewritten you on the same day you published a one-shot but this one-shot had not as protagonist him but another member of Enhypen.

You: Don’t write me anymore.

J_S02: Are you sure?

You bit your lip. Yes, damn it, you didn’t want to do anything with him anymore;

You were about to type another message when an Instagram notification blocked your heartbeat.

🔔 J_S02 has viewed your story and started following you

Wait... what?! In what sense did he follow me? How the hell did he find my profile and panic took over?

J_S02: Look out the window.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you slowly got up from the bed and approached the window with the phone in your hands and when you looked out... your world stopped. Jake was there, leaning, with his red sweatshirt and the usual ripped jeans, hands tucked in his pockets but this time he had a black mask covering his nose you knew it was him and you heard him talking.

«Now you still want to say no?»

The voice was low, slightly hoarse. Damn dangerous and you felt the heat coming to your face. He was crazy?!

Open the window, heart in throat. "What the hell are you doing here?!" You hissed quietly, afraid someone might hear it

Jake tilted his head, his smile amused. «I wanted to see you.»

You stared at him incredulously. "You can’t... I mean... how did you find me?!"

He shrugged. «I have my famous methods.»

You pale because it was creepy, yet damn charming.

"I can’t get off."

Jake sighed, pulling out the phone. "So I’ll get up.»

"No, I’m not!" exclaimed in panic but he was already gone, You ran to your door and leaned until you heard footsteps and slowly opened the door and saw Jake climbing the stairs and slowly taking off his black mask and stared at him with your heart beating like crazy. He was a fool. But an incredibly sexy fool.

You sighed when you felt its slightly amber scent invade your spaces. "What do you want from me, Jake?"

He looked you straight in the eye.

«Gosh, you’re giving your favorite idol warmth! I want to know why you wrote about Heeseung.»

You flashed your eyes when you heard the last part of the sentence. "Wait... are you here for this?!"

Jake nodded. «Explain it. Why didn’t you write about me?»

You put your hand in your hair and were seriously incredulous about the situation you were living in. "I didn’t think it was a problem."

«It is,» said Jake, with a dangerous smile and you saw him approaching you

Was he jealous?

He watched you for a few seconds and put his hand in the door of your room which was like a shield that could protect you from him at that moment.

«Can I. Can I come in?»

"Jake, I’m..." He stared at you intensely. «I will do nothing to you, Y/n. I just... want to talk.»

You bit your lip, you knew you shouldn’t but damn... you wanted to find out how far he would go and with a sigh, grabbed the door and opened it, Jake at first is surprised but at the same time he is satisfied with your choice, and when he came in he got closer to you and said to you in a low voice

«Good girl," You were fucked. Closed the door of your apartment with too much heat, what the hell was Jake doing in his house?!

Jake had already gone into the small shared apartment with your friends, looking around with a funny, almost arrogant air. He stood at the door of his room and looked at it with a mischievous smile.

"Can I come in?» he asked with a friendly polite tone and you exclaimed "NO!"

Trying to prevent him from entering but it was quite late, Jake had already turned the handle and had entered and you bit your lip, while he watched everything with attentive eyes and after a moment of silence, he whistled softly.

"Wow,» he commented, letting a laugh run away as she looked around. "This is a good girl’s room. I did not expect anything less.»

His fingers touched a row of perfectly neat vinyl over the bookcase. His eyes slid to the hanging lights, polaroids stuck to the wall, the Enhypen albums neatly stacked on the desk but the thing that made him smile even more was the teddy bear lying on the bed.

"Oh? You sleep with a stuffed animal?»

"It’s not your business!" you slouched, crossing your arms at your chest. Jake grinned and, without thinking twice, threw himself on the bed as if it were his. He reached out nonchalantly, hands behind his head, body relaxed as if he were in his dorm with the other boys.

"Comfortable,» he commented, slowly sliding his hand along the edge of the blankets and then looking up at you, with that air he knew very well to drive you crazy.

"I was expecting something more... forbidden, you know? Seeing the things you write about me.» You came closer by snapping, grabbing him by the wrist in an attempt to pull him out of bed.

"Get off now!" exclaimed, trying to keep a steady tone, even if you were going completely tilt inside Jake laughed softly, but did not move.

"You shouldn’t be here, you’re a liar! I thought I was talking to an Enhypen fan, not you!"

Jake slowly lifted himself on his elbows and, with a fluid movement, grabbed your wrist, reversing the grip. His hand was warm and steady, the grip firm but not intrusive, and came slightly closer, your faces were dangerously close.

"I know,» he muttered with an enchanting smile. "Surely I played a dirty game with you...»

Jake tilted his head to the side, his eyes shining with pure fun.

"But tell me, Y/n, who is the one crazy between us?»

"What the hell do you mean?" Jake slowly let go of your wrist but remained close, his voice low and dangerously sweet.

"You write dirty stories about me.» Jake let himself be left again on the bed, making himself comfortable. " One-shot extremely spicy,» he continued, playing with the edge of your shirt. "Write about me that I do things that are definitely... forbidden.»

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," the liar, trying to keep your voice still.

Jake laughed. "Oh, you know. I read it all, Y/n. Everything.»

You stared. "Are you a stalker?!"

"No, princess, I would say that I am the protagonist of your dirty fantasies.»

"Stop it!"

"Why? Does it embarrass you? » he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Strange. You didn’t seem so shy when you wrote about me whispering obscene things in your ear.» You covered your face with your hands, mortified and Jake laughed again, but then his look became more intense.

"Tell me something,» he said, lowering his voice a little. "You’re so obsessed with me, why the hell did you write a one-shot about Heeseung?»

You were stuck for a moment. "What?" Jake crossed his arms behind his head, looking at you with a slightly annoyed air.

"I read everything. All your stories. And the fact that the last one was on Heeseung bothered me.» you stared at him, incredulous. " Did he give you... trouble?"

Jake sighed, sliding a hand through his blonde hair.

"Yes. Because I thought you were all about me.»

You bit your lower lip, trying to hide a smile. Was he... jealous?

"What does it matter? Maybe Heeseung is my true bias," you teased him, tilting his head to one side.

"Oh, so you like guys like Heeseung?»

You shrugged, trying to keep a neutral expression. "Maybe."

Jake gently grabbed you by the chin, forcing you to look him in the eye.

"Don’t say stupid things,» he murmured in a low voice. "I know very well that you always had eyes for me.»

Jake smiled, satisfied with your reaction, then stooped down again to you, his face a few inches from his.

«Then tell me, Y/n...» he touched your face with his fingers, almost distractedly. «Who is the crazier one of us?"

You didn’t know what to say. Your heart was beating too fast, your breath too short, the skin hot where Jake’s fingers had touched it. What was he going to say? That yes, you were obsessed with him? That every scene you wrote for yourself seemed so real in your head that you lost sleep?

Jake tilted his head to one side, looking at her with that half-amused, half-dangerous smile. Then, without warning, he touched your cheek with his fingers.

«Here it’s all real, Y/n,» he muttered, his voice lower, deeper. «There is no game in action, no anonymous behind a screen. It’s just you and me.»

You felt a shiver run down your back. Why did he have to speak that way? With that tone that seemed like a promise and a threat together?

"You’re impossible," you slammed, trying to step back. "And a lying asshole, too, by the way!" Jake laughed softly, but in his eyes, there was something different. Something more intense and before you could go away, he grabbed you by the wrist and, with a fluid movement, pulled you over, and a moment later, you were riding on him.

"Jake!" you flapped your eyes, trying to move you but he held you with a steady hand on your back, holding you exactly where he wanted.

«Tell me something,» he muttered, looking you straight in the eye. «That scene you wrote... is how you imagined it» Jake lowered himself slightly, bringing his face closer to yours.

«Was this the position?» he whispered, his warm breath touching your skin, you could say nothing.

In the end, unable to sustain his gaze, you annuided and Jake smiled, but in his eyes, there was a predatory glow.

«Good girl», he whispered. And then without realizing it, he crashed his lips into yours, the kiss was not sweet. Or rather, it was for half a second.

His lips were resting on yours with a deceitful delicacy, as if they wanted to make fun of you, as if he was giving you time to run away but you did not run away and Jake understood it immediately.

His hands slowly slid down your back and then squeezed it harder, as if he wanted to taste you all the way. The kiss became deeper, more famished, and territorial.

You instinctively clung to Jake’s sweatshirt, fingers tucked in the fabric as you felt his body warm wherever he touched you. Jake wasn’t just kissing you, he was calling you.

Every movement of his lips against yours was decided, every touch of his hands on your curves was sure, every breath mixed with his said one thing: You are mine.

When you pulled away for a second, you were slightly panting, your cheeks burning, your chest rising and falling too quickly but Jake didn’t even give you time to catch your breath.

«You will never write anything about anyone again,» he muttered, kissing you again.

Groaning against his lips, unable to resist him Jake smiled in the kiss and pressed you even more against himself.

«Only on me,» he whispered against your mouth, biting your lower lip slowly before letting it go.

«Got it?»

You couldn’t answer, too lost in him, in his smell, in his touch, in the way he seemed determined to leave his mark on you. You nodded your head and he pressed you even closer to him and said

«Good girl,» gently caressing your side. When you came off again you covered your face with your hands, mortified by the situation and Jake laughed softly, his breath still irregular.

«So? Will you write about Heeseung again?» He asked with a dangerous smirk, you gave him a pat on the shoulder, trying to ignore the fact that I was still sitting on top of him.

"You’re unbearable," you muttered. Jake laughed again, brushing his blond hair.

«I know, princess. But you know what the worst part is?»

You looked at him with curiosity. "What?"

Jake took your chin between two fingers and forced you to look at it.

«Now that I have kissed you, I have no intention of stopping here.»

You missed the breath and Jake came closer, his eyes burning.

«And this time, angel...» he touched your lower lip with his thumb.

«It will no longer be just your fantasy. Then, tell me Angel...» his voice was a rough whisper as he slowly caressed your back with his fingers. «That famous one-shot in which I was a vampire... what was the exact scene?»

"I don’t... I don’t know," you tried to answer, but Jake shook his head with a smirk.

«Oh no, you know very well,» you muttered, bowing your head as his hands slid down your waist, making you shiver. «I read it all, remember?»

You felt his cheeks burn and Jake came even closer, letting his warm breath touch your skin.

«The vampire,» he continued, with a low and deep voice, «takes the girl in his arms... holds her close to him...» And meanwhile, Jake recreated every movement. He pulled his hair to one side...» Jake did it. The tapered fingers gently picked your hair, revealing its bare neck. «... and start kissing her,» Jake ended, finally pressing his lips on your skin.

The first kiss was slow, almost innocent, but it was nothing more than a deception.

Jake continued to leave a trail of slow, warm kisses down his neck, the touch of his lips so light that it gave you the creeps. But then, suddenly, he sucked slightly at the skin and made a little surprised noise.

«That’s how you described it, wasn’t it? » he whispered in a low, husky voice.

You couldn’t answer it was impossible and Jake continued, alternating kisses and sucking, leaving a trail of marks on his fair skin. As if he wanted to mark it and then, without warning, he bit you.

A slight bite barely hinted at, but it was enough to give you a sound that had never come out of his lips before.

"J-Jakey..." moaned softly, clinging to him and Jake froze for a second. That nickname on your lips? Damn.

You felt his breath getting heavier, something in him had changed and it squeezed you even more.

«Y/n,» he muttered, returning to your neck, the voice more raucous than before. «Say it again.»

You shook your head, embarrassed and Jake said to you: «You will say it, because from this moment on, every sound that comes out of your mouth will be mine and you will moan my name.»

You were anxious when Jake continued his torturing game, alternating deep kisses, bites, and suckers; it seemed that he did not want to let you escape.

Your hands clenched in the fabric of his sweatshirt with legs slightly trembling around his hips.

«If you keep on like that...» Jake mumbled against your neck, his voice scratched by the birthmark, «I will not stop, angel.»

He gave you a second of his nickname: Angel.

Jake took a break, looking for his gaze. «Tell me what you want», he said with burning eyes.

You stared at him, then you did the only thing that you could do at that moment. You kissed him. A hungry, desperate kiss, without any hesitation and Jake moaning softly against your mouth, almost lost it altogether.

"I want to continue," you said softly, and Jake stared at you for a moment. «Good girl,» he muttered, kissing you again and gently making you lie in your bed and he looked at you this time with a look full of lust but also of sweetness and respect for you.

Jake slipped his hands on your hips and stroked those fucking bows you had in your shirt and wanted to tell you that at the fan meeting, he would want to touch you but maybe it was better not, Because otherwise you would be scared to know all that he had thought when he saw you live that day.

Grunts against your neck, sinking her teeth into a new area of skin and sucking where she had previously gently bit you «All my fucking», repeats, squeezing your hips tighter and rubbing up into your still fully covered pants and in your center ever closer to him, his lips separate from your neck with a loud, moist snap and connect to yours with enthusiasm, You pulled his hair slightly when you felt that he had added tongue and were rubbing up and down with your bodies.

"Jake" whispered with his lips as he looked into his eyes as if he wanted to reproduce all those scenes you had written with him as the protagonist, He touched your pajama shorts and with one movement pulled down both your pants and your panties and you did not expect this gesture and shivered in feeling your hot excited area but at the same time the temperature of the room that was cool.

Jake leaned slightly down and looked at your pussy which was already excited by the kisses, the lollipops he gave you, and the stimulation of rubbing up and down; «You’re a disaster here», comments, eyes lit up with joy as he sees you slightly wiggling in embarrassment and without wasting time slips his fingers and starts caressing your folds, the fingers that slip between your excitement with embarrassing ease.

«Fuck, you were just waiting for this, look ready for me!» His deep voice vibrated against your skin as he pressed his lips against your thigh. A small sigh fell from your lips as his tongue split your folds before wrapping her lips around your clitoris, sucking greedily and gently.

A high-pitched whimper escaped from your lungs as he clung back to your clitoris, his teeth brushing the little bundle of nerves, leaving you breathless. "Jake-Jakey!" you cursed, the hand flew to your mouth when he added two fingers at once, widening your walls even further.

Jake chuckled at you, savoring the way your thighs had begun to shake around his head. He knew you were close; you needed a little more to get there.

«Cum for me, baby; let me taste you on my tongue like a good girl.» He tubed before diving back into your sweet pussy.

His words were all you needed to give in, your back bowing against the bed, pushing your hips even more against his face as you came.

«Let go of yourself completely.»

"Ja-Jake" You complained, one of your hands tangled in its dark tufts as its nose pushed against your aching clitoris. It was only when you were withering away from the burning sensation of overstimulation that you gave.

He pulled his fingers soapy from your pussy and took them to his lips, licking away all your essence, making you moan behind your hand as you covered your face.

«Don’t be shy with me now, baby; you’re beautiful. Who knows what your readers would say if they knew that the writer of stories spicy now is moaning my name» He bowed, catching your lips with his in a deep and messy kiss.

«We both know you’re not shy, I bet when you were writing about me this pussy was completely excited!»

Your hand wrapped around his neck as you moaned at him for the taste of yourself on his lips.

"Jake, please." You felt his hips press against yours.

«Please, what, pretty girl?» He whispered as she walked away, leaning back over you.

"I need you so much, Jake." You cried, tears of need and despair filling your eyes, causing Jake to make a mockery of you. It was all so real what you were feeling and you were afraid that it was just a dream and you were selfish on your part but once in your life, you wanted to have Jake all for yourself and at that moment you wanted him inside of you with all of yourself. Next thing you know, he wrapped his arm around your hips, lifting them off the bed before grabbing the pillow near your head that you weren’t using. Putting it under your body, he made you lie down again before making sure that you were comfortable. Sitting down, he took off his suit and panties, letting his aching cock free. Then he put his big hand on your thigh, separating it once more.

A small lament came out of your lips at the sight of Soobin’s enormous size, you didn’t know if you would take it all.

«Are you ready, angel?» He asked, looking up at you and noticing that you were staring at him with wide eyes, but you still nodded. Giggling, he leaned over you, his lips touching yours again, «Words, Y/n»

"Yes, please!" you said looking at them cock while he sucked it lightly

His lips met yours as he pushed slowly against your narrow walls, swallowing all the sweet sounds you made.

«God you’re so fucking tight.» Jake moaned as you huddled around him.

He turned his hips, a choked groan came down from your lips as your hand wrapped around her biceps.

"Move, Jake, I’m not a doll." You choked, your head falling backward against the pillows while he kissed your neck, nibbling on your exposed collarbones.

«So impatient, I bet when you were writing those obscene things about me, you couldn’t have thought that I would take you so well ?» He chuckled before hitting your walls. His rhythm was anything but gentle; at every push, his tip kissed your cervix, leaving you a whiny mess.

"Jakey!" You shouted his name when he moved just enough to touch your weak point. Your nails got stuck in his shoulder pads while you tried to hold him even closer; he was just fucking you too well.

«Fuck baby, look how deep I am and how well you’re taking me.»

He moaned as you felt the outline of his cock against your stomach, you didn’t think that Jake whom everyone described as a good guy and some kind of puppy was fucking you so well and at the same time as you described him in your one-shot. "Jake! I am close," you cried, as you heard that spiral in the pit of your stomach tighten.

«Come for me, angel. Be a good girl and come all over my dick.» His words were the last drop before the edges of your sight became white and your body contracted under his.

His breaths began to come out with difficulty as she fucked you through your orgasm and closer to hers.

«Fuck, it’s so beautiful!» he crowed, his whole body trembling as he came, painting your walls white with his seed. Slowing down until he stopped, he lay down against you, face buried in your neck as you both came down from your heights.

Feeling finally recover, open your eyes, watching Jake as you raise your hand to run his fingers through his messy hair, he wraps himself around you and my his head over yours and kisses your forehead gently.

You were in Jake’s arms, still shaken by the intensity of what had just happened. He held you, with one hand gently caressing his back, and the other holding it close to him. Her lips were touching each other as they chuckled, as if the world outside had disappeared, leaving only them two.

«So?" Jake whispered, his voice soft but provocative, «Who was better? Me in real life or in your one-shot?» His eyes shone with amusement, while a mischievous smile brushed his lips.

You looked up at him, your heart still beating. "You are extremely good even in reality," you murmured your face that was tinged with a slight redness.

Jake looked at you intensely, as if he was trying to read every thought that passed through your mind. With a sweeter smile, he came closer, touching your face with one hand. «What is it?» He asked, more seriously, sensing something was wrong.

You looked down, feeling a knot in your throat. "It was beautiful," you said softly, "What we have lived together. But I know that, in a little while, you will return to your world, to your idol world. And I... you are just a dream that lasts for a short time."

Jake looked at you intensely, as if those words had struck him right in the heart. With a gesture that seemed to protect her from any doubt, he squeezed you even more tightly in his arms, as if he wanted to keep you there, safe, for a little longer.

«I don’t want it to end like this,» he said in a steady voice, a touch of sadness in the tone. « I want to do it with you again a thousand times. And I want to ask you something... a real proposition.»

You looked at him confused and surprised. Jake continued, chuckling with that usual lightness of his, but in his eyes, there was something deeper. «Would you like to go out with me, angel? A real date this time. No games, no pretenses. Just you and me?»

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[wosospacegirl]

And they were roommates - part 4

Summary: Y/n gets injured and has to stay in recovery for 8 months. It's a good thing her friend and teammate Kyra is more than willing to move in with her. wink wink

Warnings: kissing!!making out!! idiots falling in love!! team banter!!!

Word count: 4.7k

MASTERLIST

| PART 1 HERE | | PART 2 HERE | PART 3 HERE |

..

Kyra thought that last night had been a product of her dreams. She had kissed Y/n, her long-time friend and roommate while watching ‘But I’m a Cheerleader’. And when she woke up, she was cuddling with Y/n, which made everything even better.

Kyra’s arm was spread out on the mattress while Y/n slept on top of it, mouth slightly open as she breathed quietly. Her cast was on top of a pillow and her other–and good – leg was intertwined with Kyra’s. Kyra didn’t want to get out of bed, especially when Y/n’s sleeping face looked so cute, but it was 6:30 in the morning and both girls had a big day ahead of them.

The girl enjoyed a few seconds of Y/n’s warm body against her, but before Kyra could say anything, Y/n began to move slightly, pushing her face closer to Kyra’s body until she was lying on her chest, her left arm hanging on Kyra’s shoulder.

The physical touch was welcomed by Kyra. She gently ran her hands over Y/n’s scalp. “Good morning,” Kyra said in a hoarse morning voice.

“Hmm,” Y/n murmured, not opening her eyes, feeling the softness of Kyra’s shirt against her cheek. “What time is it?”

“Almost 7.”

“Too early, wanna sleep more.”

Kyra stroked her cheek. “I know, but you can take a nap after we get back from Arsenal, yeah? You have physio today.”

“I forgot about that,” Y/n said, finally opening her eyes to look at Kyra. “You’re pretty, did you know that?” she said smiling, still a bit dazed from the deep sleep she had been in.

Kyra blushed slightly, but hid it with a grin “Is that why you kissed me yesterday? Because I'm pretty or something?”

“Yeah… or something.,” Y/n said, kissing Kyra softly on the lips.

Kyra froze for a moment, but quickly melted into Y/n’s kiss.“We're just doing this now, aren’t we?” Kyra asked, smiling. “I mean, I'm not complaining.”

“What? Kissing? I guess so if you still want to.”

“Great, I do, I wanna do it a lot.”

“A lot?” Y/n giggled. “Won't even make me work for it” she said teasingly.

“If your leg wasn’t broken maybe, I might not be so nice,” Kyra said, tapping her chin. “But since I'm still your caretaker, then yes, you get free kisses.”

Y/n smiled, cupped Kyra’s jaw and brought her face closer, their lips touching. and Y/n deepened the kiss, neither caring if the other had morning breath or not.

“You’re the best caretaker, ever” Y/n whispered against Kyra’s mouth.

“Glad you like it, I might put it on my resume for when I retire,” Kyra said. She hesitated at first, but gently placed her hands under Y/n’s shirt, feeling the skin on her waist. “So I can get a job afterwards, or whatever.”

Y/n shook her head and kissed Kyra some more. “No, I don’t wanna share you with other sad and injured footballers, I just want you for myself.”

“So are you admitting you like having me around?” Kyra said.

“I mean, you give great kisses and you always remind me to take my medicine, so yeah, maybe I do.”

Kyra loved hearing that she gave great kisses. The thought of being complimented by Y/n made her brain go fuzzy. It was quite an overwhelming and new feeling. So Kyra turned to what she knew best: jokes.

Kyra pumped her fist dramatically in the air “Yey! Would you mind repeating that again?” She picked up her phone and opened a recording app.

“Oh fuck off,” Y/n pushed the phone away, laughing. “We were having a moment.”

“Sorry, couldn't help myself, let’s just kiss some more,” Kyra said before filling Y/n’s face with kisses.

..

They didn't talk about it.

They didn't talk about any of the kisses they had shared. They hadn't mentioned whatever it was they were doing, not because they didn't want to, or because it was awkward, it was just because it felt normal. As if they'd been in this domestic routine for ages.

Kissing Kyra; telling her she was pretty; cuddling up with her at night…it was all normal, comfortable and serene. Their routine didn’t change, they continued to do the same things every day, except they kissed.

Y/n was always very focused on football. So focused that she simply did not care about other things, like romantic relationships. She put everything she had into football because she knew it was up to her and no one else. She didn’t really open up to people, especially those who weren't her friends, so it was hard to build any type of romantic relationship.

However, after all these weeks of living with Kyra, she’d realised that her friend had meant a lot more to her, and she wasn’t afraid to show it. It felt good to finally let go and relax, to put football and her long-standing fear of vulnerability aside for a moment.

This wasn’t Y/n’s first time being with someone, she had one-night stands before, but they’d been very…awkward. In the mornings, she and random girls Y/n had met in London’s nightlife would dance around ‘good mornings’ and ‘see you’ or even ‘we should do this again’. But it was all very superficial, as it had to be.

Y/n was not sure what Kyra thought of their thing but she seemed to enjoy it. Y/n didn’t want to put a label on it. She just wanted to kiss Kyra some more, cuddle with her through the night and overall just enjoy their little domestic, and pretty much, ordinary life.

They didn’t have to rush into it, or overthink it. Just live in it for a while. There was no big elephant in the room that needed to be discussed. There was just Kyra and Y/n, and she was grateful for that.

After a few minutes of lying in bed and doing nothing, the girls left the bed and went to the kitchen to start their day.

“You can add the mushrooms and onions now, but let it cook before you add the salt and pepper” Y/n said. She sat on the kitchen counter while Kyra stood by the stove, wearing Y/n's apron with the saying ‘I love stirring things up’. It looked cute on her, but the size wasn’t right.

Y/n made a note to buy an apron just for Kyra. She didn’t really enjoy sharing her things. Red flag, yeah.

Kyra had a frown on her face, if Y/n hadn't known they were only making omelettes, she would have thought Kyra was being sent off to war.

“I hate cooking,” Kyra muttered, stirring the mushrooms uninterestedly.

“We can't live off of cereal for the next months to come,” Y/n said, without looking at Kyra, concentrating instead on the recipe book in her hand. “Can you also chop the spinach for me when you're done?”

Kyra grumbled so that was a yes.

Y/n took the eggs and the bowl that were already on the counter and started beating the eggs with a whisk.

Y/n loved to cook. It was one of the most therapeutic things for her. She loved cooking for herself and for others. She took pride in eating something and being able to explain, step by step, what she had done and what ingredients she had used.

When she got injured the doctors had told her that she wouldn't be able to stand for long periods of time, so cooking and baking was promptly removed from the list of things she enjoyed, but couldn't do, along with football and morning runs.

This was the first day she had cooked since the injury. She had tried cooking standing up in her crutches but this had led to her falling over while trying to pick up ingredients from the pantry. She had cried her eyes out of anger before Kyra found her on the floor, a mess of tomatoes and beetroot down with her.

She felt frustrated and pathetic, but there was nothing she could do about it except accept that she was fated to eat Kyra’s bad food for a while.

A few weeks after that incident, she tried another strategy, the one she was doing right now: sitting on the counter while giving instructions to Kyra, but, of course, she got frustrated again because Kyra couldn't follow instructions and Y/n was too much of a control freak, so she gave up cooking one more time

However, something had happened between Kyra and Y/n–they kissed! Y/n hoped that since they shared quite a few kisses, they could successfully share a kitchen as well, so she tried cooking again.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Y/n shouted from the other side of the kitchen.

Kyra stopped putting whatever spice she was adding to the food and looked at Y/n confused, holding the spice jar in the air.“What? You told me to add salt and pepper on it after it was cooked!” Kyra said, defending herself.

“That's not pepper, that's paprika!” Y/n pointed out, hands down her face. “Now our omelette is ruined!”

“No, it's not,” Kyra made a face. “It's just paprika, not cocaine. We can eat it just fine.”

“Here, pass me the eggs,” she demeaned. “Are they frothy already?”

Y/n took the bowl from the counter, and put it behind her, trying to get out of Kyra’s reach. “We're not putting my eggs on that. I hate paprika, it makes everything taste horrible.”

Kyra was silent for a moment, her face stoic. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Yes.”

“Why the hell do you have paprika if you hate it, then?” Kyra questioned.

“You can't be a real cook and not have paprika in your kitchen.” Y/n shrugged.

Kyra tried to take the bowl from her again, but Y/n was quicker and got it out of the way, holding it to her body for dear life.

“I'm being serious! Maybe we can throw the anions, mushrooms and spinach mix away and you can make it again, using the right and correct seasoning this time.” Y/n suggested.

“You want me to chop the onions again?!” Kyra said with a gasp. “I just cried, chopping them.” She pointed at the onions as if they had hurt her.

“Maybe you can try wearing sunglasses this time?” Y/n pointed.

Kyra didn't respond. The girl just turned away and opened one of the upper cupboards, taking out three boxes of cereal with one hand and two bowls with the other.

She placed the cereal boxes and the bowls next to Y/n and pointed At each box. “Do you want Coco Pops, Raisin Oats or Weetabix?”

Y/n stared at the cereals, disgust on her face. “What?!”

“Cereal. Which one do you want?” Kyra pointed at each of the boxes again, repeating its brand name.

“I don't want cereal,” Y/n said, more sassy than she liked to admit it.

“Well, but I do,” Kyra said, picking up the Coco Pops one, and pouring it into a bowl.

Before taking a spoonful, she took a step closer and kissed Y/n on the nose, then packed her on the mouth. "You're way too bossy in the kitchen–my cortisol levels are through the roof,” she explained, taking a bite of her cereal.

Y/n pouted defeatedly, picked up the Raisin Oats and poured it into her own bowl, without saying a word.

Kyra tapped the spoon against the bowl in her hand. “Wow! That's actually so good,” Kyra said mouth=-full.

“You say that as if you haven't done this every day for the last week,” Y/n said grumpily, taking a spoon of her raising. It tasted so processed.

Kyra shrugged. “Well, at least your Raising tastes better than paprika anyway.”

Y/n and Kyra could share kisses and a house, but they couldn't share the kitchen, or even the same cuisine taste.

..

Kyra and Y/n arrived at Arsenal half an hour before the training. Which was plenty of time for Y/n to say hello to all the staff members and Win on her way in. Y/n didn’t realise how much she had missed the people she used to see every single day. All the staff members made sure to tell her how much they missed her too and wished her a recovery.

Y/n felt strange at first. In the changing room, everyone was wearing their training kit, and boots and had their hair up, ready for training, everyone except for Y/n, who stood in the middle of the room, and couldn't help but feel like the odd one out, even though all the girls assured her that she was still very much part of the team.

It was still difficult to be surrounded by such amazing players, and friends, while Y/n had only just learned how to walk on her crutches without stumbling.

“Look who's here!” Leah was the first to see Y/n, greeting her with a hug. “How have you been? Giving that pest over there a hard time?”

“Always,” Y/n said, winking at her captain.

“Y/n! I didn't know you were coming in today.” Alessia said, being the next one in line to give Y/n a warm welcome.

Y/n hugged Alessia as she waved at other teammates, who were just as happy to have her back, even if it wasn't for playing or training.

“Kyra didn't tell you that I've been cleared to start physio with our physiotherapists here at Arsenal?” Y/n asked, turning to look at Kyra, who was sitting on the bench, putting her boots on.

“I did tell them!” Kyra said, defensiveness in her tone “But they didn't believe me.”

“Easy there, little pest,” Steph said behind Kyra, patting her on the back. “This is what happens when you think it's funny to make up stories, and now we don't believe you when you tell the truth.” Steph walked past a stunned Kyra, coming to greet Y/n. “But it doesn't matter anymore because Y/n is actually here!”

“Bloody hell! Is this still about the loose screws?! Have some mercy and let it go!” Kyra said, pulling her hair into a ponytail.

The team laughed at Kyra and for a few seconds Y/n felt what she used to feel before her injury, a sense of belonging to the people around her and to her club… After all the girls chatted with Y/n, they left the changing room and headed onto the pitch, leaving only Y/n, Kyra and Alessia still chatting, just like old times.

“And then Kyra tackled Renéé to the ground, can you believe it?!” Alessia said, having just finished telling her the story of how Kyra was responsible for getting Renée–aka their head coach–in the infirmary a few days ago.

“She told me to treat her like any other player,” Kyra mumbled. “I felt bad though, but she said she wasn’t angry.”

“I would give anything to see Renée get tackled,” Y/n laughed.

“I think Steph actually got it on video,” Kyra said.

Y/n’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Really?!”

Kyra smiled. “Nah, I’m joking.”

“I hate you,” Y/n muttered.

Alessia interrupted the two girls by putting one arm around Y/n, but not quite leaning over her so that Y/n wouldn't lose her balance. “Did you know I’m gonna be your physio-buddy today?”

“I fell hard on my shoulder yesterday, Mary wants to have a look at it.” She added.

Mary was Arsenal's upper body physiotherapist. Y/n wouldn’t be doing any sessions with her, instead, Clare would be the one to keep up with Y/n's injury. But both physiotherapists did the physical therapy in the same room, so Alessia and Y/n would spend the whole morning together.

Alessia led Y/n through the door of the changing room, heading to the opposite direction of the pitch, where the physio room was. They quickly noticed someone walking behind them.

Alessia smiled softly, “Aren’t you doing drills with the team today, Ky? Or do you also have an appointment with Mary too?”

Kyra blushed slightly as she shook her head. “No, I don't have an appointment. It’s just that–” Kyra turned to Y/n. “–don’t you want some help? I always help you walk around and… I can stay with you and Alessia during physio today too, I’m sure Renée won’t mind.’

“Thanks, Ky, but it’s ok.” Y/n looked down at her crutches then at Alessia and smiled softly at Kyra. “Lessie here will help me, you don’t need to worry about me now, just focus on your training.”

Kyra listened to Y/n but didn’t move. Kyra had spent most of her free time with Y/n. The only time they had been apart since her injury was when Kyra was at training, so it felt strange not to be by Y/n’s side when she could.

She knew Y/n would kill her if she ever knew how much Kyra was worried about her and her injury all the time. Y/n absolutely didn’t like people fussing over her, so Kyra was having a particularly hard time today.

She needed to give Y/n some space away from her, maybe it would do her some good, and make her feel more independent too.

“I'll keep an eye on her, Kyra, ” Alessia said, placing a comforting hand on Y/n's back. “Don't worry, go on, if anything happens I'll come get you, yeah?”

Y/n smiled and Kyra a thumbs up, reassuring her that she could leave

Kyra just nodded her head, a small smile on her face as she turned around and walked away.

Y/n would be fine. Why wouldn't she be fine? She was only doing physio, for God’s sake. Kyra thought, a mix of emotions on her mind as she left the two girls alone.

“She seems very concerned about you,” Alessia said. “Did you fall or something? When Leah was injured she fell down the stairs of her house, remember?”

“Yeah I do remember that, I was the one that had to come to her house to help her” Y/n said. “I fell too, twice actually, once in the bathroom and once in the pantry a few days ago,” Y/n pointed to her crutches. “I still haven't got used to using them.”

“Was Kyra the one who helped you?”

“Yes, she was very nervous, but she didn’t wanna show it,” Y/n continued. “So she just kept saying I shouldn't try to kill myself trying to walk on my own because people would think I died because of her.”

“I think she was trying to hide how much she cared for you with her jokes,” Alessia said. “Did you know Clare and Mary had to ban her from getting into the physio room because she kept interrupting the other girls ’sessions to ask about your injury, and if there were any kind of new treatments around.

Y/n stopped and laughed at Alessia. “She did that? That’s so Kyra honestly.”

“Yes, but I think her ban was lifted a few days ago,” Alessia said jokingly as she opened the door to the physio room and helped Y/n to one of the therapy tables.

Thankfully the room was empty, so Alessia and Y/n were able to talk about whatever they wanted freely.

“It’s a little funny watching you and Kyra,” Alessia said, putting up a chair next to Y/n’s table. “I think we’re so used to seeing her acting as a menace and treating her like a little sister that we get a bit shocked when she acts more responsibly.”

“It’s adorable, really,” Alessia added.

Y/n smiled, thinking of Kyra’s soft face. “Yeah, she is.”

Y/n almost blurted out that she had never seen Y/n as a little sister, especially now. Y/n and Kyra weren’t exactly hiding that they were…kissing? snogging around? But Y/n still didn’t want to talk about it too much. It still felt too intimate. It was something that belonged to them.

“Kyra’s been treating me really well,” Y/n continued. “I mean she always jokes and teases me a lot, but she’s also very patient when I’m mad about my injury, and she always drives me around, so that’s a plus.”

Y/n wanted people to see Kyra the way she saw her. Not just someone who plays around, but also someone who’s very caring and generally loving.

“Well, I'm glad to know you have someone like Ky on your side right now.” Alessia smiled. “It makes me worry less about you and her, I feel like you act as her voice of reason sometimes. ”

“Please, I don’t need more people to worry about me, I promise.” Y/n rolled her eyes playfully. “This whole recovery is going slower than I thought it would be but I’m just learning to be patient.”

“You’ll get there,” Alessia said reassuringly.

“Now please let’s talk about something other than my stupid injury, please!” Y/n said dramatically, making Alessia laugh.

“Ok, so let me tell you what happened in the tunnel in our last game–” Alessia started the story, and both girls were busy while waiting for physio to begin.

..

“I'm never coming back here again,” Y/n mumbled as she sat on the bench, wind in her face, watching her teammates do running drills on the pitch. Physio had taken up two hours of her and Alessia’s morning and it was hard; Y/n even considered just cutting off her leg and leaving it there.

“Yes, you're,” Leah murmured from her side, drinking her water and watching her surroundings “Physio honestly sucks but you’ve just gotta do it, mate” The captain shrugged. “It’s good that you’re feeling pain, it means your nerves aren’t screwed up.”

“Yeah, but it fucking hurts!” Y/n complained, crossing her arm “

“Breaking a bone hurts, what made you think growing them back wouldn't,” Leah said condescendingly.

“Have people ever told you how much you suck at supporting others in need?”

“Have people ever told you how annoying you are when you whine?” Leah bit back.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Hey, share your water with me, I left my bottle in Kyra's car.” Y/n made grabby hands, but Leah shook her head rather dramatically.

“Ew, no.” Leah said, “I hate sharing water, grab one from the cooler.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow at Leah, signalling at her cast. “Could you please get me some water, then?”

Leah complained all the way to the cooler and back, but finally handed Y/n her water bottle. “Are you like this with Cooney-Cross at home too?”

“Like this what?” Y/n asked, taking a sip of her cold water. Damn, she was thirsty.

“Demanding,” Leah said teasingly, taking the spot next to Y/n again.

“I wasn’t at first. I didn’t like asking for help,” Y/n answered, her eyes searching the pitch for Kyra in the pitch. “But she cracked me.”

“I think you cracked her too,” Leah said nonchalantly, watching Kyra as well.

“What?” Y/n asked, turning her head to Leah.

“She’s different.” Leah continued. “She’s not acting so much like a pest lately, she’s been more responsible, less reckless on the pitch too.”

Y/n didn’t answer.

“I wonder if it’s because of you,” Leah added.

Wow, Leah, always the straightforward one.

“She’s a young player, we’ve all been like that once,” Y/n said, trying to steer the conversation, sensing something suggestive in Leah’s voice, but not wanting to give in to Leah, not.

“I wasn’t,” Leah said proudly.

Y/n laughed sarcastically. “Oh yeah, because you were always so calm and collected.”

“I beg your pardon? I have the least yellow card ib from this team,” Leah bit back, rolling her eyes “Anyway, I’m just casually, very casually, letting you know that I’m sensing something different in Kyra.”

Y/n didn't answer again.

“So I’m just leaving the door for this conversation open,” Leah continued, trying to sound chill, but Y/n had known her for a few years now. The captain had thought this whole conversation through. “If you ever want to talk about it, I mean, I’m here.”

Leah honestly could give two shits about other people’s lives, so Y/n was rather amused by Leah’s way of showing that she was interested in her life and in whatever she had to do with Kyra’s change in behaviour.

“Is this your way of trying to be casual? Because you failed, bro.”

Leah furrowed her eyebrows. “I’m just trying to be a good friend. Alessia told me I should be more welcoming, and more…emotionally available, so this is me trying. If you prefer my old version I can bring her back”

“Please bring back my old Leah,” Y/n said, playfully putting her palms together as if in a prayer.

“What happened between you and Cooney?” Leash asked bluntly.

This was the Leah she knew.

“Nothing happened between me and Kyra,” Y/n said. “We just got closer, we’ve been sharing a house for the last one to two months, in case you don’t remember. ”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it was the best Y/n could tell Leah right now.

Y/n and Kyra weren’t even dating, but Y/n couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if they disclosed whatever they had going on to the team. It wouldn't be anything new, it was very normal to date with your teammates.

Arsenal itself had a lot of couples that were brought together through the club, it wasn’t something unusual. But of course, when new couples formed the dynamics of the team changed a bit.

If they started dating, would people stop seeing Kyra as their little sister? Would the team stop seeing Y/n as this tough player who only had eyes for football and maybe a nightstand here or there?

When she thought about it Y/n realised that she really didn’t care about what her teammate thought about it. When Viv and Beth started dating, everyone just moved on with their lives, it was the same with Katie and Caitlin.

Y/n and Kyra just weren’t the type to make a big deal about it, they would probably just notice the shift between them and accept.

“I’ll pretend to believe you if you tell Alessia I tried doing the whole talk your feelings out with you,” Leah mumbled next to her, pulling Y/n out of her thoughts.

“So Alessia was the one who sent you, then? That little minx was with me the whole morning, she could've asked me.”

Leah shrugged, getting up from the bench and starting to warm up. “She didn't want to intrude.”

“So you intruded on her behalf?” Y/n asked, finding the whole situation funny.

“Yeah, I mean, you get closed off sometimes and it’s hard to reach out to you,” Leah said, more firmly now.

“It takes one to know one,” Y/n said, smiling at Leah.

Both women had been friends for a very long time. But the friendship between Leah and Y/n was different, they didn’t text every day, and they didn't plan to meet every week.

It was the kind of friend shared by two reserved people who enjoyed their privacy but still knew they could always count on each other

Y/n and Leah had the same faults, they were proud, stubborn and overly independent. So they knew each other, they knew how the other reacted to the world. And of course, they knew how hard it was for them to open up.

“Well, you know where I live if you ever feel like talking about why your eyes haven’t left Cooney for a second,” Leah patted Y/n’s back before running back to the pitch.

Maybe people would realise that she and Kyra were together sooner than she thought. Especially since Y/n was bluntly staring at Kyra while she played.

So what if she actually cheered a little when Kyra scored a goal?

..

Notes: Please like, share and let me know what you think! Feedback is important and makes me want to write even more. :D

Read more of my work here -> Masterlist

[daeniradraconis]

Faceoff with Love - Jack Hughes

Summary: Jack Hughes. The NHL’s ultimate manwhore. King of confidence. Untouchable… or at least, that’s what he thought. Until he falls hard.

Warning: Implied sexual situations, mature language, nothing too wild or serious

Hey, lovelies! 💕 This is Jack's story, the next installment in what I’ve officially named The Hughes Effect Saga—because let’s be real, every brother deserves their own story. I couldn’t resist giving the main characters names since this universe is growing, and honestly, trying to write it without them would’ve been mission impossible. So, just a heads-up: Thea is Luke’s love interest! (Though if you’ve read Age Is Just a Number…Right?, you won’t see her mentioned there, since that one started as a standalone one-shot.) You can read this without reading Age Is Just a Number, but it definitely gives you more background on Jack's story if you do!

Not gonna lie, this one took forever to write. It ended up being 16,472 words and 42 pages in my Word doc—so, yeah… buckle up! 😅

Hope you love reading it as much as I loved writing it! ❤️

For more fun: masterlist

—-

Jack Hughes, star of the New Jersey Devils, was enjoying a normal morning—until the noises coming from his little brother Luke’s room hijacked his thoughts. Jack had always been supportive of Luke, and he was genuinely happy for him. After all, Luke and his girlfriend had been through a lot—the pressures of the NHL, the relentless fans, and everything in between had made starting their relationship anything but easy. He knew how much effort they both put in to make it work, and he couldn’t help but admire them for it.

But the sounds from the next room? That was a different story. Jack tried to block it out, but it was impossible. The muffled conversations—and those other noises—had a way of seeping into his mind. It wasn’t just the invasion of privacy that bothered him, though. It was what he’d learned that really threw him off: Luke’s kink.

Some things were best left unsaid, behind closed doors. But there was Luke, sounding way too eager to ask permission for... well, things Jack had no business hearing. It was burned into his brain, and he couldn’t unhear it.

“Yeah, no. Nope. That’s it. I need to get out of here,” Jack muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

With a groan, he kicked off the covers, grabbed a hoodie from the back of the couch, and yanked it over his head. “I need bleach. For my ears. And my soul.”

A coffee shop seemed like the safest escape—loud espresso machines, the comforting scent of fresh beans… anything to erase whatever the hell he’d just overheard.

As he stepped outside, he let out a deep breath, shaking off the lingering ick of the morning. He had morning skates later anyway, so at least this way, he’d be caffeinated and mentally prepared before hitting the ice.

By the time Jack reached the coffee shop, the tension in his shoulders had finally eased, the crisp morning air doing its job in clearing his head. As he pushed open the door, the familiar chime jingled, welcoming him into the warm, cozy space. It wasn’t crowded—just a handful of people tapping away at laptops, a few others lost in their books, the low hum of conversation filling the air.

Jack stepped into line, a slow grin tugging at his lips as he took in the room. He could feel it—the shift in energy, the way conversations quieted just slightly, the not-so-subtle glances thrown his way. He walked in like he owned the place. And in a way, he kind of did. Not literally, of course, but the moment he stepped inside, it was obvious—people noticed.

A couple of girls in the corner glanced up, whispering behind their hands. The old man at the corner table did a double take. A guy in line nudged his friend, a knowing smirk passing between them. Jack thrived on it. The attention, the recognition—it was something he was used to, and he had no problem leaning into it.

His gaze swept over the room, naturally lingering on the women who were stealing glances at him. A cocky smirk curled at the corner of his lips, and just for fun, he threw in a wink. A playful smile for good measure. Yeah, he knew the effect he had. Confidence? Absolutely. Arrogance? Maybe just a little. But it was the kind of charm that turned heads, and really, who could blame him? Jack Hughes wasn’t just another guy in the crowd—he was the one people noticed.

And he loved every second of it.

Jack was used to this. It was familiar. Easy. But then—he saw her.

She wasn’t looking at him. She wasn’t whispering about him, or sneaking glances, or batting her lashes like so many others did. She was behind the counter, focused on her work, crafting drinks with effortless precision, her movements fluid and practiced. There was something about her—a quiet warmth, a presence that made the entire room feel at ease. She wasn’t just beautiful; it was the way she carried herself. Feminine yet self-assured, graceful but never trying too hard.

Jack felt it immediately—the pull. Like gravity.

His heart did this stupid little stutter, and before he even realized it, he was just standing there. Staring. What the hell?

This wasn’t him. Jack Hughes didn’t freeze up over a girl. He’d had flings, fun, no-strings-attached moments. He knew how to flirt, how to charm, how to walk away before things got complicated. But right now? None of that seemed to matter.

Get it together, Hughes, he muttered under his breath, forcing himself to look away.

But then, as if she’d felt his gaze, she looked up. Their eyes met.

And in that instant, something shifted.

It was subtle. Electric. She had this knowing look on her face, like she could see right through him. Like she already had him figured out before he could even open his mouth.

And for the first time in a long time, Jack Hughes wasn’t the one in control.

Jack leaned on the counter, trying to play it cool, but he couldn’t shake the pull he felt toward her. When she finally looked up, their eyes met, and for a second, the usual confidence he wore like a second skin seemed to fade.

She raised an eyebrow as she set her hands on the counter, a half-smirk forming on her lips. "Can I help you?"

Jack blinked, catching himself. "Uh, that depends. You serving coffee... or are you in the business of making guys fall in love too?" he said with a grin, though it came out a little less smooth than he intended.

She didn’t even flinch. "Just coffee. And bad pickup lines? They cost extra."

Jack chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ouch. Brutal." He leaned in, dropping the cocky act just a little. "Alright, alright. I’ll take a latte. And a blueberry muffin. Gotta keep it classic, you know?"

"Classic? More like predictable," she replied, tossing a glance over her shoulder as she started on his drink.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You analyzing me now?"

She didn’t even look at him as she spoke. "Not really. Just guessing you’re the type who thinks a smirk and a couple of cheesy lines will get you anything you want."

Jack froze for a moment, a little taken aback. "Whoa, right in the heart," he said, putting his hand over his chest in mock offense.

She didn’t even look at him this time. "You’ll survive. Might even build some character," she added casually as she reached for the milk steamer.

Jack smirked, his confidence flickering back. "Character, huh? I’ve got plenty. Some might even say too much."

She glanced up then, eyes dancing with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "Yeah? And who exactly are these 'some'?"

He leaned in a little closer, almost leaning on the counter now. "Oh, you know... fans, teammates, my mom... definitely my mom." He winked.

She let out a small laugh, shaking her head, her fingers expertly crafting the latte. "Uh-huh. Sure, sounds legit."

Jack leaned back a bit, watching her. There was something about how she didn’t let him off the hook. It was... refreshing. "So what’s it gonna take?" he asked, trying to play it cool again.

"For what?" She finally met his gaze, eyebrows raised.

"For you to admit you’re already a little bit in love with me," he said with a teasing grin, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She slid his drink across the counter without a hint of hesitation. "Jack Hughes, right?"

His grin widened. "So you do know me."

"Oh, I know of you," she said, turning away to grab a napkin, clearly unfazed. "You’re a good player."

Jack straightened up, puffing out his chest. "Great player," he corrected her, but his tone was light, playful.

She looked over her shoulder, deadpan. "On the ice."

Jack laughed softly, the sting of her words taking a second to hit. "Damn, alright. Tough crowd."

She smiled, but it wasn’t the soft, flirty smile he expected. It was knowing. Like she already saw right through him. "Seen your type before. You walk in, flash a smile, throw out a line or two, and think the world’s just gonna roll over for you."

Jack leaned in again, his grin slipping into something more genuine. "And yet, here you are... still talking to me. Guess you must like it."

She hummed, considering this, before turning back to the machine. "Or maybe I just like watching a guy slowly realize he’s not as smooth as he thinks he is."

Jack’s smirk returned, and he picked up his drink. "So this is how it’s gonna be, huh?"

She winked, a mischievous gleam in her eye. "Oh, Hughes. You have no idea."

He laughed, shaking his head as he grabbed his muffin. "I’ve got to run. Practice later... but I’ll be back. You’re an interesting one." He winked, letting the last word linger a little longer than usual.

“Do not threaten me, Hughes,” she shot back, her voice dry but that little smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Jack turned to leave, his mind still buzzing from their conversation. He could feel her eyes on his back as he walked out the door, but this time, it wasn’t the usual adrenaline of a win. It was something else.

Maybe... just maybe, she was right. He was used to being in control, but with her? Yeah, she wasn’t having any of it.

—

The ice cream shop had a laid-back atmosphere, with a few customers scattered across the tables, quietly enjoying their frozen treats. The soft hum of conversation blended with the occasional clink of spoons against bowls and the low buzz of the freezer in the corner. The casual, easygoing vibe was the perfect backdrop for Jack to make his usual, attention-grabbing announcement.

“So, I met a girl,” he said casually, his grin practically glowing with satisfaction.

Luke didn’t even look up, already bracing himself for whatever absurdity was coming. Jack had that look—an announcement, followed by something outlandish. Thea, however, shot him a pointed glance, arching a brow in that skeptical way she did so well.

“Oh, here we go,” she muttered, barely containing her amusement.

Jack scoffed. “Wow, way to be supportive.”

Thea smirked, scooping a spoonful of chocolate ice cream into her mouth. “No, it’s just... every time you drop that line, I know I’m about to hear some delusional story about how she’s already swooning over you.” She shrugged with a grin. “Which, let’s be honest, is usually true. Flash that smile, and bam! Girls are basically tripping over themselves for you.”

Jack leaned back, clearly relishing the attention. “Exactly. It’s a gift.”

Thea rolled her eyes and casually tossed her hair over her shoulder. “No, it’s just an ego boost. You’re like a baby with a bottle—constantly sucking up the attention.”

Jack, looking entirely unbothered, twirled his spoon. “Can you blame me? I mean, why not appreciate what I’ve got?”

Luke looked up now, giving Jack a resigned look. He was ready for the same tired routine. “Jack, have you ever thought that maybe—just maybe—not every girl is going to fall for your whole act?”

Jack shot him a glance like he’d just suggested the most absurd thing. “Why would I think that? It’s never happened.” He paused, then added with a touch of uncertainty, “Okay, she’s a tough one, but she’ll come around. I think she just likes to play hard to get.” He could see the truth in her eyes—she wasn’t interested—but admitting that wasn’t an option. Not with his brother and Thea around.

Thea snorted, clearly amused. “Oh, the delusion’s strong with this one.”

Jack leaned forward slightly, tapping his fingers on the table with a confident smirk. “I’m not delusional, I’m just a realist. And the reality is... I’m me.” He paused for effect. “And I don’t lose.”

Thea let out a dramatic laugh, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Jack frowned, confused. “What’s so funny?”

Thea took another bite of her cone, her grin widening. “You. Thinking you’re untouchable. I love the confidence, but one day, some girl’s going to make you look like a fool.”

Jack scoffed, shaking his head. “Please. Do you have any idea how many girls would kill for a shot with me? I could walk out of here and just point at someone, and they'd be all over me.”

Luke, who had been watching the exchange unfold, finally spoke up. “Yeah, except for this one. I’m guessing she’s got a little more sense than that.”

Jack groaned, dramatically rubbing his face with his hand and shooting Luke an exasperated "you little shit" look. “Oh, come on. You make it sound like I don’t have options. I’m Jack Hughes guys—the same guy who got a date with three different girls at last week’s game.”

Thea rolled her eyes again. “Oh yeah, that’s really a sign of emotional maturity.” She shot Luke a knowing look.

Luke just smiled faintly, shaking his head. “If Jack’s ego ever took a hit, we'd probably need a whole therapy session.”

Jack flashed a smug grin, fully aware they were kind of right. “Ego? What ego? I’m just stating the facts.”

Thea leaned in, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Sure. State your facts. But you’re missing one thing, Jack.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what’s that?”

She tilted her head, clearly loving the moment. “This girl doesn’t want you.”

Jack’s smile faltered just a touch, but he quickly recovered. “Everybody wants me.”

Thea shook her head, the smirk never leaving her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but Jack jumped in before she could.

“Okay, maybe except you!” He threw his hands up in mock frustration. “But that’s not my charm’s fault. You just have a thing for younger guys, so I never stood a chance. You pedo…”

Thea’s cheeks flushed, and she slapped his arm lightly, her voice a mix of disbelief and amusement. “Jack, you can’t call me that, you arrogant prick! Show some respect to your elders!”

Jack smirked, unfazed. “Oh, yes, yes… sorry, Ms. Senior Citizen.”

Luke chuckled softly, shaking his head. He couldn’t help but be impressed with how Thea had grown into herself. At first, their six-year age gap had made her uneasy, but Jack, being Jack, never passed up a chance to remind her of it. Luke knew Jack played this game on purpose—his teasing made Thea realize the age gap wasn’t as big of a deal as she’d thought. And over time, she’d become more confident, even starting to enjoy Jack’s dark humor. Of course, she’d never admit it, and Luke was thankful for that. Jack didn’t need any more ego boosts.

“This is going to be a disaster,” Luke muttered under his breath, as if preparing himself for the inevitable chaos. It wasn’t a prediction—it was a certainty. Jack wasn’t going to let this girl slip away, he new that.

Jack waved him off, though his signature, idiotic grin only grew wider. “Relax, Lukey. I’m unstoppable. She’s going to like me. Trust me.”

Luke sighed, leaning back in his chair, his fingers pressing against his temples as he massaged his forehead. “Ohhh, this is going to be such a disaster.”

Jack finished off his ice cream, still blissfully unaware of the train wreck he was about to walk into. “You two are the worst. But mark my words, she’s going to like me.”

Thea winked at him. “No, we’re just not here to feed your delusion, Jacky. You could use a reality check every once in a while.”

Jack rolled his eyes, the mischievous grin still tugging at his lips. “You know what, Lukey? Maybe you should upgrade her to someone a little younger…”

“JACK!” Luke and Thea shouted in unison, but Jack only laughed, clearly finding his own joke far too hilarious.

— 

Jack pushed open the door to the coffee shop, the familiar chime of the bell ringing through the night air, but tonight, it sounded more hollow than usual.

It was late—too late—the kind of late when the world seems to shrink into itself, wrapped in the silence of the night. The air carried the warm scent of coffee and sweet pastries, but Jack barely noticed. His mind was still spinning from the game. The Devils had lost, and his mood mirrored the dark sky outside—heavy, empty, and far too cold. Yet, despite the bitterness of defeat lingering in his chest, there was something else that kept nagging at him.

He wanted to see her.

The girl behind the counter.

It was absurd, he knew. He didn’t even know her name. But ever since the game ended—ever since he’d sat in the locker room, listening to Nico’s half-hearted attempts at positivity—his thoughts kept drifting back to her. Why? It didn’t make sense.

He glanced around, expecting the usual warmth and buzz of conversation that made the place feel so cozy. But tonight was different.

The lights were dim, and the usual chatter had faded—most likely because it was just two minutes to closing, and the last of the customers had trickled out.

Jack’s eyes immediately found her behind the counter. The girl from before.

The moment she saw him, her expression shifted, just slightly—a brief flicker of annoyance before her face went completely neutral. He could tell she wasn’t exactly thrilled to see him, especially not this late.

Jack leaned against the counter, flashing his trademark easy smile. “Hey there.”

She looked up, the briefest flicker of recognition crossing her face before it disappeared. She sighed quietly, clearly not in the mood. "You again," she muttered under her breath, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "What do you want this time?"

Jack grinned, undeterred by her tone. “Actually, I realized I never got your name last time.”

She blinked, taken aback. “Seriously? You came all the way back just for my name?” She paused, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I must be pretty special, huh?”

Jack shrugged like it was no big deal. “Guess I was too busy trying to charm you last time. But hey, I did promise I’d come back.” He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. “So now that I’m here… what’s your name?”

She rolled her eyes but grabbed some fresh milk from under the counter. “It’s Anja,” she said flatly.

Jack raised an eyebrow, as if savoring the name. “Anja, huh? Definitely sounds foreign.”

Anja shot him a dry look, hands almost slamming the milk into the fridge. “Yep. My dad’s German, my mom’s from New Jersey. Pretty exotic, right?”

Jack’s grin faltered for a moment, surprised. “Wait—your dad’s from Germany? That’s… interesting.” He paused, then added with a laugh. “That’s one combo I didn’t expect. My buddy Nico’s German too. He was born in Switzerland.”

Anja froze, staring at him. Then blinked slowly. “Wait—what?”

Jack, clearly proud of his random connection, rushed on, oblivious to her confusion. “Yeah, Nico’s our captain, super chill guy. Always telling me I should visit him in Switzerland one summer. We haven’t done it yet, but maybe next year. He’s like a brother to me, honestly. Don’t tell my real brothers, though—they’d flip. They get jealous if I even mention Nico.”

Anja raised an eyebrow, already knowing Jack had a habit of overestimating the significance of himself. She stared at him for a moment, then couldn’t help it—she burst into laughter. “No, Jack… Switzerland’s not in Germany!” She bent forward slightly, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

Jack blinked, feeling a little foolish, but he wasn’t about to back down. “What? It’s a county in Germany, right? Somewhere near... uh, Munich…?”

Anja’s eyes widened, her expression a mix of disbelief and amusement. She let out a laugh, half-pitying, half-astonished. “Oh my God, Hughes. Switzerland and Germany are two completely different countries.” She shook her head slowly, as if he’d just told her the Earth was flat. “You’re telling me your best friend’s from Switzerland, and you have no idea where the hell is that? Seriously, could you be more American?”

Jack winced, but a grin quickly crept back onto his face, clearly unbothered by his own ignorance. “Hey, don’t forget, you’re half American too, so no need to get all high and mighty on me.”

Anja raised an eyebrow, her grin widening as she crossed her arms.“Sweetie, you’re the one who thought Switzerland was a county.”

Jack shrugged with a playful grin, raising his hands in mock surrender, his smile never faltering. “Alright, fine. But I’ll take this as a win. I’ve officially upgraded to the ‘sweetie’ category.”

Anja shook her head, still chuckling at his relentless self-confidence. “A lost cause, Hughes. That’s what you are… a lost cause.” She gave him an exasperated look, but the corner of her mouth quirked up. “Maybe try opening some books next time. Girls like guys with an actual brain.”

Jack waved it off dismissively. “I’ll let you know I do read. But yeh my brother Quinn is the nerd. Seriously bookish. Let me tell you, it’s not helping him. He’s got zero game.”

Anja flashed a playful grin and leaned in closer, the sudden proximity making Jack’s heart skip a beat. Her perfume—a fresh, orange scent that reminded him of a rain-drenched forest—hit him like a bolt of lightning. It was warm, feminine, and intoxicating. He couldn’t help but notice the way the scent seemed to pull him closer, but he did his best to keep it together.

She lowered her voice just enough to make him focus. “Or maybe... he’s just a normal guy who doesn’t want every woman’s panties to drop the second he meets them.”

Jack swallowed, his eyes flicking to her mouth, noticing the way her lips parted just slightly as she spoke. He tried to focus, but the air between them was thick with tension, the heat of her so close to him throwing him off. “Or maybe…” He leaned in, his voice dropping low, his words teasing as his gaze lingered on her lips. “He just overthinks everything. Sometimes you just have to go with the flow in life, you know?”

Anja shook her head with a soft smile, muttering under her breath as she crossed her arms. “As I said, lost cause,” she added, only half-amused, half-exasperated.

Jack laughed, relieved she was still in the game. He gave her a wink, the confidence in his smile almost irresistible. “But a charming, good-looking, lost cause, right?”

Anja rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips and the amusement in her eyes made it clear she wasn’t really bothered. Her eyes briefly caught his, and for the first time, she noticed how his blue eyes weren’t just any shade—they had this grayish undertone that made them look almost stormy. It was enough to make her pause for a moment, but she snapped back to the banter with a playful glint. “You really should’ve opened a geography book sometime. You can’t disrespect your friend this much. At least learn the basics about the poor guy’s life if you want to be his bestie.”

Jack’s grin widened as he leaned in, his light brown wavy hair falling slightly into his eyes, his expression a mix of challenge and charm. “Hey—I’d happily let you teach me about Switzerland... or anything else. To be fair, I’d let you do anything with me.”

Anja let out a breathless laugh at his boldness, shaking her head, but her eyes softened as she met his gaze. “Yeah, keep dreaming, Jack.”

Jack winked. “Believe me I will. But seriously—just give me a chance. Let me prove myself to you.” Anja rolled her eyes again, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away. “Whatever, Jack. You can beg, but the answer is still no.”

Jack didn’t hesitate. The thought struck him like a bolt of lightning, and before he could second-guess himself, he dropped to his knees with all the dramatic flair he could muster, looking up at her with wide, pleading eyes.

Anja froze, her eyes wide, the mug she’d been about to place on the shelf still dangling in mid-air. “What the hell are you doing?!” she asked, her voice a mix of confusion and something else—amusement, maybe. It was hard to tell.

Jack tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes, still kneeling with a grin that stretched wider. “You said I can beg, but I wasn’t really begging yet, was I? Let me show you just how good I can be at it.” He fluttered his lashes and gave her the full-on puppy-dog eyes, cranking up the charm.

Anja stared at him for a solid minute, her brain clearly processing the absurdity of the situation. Then, as if a switch had flipped, she burst out laughing. “You’re insane,” she said, shaking her head, stepping back like she needed to regain some personal space from this level of ridiculousness.

Jack, still on his knees, leaned in a bit closer with dramatic theatrics, his grin widening. He clasped his hands together like he was about to give a TED talk.

"Anja, hear me out," he began, voice dripping with over-the-top sincerity. "I know you think I’m a lost cause, but I’m not just any lost cause. I’m your lost cause. And let me tell you why."

He paused for effect, then continued, ticking off his points like a lawyer making a case. "First off, I’m a party. You want a good time? I’m your guy. I can keep things fun, always ready for an adventure, never a dull moment."

He held up a finger, ready to deliver his second point. "Next, I’m a manwhore. And I know what you’re thinking—‘Jack, that sounds bad!’ But no, hear me out. Being a manwhore means experience. I know how to make people laugh, I know how to charm, I know how to—" He shot her a wink. "Well, I know how to do a lot of things. So... experience? Check."

Jack then leaned back dramatically, spreading his arms out. "And, let’s not forget, I’m a hockey player. I’m rich, athletic, and—" he gave her a sly grin, flexing his arm slightly, "look at these muscles. I’ve got the athletic build, which means a lot of energy to spare. And when I’m not working out, I’m probably... in the kitchen making all the mistakes with cooking. And that’s actually a good thing! Because you—" he pointed at her, "You can be the queen of the kitchen, living out your baking dreams while I try not to set the stove on fire. My kitchen? Practically untouched, new condition. You can take over anytime."

Anja rolled her eyes, but she wasn’t ready for what came next. Jack, still grinning, suddenly pulled his shirt up slightly to expose a well-defined set of abs. His muscles flexed with a little extra dramatic flair. "See this?" He flexed again, holding the pose for a moment. "Hard work, dedication... and honestly, a whole lot of charm. You can’t argue with that, right?"

Anja froze, her eyes wide with disbelief. She stood there for a moment, trying to process what she was seeing, before rushing to Jack. Kneeling beside him, she reached for his shirt, fingers scrambling to grab the fabric. She shot him a look of shock. “Oh my God, Jack, put it down! This is insane.” She yanked at his shirt, but Jack grabbed her wrist. His grip was unshakable, and he used his position on the ground to keep her from pulling away.

He moved closer, a glint of mischief in his eyes, clearly enjoying every moment of his act. “I’m just proving a point. I’m the full package, Anja—athletic, a manwhore, experienced, and a terrible cook. The perfect guy to have fun!”

Anja gave him a look that was half disbelief, half amusement—as if saying, "Even you don’t believe this." She tried to pull her hand away, but Jack kept his grip tight, holding her wrist steady as his grin grew wider.

Jack shrugged, unfazed by the situation. “Alright, alright, maybe my geography’s a little off. But here’s the deal: You get to be the smart one with all the answers, and I’ll just nod and smile while you school me. It’ll be your show—I’m basically signing up to be your personal cheerleader. You’re the brains, I’ll be the brawn. Need a little backup? I’m your guy.”

Anja shot him a pointed, exasperated look, surprised but slightly amused as he kept his hold on her wrist. “So, Anja, what do you think? I’m the full package—fun, rich, athletic, kind, supportive, and amazing. What more could you possibly want?”

Despite herself, Anja laughed, though she fought to hold her composure. “This is the worst pitch I’ve ever heard in my life, Jack. Seriously, put your shirt down already.”

But Jack didn’t move an inch. "You know you want to. I’m practically giving you the world here. I can be your support, your personal cheerleader. You’ll be the brains of the relationship, and I’ll—"

"—Be the ‘muscles,’ right?" Anja interrupted, raising an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a smirk.

"Exactly! I'll be your biggest fan, always backing you up. And hey, I’m probably the best at making people laugh too.”

Anja couldn’t help but stare at him—this insufferably stubborn, over-the-top guy—and, much to her own surprise, found herself laughing again. “Hughes, you’re a complete idiot. But fine,” she sighed, shaking her head, “I’ll give it to you—you’ve got muscles... and, I guess that counts for something?”

Jack shot her a wink. “Oh, it counts for everything, Anja. Everything. So, what do you say? One coffee, no weirdness?”

Anja hesitated, still gripping his shirt, then let out a long sigh. "Fine. One coffee. But just so we're clear, Hughes—this is strictly a friend thing. No boyfriend talk. I’m not looking for anything, and I definitely can’t handle you as my boyfriend.”

Jack released her wrist, smoothing out his shirt, his grin still in place but with a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Deal. I’ll settle for the friend date. A desperate man takes what he can get.”

Anja rolled her eyes, half amused. "Just... no flexing, alright?"

Jack chuckled, giving her a mock salute. “Alright, alright—I'll behave.”

– 

And Jack wasn't lying, about him being on his good behaviour.

He pulled up in his sleek car just as Anja finished her shift a couple days later. The neon lights of the coffee shop flickering behind her. She stepped out into the crisp evening air, shaking off the exhaustion of her shift, her apron swapped for a simple jacket. Jack leaned over from the driver’s seat, his grin wide, like a cat who’d just caught its prey.

“Ready for our coffee date, Anja?”

Anja rolled her eyes dramatically as she slid into the car, amusement flickering across her face.“It’s a friend date, Jack,” she corrected, her voice dripping with mock annoyance. “And what’s the plan? Where are we going?”

Jack’s grin widened. “Well, about that…” He gestured toward the empty streets. “It’s a bit late, and all the normal coffee shops are closed. But don’t worry, I’ve got a backup plan.”

Anja raised an eyebrow.”Yeh that's what I’m afraid of.”

“No, no. You’ll love this. Trust me.”Jack chuckled. 

A few minutes later, they pulled up to an old, charming bookstore that looked like it belonged in another era—warm light spilling from its windows, a glowing sign that read Open 24 Hours. It had the kind of inviting presence that made you want to step inside and stay awhile.

Jack parked and motioned for Anja to follow him in.

“This is… a bookstore?” she asked, her tone laced with skepticism but also curiosity. As she stepped through the door, the scent of old pages and freshly brewed coffee wrapped around her like a comforting embrace.

“Not just any bookstore,” he said, his tone teasing. “It’s got a coffee shop inside. And pastries. Perfect place for a late-night coffee date, if you ask me.” Jack flashed a smirk, leading her toward the back. “And you thought I’ve never read a book in my entire life—guess I’ll just have to prove you wrong.”

Anja smiled sweetly, shaking her head as she followed him. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Not ridiculous. Creative,” Jack corrected with a grin. 

Inside, a barista was still serving warm drinks to a couple of late-night readers, the soft hum of conversation blending seamlessly with the crackling of an old record playing in the background. Cozy armchairs and beanbags were scattered throughout the room, creating an intimate, almost dreamlike atmosphere.

Anja glanced around, taking it all in. The soft lighting, the inviting scent of coffee and something sweet—chocolate, maybe—it all made the space feel like a quiet little world of its own. A place where time didn’t feel so urgent. “Okay… I’ll admit, this is actually kind of nice. Cozy, even.”

Jack flopped onto a nearby beanbag, a self-satisfied grin on his face. “See? You can’t always judge a book by its cover.”

Anja groaned. “You’ve been in prime form tonight, haven’t you?”

“Hey, I’ve got plenty more where that came from,” he shot back, flashing her another confident smile.

He studied her for a moment before speaking again, his tone softer. “What if we swap coffee for hot chocolate instead?” His playful edge had slipped away a little. “Figured something warm and sweet might be better this late.”

Anja raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden thoughtfulness. “Hmm, actually, that sounds really good. It is too late for coffee, and I could use a decent night’s sleep for once.”

Jack’s smile deepened, satisfied with her answer. “Good choice,” he said with a wink before heading to the counter.

When he came back, he wasn’t just carrying hot chocolate. Along with the two steaming mugs, he had a plate of warm pastries, their flaky layers golden and crisp. He set everything on the small coffee table between their beanbags, the sweet smell of cocoa and butter filling the air. Something about the simple gesture—just them, the warmth, the food—made the moment feel unexpectedly intimate.

Anja dropped her coat to the floor and sank into her beanbag, letting out a soft sigh as she got comfortable. Everything about this night felt softer, easier than she’d expected.

“I really wasn’t expecting this… but it’s nice.” She reached for her mug, glancing at him. “Just don’t let the compliment go to your head.”

Jack smirked as he leaned back, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “No promises.” He picked up a pastry and held it out to her. "I figured you'd appreciate a little something sweet to go with the moment."

Anja hesitated for only a second before taking the pastry. As she bit into it, the warm layers melted on her tongue, and she let out an involuntary hum of satisfaction.

“Okay,” she admitted, taking another bite. “You’re definitely not wrong about this.”

Jack watched her, the sound of her hum catching him off guard, a hint of something shifting in his chest.

As they sipped their hot chocolate the café around them felt like its own little world—soft lighting, the distant murmur of pages turning, the quiet clinking of mugs against saucers.

Anja curled deeper into her beanbag, fingers wrapped around her mug, letting its warmth seep into her hands. Jack stretched out in his seat, looking just as content, his usual energy softened.

When they finished, Jack set his mug down with a satisfied sigh and shot Anja a look. Then, without warning, he reached for her hand and pulled her up.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Anja blinked. “Go where?”

He gestured toward the shelves. “You can’t just sit in a bookstore café and not browse. That’s practically a crime.”

She huffed a laugh but let him lead her toward the towering bookshelves. As they wandered through the aisles, Anja ran her fingers over worn spines, occasionally picking up a book to flip through. Jack did the same, moving ahead of her, plucking books off the shelves without much thought.

At first, she didn’t pay much attention to his choices—until she caught a glimpse of the titles in his hands. The Odyssey. Moby Dick. War and Peace.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, staring at him like he’d just grown a second head. “War and Peace? Really?”

Jack raised an eyebrow, totally unbothered. “What? I’ve got layers, Anja. I like to read, too. Not geography books, as you already know, but serious stuff. Might surprise you.”

Anja let out a laugh, shaking her head. “You? The manwhore of the hockey world? Reading Tolstoy? I thought you were too busy with girls and hockey to have time for this kind of thing.”

Jack smirked, holding up the book like it was a trophy. “Ha ha, really funny.” He shot her a look, clearly not offended. “I’ll have you know, girls and hockey are not the only things in my brain.”

Anja scoffed, reaching out to snatch the book from his hands. She flipped it open, skimming a few pages before looking back up at him, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

“You actually read this?” she asked, holding up War and Peace like it was a foreign artifact. “Not just for, like, show?”

Jack placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Wow. Zero faith in me.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, flipping through the pages. “Alright, prove it. Who’s your favorite character?”

Without missing a beat, Jack smirked. “Andrei Bolkonsky.”

Anja froze for a second, looking up from the pages, clearly thrown. “Wait, really? You’re an Andrei guy?”

Jack nodded, his expression dead serious. “What? You thought I’d say Pierre?”

“YES,” she said immediately. “Pierre’s the obvious choice. He’s way more... interesting.”

“Interesting? Pierre’s a hot mess for like, 90% of the book. The guy spends half his time getting lost, getting into trouble, and overthinking everything.”

Anja shot him a teasing glance. “Exactly. That’s what makes him interesting! He’s awkward, searching for meaning... vulnerable.”

Jack laughed, leaning closer to her. “Vulnerable? Or just indecisive? The guy can’t make a choice without spiraling.”

“That’s the whole point. He’s human. Complex.” She poked Jack’s chest with a finger, her eyes gleaming with passion as she leaned in just slightly, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth.

Jack moved closer to her, crossing his arms. “I’m sorry, but Pierre’s a disaster. Andrei knows who he is. He’s a leader, a soldier, a guy who gets things done. That’s why I like him.”

“Oh, please,” Anja scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Andrei’s the epitome of a brooding, pretentious sad boy. He spends the entire book sulking, acting like everyone else is beneath him.” She paused, a sly grin spreading across her face as if she’d just had a sudden realization. “Hmm, sounds kind of familiar, actually.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, a wide smile creeping onto his lips. “Are you calling me brooding and pretentious?”

Anja held his gaze for a beat, then shook her head. “Not exactly. But yeah, that sounds like you—at least the pretentious part. You’re not really the brooding type. You’re way too cocky for that. But I can definitely see some Andrei in you.”

Jack chuckled, a small spark flickering in his chest. He couldn’t help but like a woman who had both a strong opinion and a sharp mind. “I’m confident, not pretentious. There’s a difference. Andrei’s got his life together—he knows what he wants, he has standards, and he doesn’t just drift through life hoping things will work out. You can’t say the same about Pierre. That guy spends half the book lost in his own head, making bad decisions, and hoping the universe sorts it out for him. Andrei? He takes charge. If that’s who you’re comparing me to, I’ll take it.”

Anja shook her head, amused. “Not just that. Andrei’s just a ticking time bomb. All that ‘duty’ and ‘honor’... It’s like a mask he hides behind to avoid facing his own mess. You probably like him because, let’s face it, he’s a little bit like you in that sense as well.”

“Me? A mess? I’m hurt.” Jack let out a dramatic gasp.

Anja shrugged, a wicked grin playing on her lips. “Don’t act like it’s not true. You’re just like him. A little too obsessed with being ‘the guy who’s got it all together.’”

Jack smirked, shifting his weight casually as he placed Moby Dick back on the shelf next to them. “Andrei’s confident. I’m confident. So, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Anja raised her eyebrows. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that. But at least Pierre learns. He grows. Andrei? He just spends the whole book whining until—well, spoiler alert, he dies.”

Jack threw his hands up in mock disbelief, eyes wide. “Ouch. Ruthless. The guy goes through war, heartbreak, and personal tragedy, and you just—” He waved his hand dramatically. “Done. No sympathy?”

Anja grinned, flipping the book shut with a decisive motion. “Not my fault Tolstoy made him insufferable. I stand by Pierre.”

Jack looked at her, laughing in disbelief. “I can’t believe you read War and Peace and took Pierre’s side.”

Anja shot him a playful side-eye. “Oh yeah? You read it and picked Andrei. We’re clearly both making questionable decisions here.”

“I guess we can’t buddy-read Tolstoy together, huh?” Jack chuckled, shaking his head.

Anja crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Good. I’d hate to have to explain everything to you.”

“Unbelievable.” Jack let out an exaggerated sigh, while he tucked War and Peace under his arm again, giving her a teasing look. “Alright, book snob. Since you clearly think you know everything, what’s next? Are you going to try to convince me that Anna Karenina’s actions were justified?”

Anja gasped, eyes widening. “Jack. Don’t even start.”

Shaking her head, Anja grabbed a couple of books from the shelf, and Jack did the same. With their newfound selections in hand, they made their way back to their cozy beanbags. They settled in, the quiet rustle of pages filling the space between them.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Jack flipped through War and Peace, skimming familiar passages, while Anja lost herself in a biography of one of her favorite artists. The playful banter from earlier still lingered in her mind, but as she snuck a glance at Jack, something about the way he was fully immersed in his book made her pause.

She watched him for a moment, her smile softening. There was something oddly sincere about him like this—quiet, focused, different from the cocky, fast-talking guy she was so used to.

“Huh,” she murmured, more to herself than anything. “Guess I underestimated you, Jack.”

Jack didn’t look up immediately, but a slow, lazy smirk spread across his face. “It happens,” he said, finally meeting her gaze. “Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”

Anja rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite to it. She turned her attention back to her book, trying to focus. But every now and then, she found herself glancing up—watching as Jack absentmindedly ran a thumb over the edge of the pages, completely absorbed in his book.

Anja took a deep breath, smiling to herself as she sank deeper into the beanbag. Maybe Jack Hughes wasn’t just a pretty face after all. And maybe, just maybe, this friend date wasn’t so bad after all.

—

Weeks passed, and what started as a single friend date grew into something neither of them had quite expected. Something real and deeper. Jack started showing up at the coffee shop every day after practice, sometimes before games, sometimes after. He’d slip in quietly, pulling his hood up, and find a corner table by the window. And there he’d stay, right where Anja could see him. It was like a routine now, something familiar and comforting.

He’d sit there, watching her work, the steady hum of the café filling the space between them as he lazily flipped through a book. On quieter days, when Anja wasn’t rushing from table to table, Jack would start talking—about hockey, the latest game, or whatever TV show had caught his attention. Their conversations stretched beyond the usual small talk. They argued about politics, books, their childhood, even their biggest fears. Jack was always challenging the way she thought about things, pushing her to question what she believed. And though it sometimes annoyed her, Anja couldn’t deny that she actually enjoyed it.

She began to appreciate the complexity in him, the layers behind the cocky smile and careless attitude. It wasn’t just the light teasing that made her laugh. It was the way he could discuss some silly tv show one minute and then dive into a heated debate about the latest political news the next. And sometimes, when their conversations would die down, Jack would pull out a book, burying himself in it while Anja went about her work. They’d fall into a comfortable silence, the kind only true friends could share.

More and more, Anja found herself looking forward to seeing Jack walk in. There was something about him that made everything feel a little more relaxed.

It wasn’t long before their friendship spilled over into texts. Casual check-ins after games, long messages about something that had made them laugh, or a random book recommendation. Anja, to her own surprise, found herself enjoying it. She’d thought it would be strange, having Jack’s name constantly flashing on her phone, but it wasn’t. It was… nice. She wasn’t sure when the shift happened, but somewhere between the books they’d shared, the heated debates, and the quiet moments spent together, Jack had become a friend in a way she hadn’t expected.

And now, as she glanced over at him, sitting in his usual spot, flipping through pages of Inferno by Dante, she couldn’t help but smile. 

Then, as she turned to take an order at the counter, she heard laughter from across the café. She didn’t even need to look to know what was happening. Jack, as usual, had charmed a group of older ladies sitting near the pastry case.

“Oh, come on, Marge,” he said, grinning at one of them as he leaned casually on the counter. “You can’t tell me you weren’t a heartbreaker back in the day. I bet you had all the boys lined up.”

Marge, a widow in her seventies who came in every morning with her two best friends, waved him off with a playful scoff. “Oh, hush, you flirt. You’re just trying to sweet-talk me into buying you a cookie.”

Jack gasped dramatically, but his confident smile was still on his face. “Marge, I would never!”

Anja, overhearing the entire exchange as she filled a coffee cup, tried—and failed—to stifle a laugh. She bit her lip, shaking her head as Jack continued his antics, effortlessly charming the older women like he was born to do it.

But then, when his gaze flickered back to Anja, something changed. The easy, flirtatious grin softened. His shoulders relaxed. He still had that effortless confidence, that natural charm, but when it was just the two of them, it was different. He didn’t need to perform. He let Anja see something deeper—something quieter, more thoughtful.

She walked past his table, setting down a fresh cup of coffee without him even asking. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” she murmured, shaking her head.

Jack just smirked up at her, his voice dropping into something softer, something just for her. “Yeah, but you like it.”

Anja rolled her eyes, but she didn’t argue. Because maybe, just maybe, he was right.

– 

Jack hated these nights.

Another brutal loss. Another night of feeling like the weight of the entire team was sitting on his chest. With Nico out, the pressure had been on him to step up, to push the team to a win. And he tried. He fucking tried. But it wasn’t happening.

And to make matters worse, the apartment wasn’t exactly peaceful.

A muffled whimper filtered through the wall. Then another. Then—Jesus Christ.

Jack clenched his jaw and rolled onto his stomach, shoving his pillow over his head as if that would help. Spoiler: it didn’t.

Luke and Thea were home. And happy. And apparently, they had absolutely no concept of thin walls.

And maybe Jack was just being petty, but it was hard not to feel... left out. Especially when he remembered how he’d been on with Anja these past few weeks.

Jack had never experienced a true friendship with a woman, but Anja was different. From the start, she made it clear that she only saw him as a friend—and that was fine with him. At first, he struggled to accept it, but over time, things shifted. They grew closer, spending hours together, laughing, talking, and sharing moments. Jack found himself explaining the New Jersey Devils to her—a tough task, especially since she was a Bruins fan and knew next to nothing about his team. Patience wasn’t his strong suit, and the fact that she didn’t seem to care made it even harder to keep his cool. Still, he couldn’t help but respect that she wasn’t one of those girls who swooned over him. It was... refreshing.

But still... there were nights, like tonight, when it hit him.

He couldn’t deny it—he was drawn to her. He loved their friendship, no question, but deep down, there was always that something more. That unspoken tension, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to be acknowledged. He wasn’t ready to face it. Jack didn’t do love. It was just sexual tension, he told himself. It couldn’t be anything more. After all, Anja was a beautiful, young woman, and he was a ridiculously good-looking athlete. Of course, they had chemistry. But that’s all it was. 

And then there were nights like this, where his mind wandered off course, and instead of texting her—because that would be weird—he went back to his old habits. Hook-ups. Quick distractions. Just something to get his mind off things.

So, he picked up his phone and fired off a few texts. It was easier this way, he told himself. 

It wasn’t like he wanted anything serious with anyone else. He wasn’t looking for that. But sometimes, he just needed a reminder that he could still get attention from people. He still had that pull. Even if Anja didn’t feel the same way.

He knew what he was doing wasn’t exactly healthy. But it was easier than dealing with the things that really mattered.

Five weeks since he’d met her. Four weeks since she had completely turned his world upside down. But that wasn’t her fault. He was the one who couldn’t seem to figure things out.

His phone buzzed almost immediately. But it wasn’t the message he was expecting.

A: Hey, Prince Charming.

Jack smirked, running a hand through his hair as he read the text. The nickname had started after their first friend date, when she’d looked at him with that amused glint in her eye and said he reminded her of a fairytale prince—all looks, maybe not completely dumb, but let’s be honest, not that smart either. He should’ve been offended, but for some reason, he fucking loved it when she called him that.

Another buzz.

A: So, that was a really shitty game. You sucked today.

Jack barked out a laugh. Jesus. He loved that this woman didn’t hold back. Everyone else always tried to phrase it in a way that wouldn't bruise his ego. Not Anja. She came at him full force.

J: Wow. Don’t hold back or anything.

A: I don’t do sugarcoating. You were bad. Like, painfully bad.

J: Yeah, yeah. I know. Thanks for the reminder.

A: Anytime, Hughes.

Jack shook his head, still smiling as he stared at the screen. His other texts—the ones he’d sent out looking for a distraction—were sitting there, unread. He didn’t even feel like checking them anymore. Instead, he rolled onto his side, typing out another response.

J: So what, you just text me to roast me, or are you actually gonna make me feel better?

A: Oh, I was getting there. You’re a disaster, but at least you’re a pretty disaster.

J: Pretty disaster, huh? Wow, really boosting my confidence here.

Jack rolled his eyes, but a small smile spread across his face.

A: You’re welcome. It’s the least I can do. You looked so sad out there today, I felt bad for you.

J: I don’t need pity. I need sleep.

He ran a hand through his hair, irritation creeping back in. The game had been brutal, and now he was staring at the ceiling again, the exhaustion weighing on him. Tomorrow’s practice would be hell if he didn’t get some sleep. His body was already aching from the game, and now this.

A: Oh, so now you want sympathy? Make up your mind, Hughes.

J: I’m just saying, I’m exhausted. And I’ve got thin walls here—Luke and Thea are having the time of their life, and I can’t escape it. I’ve tried everything. Nothing works.

A: Ah, poor thing. Just not jealous?

J: Trust me, the last thing I want to do right now is stick my dick in anybody. I don’t even know how Lukey does it. Guess being young helps… Maybe Thea was right about that stamina thing...

A: Jesus Jack! You really don’t have a filter. TMI! But…Well… I mean, if you need a place to crash, my couch is always available.

J: Wait, seriously?

Jack paused, blinking at his phone. He wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or serious. But there was a part of him that was already considering it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a night to himself that didn’t end with him staring at the ceiling.

A: Yeah, I’m serious. We’re friends. Even if this is painful for me to admit. And I live basically 10 minutes from you. Just come over.

J: …Wait, you actually want me to crash at your place?

A: Just don’t make me regret this, Prince Charming!

Jack chuckled. This… this was definitely unexpected.

J: Alright, fine. I’ll take you up on the offer. Thanks, Anja!

—

Jack stepped into Anja’s apartment, every muscle in his body groaning in protest.

His legs ached from the game, his mind was a chaotic mess, but right now, all he could think about was sleep. Real sleep. Not the restless, half-conscious tossing and turning that had been his last few nights. He needed to crash—hard.

And then he saw her.

Anja stood in the soft glow of the apartment, wearing loose, dark pajamas, her hair twisted up in a messy bun. No makeup, no effort—just her. Effortlessly beautiful, untouched by the outside world.

Jack’s brain stalled for a second.

How the hell was she this attractive without even trying?

He shook the thought away. It was exhaustion, right? Had to be. She was just… Anja. He was too damn tired to think straight.

So, Jack did what any man on the brink of collapse would do—he went straight for the bed, flopping face-first onto the mattress without asking.

Behind him, Anja leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips. “You know the rules. Couch.”

Jack groaned into the pillow. “Anja. Please. My body is broken. My soul is hanging by a thread. And that couch? That couch is where souls go to die.”

Anja snorted. “You’ll survive.”

Jack rolled onto his side, his eyes heavy with tiredness, but he still managed to give her a slow, teasing glance. "You’re seriously gonna make me crash out there when there’s a whole king-sized bed right here?" He patted the mattress like it was the most inviting thing in the world. "Come on, that’s practically a crime against humanity."

Anja lifted an unimpressed eyebrow. “You are humanity’s crime.”

Jack grinned. “Thank you.”

She sighed, rubbing her temple like she was already regretting every life decision that had led to this moment.

Jack pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Alright. Let’s make a deal. I’ll do anything. Literally anything. Name it.”

Anja smirked. “Anything?”

Jack nodded solemnly.

“I want—” she paused for dramatic effect “—a New York Rangers jersey.”

Jack’s face twisted in disbelief. “Okay, that’s just plain evil, darling.”

Anja smirked, knowing full well how much Jack loathed the Rangers. Her hockey knowledge was avarage, but she was well aware of the hostility between Jack’s team and their biggest rival.

Jack exhaled in frustration, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright, new offer: I’ll make you breakfast.”

Anja let out a short laugh. “You can’t cook, Jacky. That’s basically a threat, not an offer.”

“Incorrect,” Jack said, giving her a playful look as he pointed at her.“I can cook. I just choose not to.”

Anja stared at him, unamused.

“Okay, fine,” Jack groaned, his hands raised in mock surrender. “I can make breakfast. Still counts.”

“That’s just eggs. And even those are awful,” Anja remarked dryly.

Jack shrugged his shoulders. “Hey, still technically breakfast.”

“Anja,” he said, voice grave. “I am a man at his lowest. My body is failing me, my will to live is fading, and you—” he pointed dramatically at her “—have the power to save me.”

Anja blinked at him, unimpressed. “You are so dramatic.”

Jack pressed a hand to his chest. “I prefer passionate.”

She rolled her eyes again, exhaling like this whole act was physically draining her, and for a second, Jack thought she was going to send him to the couch anyway. But then she let out a long, resigned sigh, shaking her head like she already regretted it.

“One night,” she said, pointing at him sharply. “And no funny business.”

Jack shot up like he’d just been given a second lease on life, already pulling off his hoodie as he practically dove under the covers. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

Anja muttered something under her breath about regretting this already, flicking off the light as she climbed into bed beside him.

Jack exhaled as his body sank into the mattress, tension bleeding from his muscles. But just as his brain started to shut down, he caught it—her scent.

That unmistakable mix of orange and peppermint.

It was everywhere. In the sheets, in the pillows, in the air itself, wrapping around him and settling into his skin like a slow, creeping warmth he hadn’t been expecting.

His body relaxed instantly, but his mind? His mind did the opposite.

He wasn’t sure why this felt different. Why she felt different. Why, after all the nights spent in beds that weren’t his, this—lying next to Anja, stealing her blankets, breathing in the scent of orange and peppermint—was the only thing that had ever felt right.

He hated how much he liked it.

Jack turned his head toward her, voice low, teasing. “You know, if you let me stay in this bed again, I’ll compose an original poem just for you.”

Anja groaned. “Shut up, Hughes!”

Jack grinned. “A sonnet, actually. Or maybe a haiku—short and sweet. You know, something like—” He cleared his throat, pretending to get serious before continuing, “Shall I compare thee to—”

Anja rolled over, cutting him off by slapping a hand over his mouth.

“Enough,” she murmured, her voice light but warm, with a hint of something almost... hesitant.

Jack blinked up at her, his lips still pressed against her palm. The room felt different all of a sudden, as if the air had thickened. Maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe something else entirely, but the shift between them was unmistakable.

Neither of them moved for a moment.

Jack could feel the heat of her skin against his face, and saw how her breathing slowed just a fraction, like she had only just realized how close they were. He should say something, crack a joke, break the silence. But for once, he didn’t.

And then—because he was Jack—he wiggled his eyebrows.

Anja blinked at him, like she was snapping out of a daze, and pulled her hand away, rolling onto her side. “You’re such a pain.”

Jack chuckled, stealing half the blanket. “And yet, here I am, still in this bed.”

Anja rolled her eyes, pulling her blanket back. “You’re lucky I’m not making you sleep on the couch. And honestly, how do you know what a haiku is? You didn’t even know that Germany and Switzerland were two different countries.”

Jack groaned, but the smile never left his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head slightly. “I’m misunderstood,” he muttered, like he was truly burdened by it.

Anja laughed softly, the sound light and warm in the dim room. “Yeah, the real mystery, Jack Hughes. You’re dumb enough to confuse countries, but you’re cultured enough to drop haiku on me.”

“Hey,” Jack said, lifting his head and squinting at her with a playful grin, “I’m a complex man. Who loves literature.”

She rolled her eyes once more, but a smile played at the corners of her lips. “And that’s exactly what makes you so damn annoying.”

Jack smirked, sinking back into the pillows. “Glad to see you recognize my complexity.”

Anja sighed, still facing away, though Jack could feel the faint shake of her shoulders as she tried to stifle a laugh. “You really think you’ve won, don’t you?”

Jack relaxed into the bed, the warmth of her body and the soft sound of her laughter soothing him. “Oh, I know I have.”

Anja scoffed, but Jack could hear the smile in her voice. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Jack smirked, his eyes fluttering closed. “Oh, I will.”

—

Jack sat at the kitchen table, staring down at his coffee like it owed him money. His head was pounding, and the goddamn world seemed way too fucking chipper for his liking. His body was sore as hell from practice, but it was nothing compared to the frustration buzzing through his brain.

“You’re a ray of sunshine today, Jacky,” Thea chirped as she walked in, pressing a kiss to Luke’s head. Of course, Luke had to shoot her a goofy grin, like he was a damn golden retriever. Ugh. Disgusting.

“Shut up, pedo,” Jack mumbled, trying to sip his coffee without gagging. He didn’t care if his tone was off. He wasn’t here for their bullshit today.

Luke rolled his eyes, totally unfazed. “What the hell happened to you, man? You were all full of energy this morning—like, bouncing off the walls—and now you're just... this.” He gestured at Jack, who was hunched over the table like he was already dead inside.

Jack snorted, clearly not in the mood for a pep talk. “Maybe I’m just tired of people asking me why I’m an asshole. Get a new hobby.”

Yeah, Luke was right. He knew that. But honestly? He had way bigger problems right now. Like, Anja.

This morning had started off like some cheesy rom-com, and Jack was seriously starting to panic about it. He woke up, and there she was—her small, warm body tangled up in his, all soft and perfect. For a split second, he actually thought about kissing her—maybe snuggling, maybe even making her coffee. What the hell? When had he become the type of guy who fantasized about making coffee for someone? What was next, brunch? Fucking brunch?!

But, of course, it wasn’t until he was changing out of his hockey gear, post-practice, that he realized what a weird thought that was. He wasn’t exactly known for catching on to things quickly. He knew his flaws. But here he was, practically having a meltdown over the idea of wanting to snuggle.

And the worst part? The morning had been way too perfect for his comfort. Like, Anja didn’t even make the cuddling weird. Which, on any other day, would be a blessing. But now? He was thinking about her—and not in a “she’s a cool, funny friend” way. No, this was different. This was “I just woke up in her bed and I’m wondering if we should get matching coffee mugs” levels of insane.

They’d woken up, did the lazy morning cuddle thing—because apparently, Jack had no self-control—then they’d grabbed coffee. He’d cracked a few jokes about the news, she’d laughed like it was just another morning. And, damn it, it felt so normal. Too normal.

And then came the worst part: he kissed her on the cheek when he left. Like, a peck. And she blushed. She fucking blushed and wished him a good day like she was some picture-perfect, Hallmark-movie wife.

Did he just call her a wife? Oh, hell no. That couldn’t be a thing. He wasn’t ready for that.

He gulped down more coffee like it was going to fix this internal meltdown. The burn hit his chest, but the panic was still there. He had to shake it off. This was stupid. Anja was just a friend—no, not just a friend, she was a friend who he happened to share a bed with... and now apparently, his feelings? What the hell was happening to him?

Jack swore under his breath, rubbing his forehead. This wasn’t him. He was the guy who had no problems keeping things casual, no strings, no feelings. But now? Now he was screwing up his own rulebook. Anja is a friend…just a friend!

Jack sighed dramatically, letting his frustration hang in the air like a thick cloud. “Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on, alright? But I feel like a goddamn idiot. I’m not supposed to be thinking about this. I should be pissed about my game, but instead..." He rubbed his forehead, hoping it would somehow stop the mental chaos.

Luke, ever the observant little shit, raised an eyebrow. “So this is about her? Anja, right?”

Jack shot him a look that could’ve melted steel. “Well, no, I’m talking about the weather, Luke. Of course it’s about Anja. Who else would it be?” He paused, then—BAM—his brain hit him with a sudden revelation. Wait a second—this was actually Luke’s fault. “Actually, this is your fault, you know. If you and Thea weren’t busy mating like a pair of rabbits, I wouldn’t have had to leave the house yesterday!”

Luke’s smirk was already five miles wide. “Man, just admit it. You’re into her. You’re all mopey and pissy because you’ve got no idea what to do with it.”

Jack glared at him like he just insulted his entire existence. “Fuck off. I don’t do feelings. And I sure as hell don’t do snuggling.”

He immediately slapped his hand over his mouth, realizing he'd maybe over-shared just a bit.

Thea grabbed an apple from the fridge and plopped herself down on Luke’s lap “Snuggling? Snuggling? Oh, Jack, you are so gone.” She bit into the apple dramatically, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“You sure about that ‘no snuggle’ rule?”Luke teased, clearly enjoying the moment, as he lightly traced circles on Thea's exposed hip.

“Oh, Luke, do you remember what Jack said to Quinn?” Thea tilted her head, changing her voice to mock Jack. “‘Who said anything about it ‘meaning’ anything? I’m just here for the ride, bro.’” She smirked. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you.”

Jack groaned. “Oh, God, please, feel free to enjoy my suffering. It’s what you’re best at.”

Thea clutched her chest like she was watching the best drama unfold right in front of her. “Oh, I’m living for this. You know, those moments that are so painfully awkward and secondhand embarrassing that they keep you entertained for weeks? Jack Hughes falling in love—now that’s the kind of content I’ll be replaying in my head forever.”

Jack shot her a glare. He knew exactly what she was referencing. That was his line—the same one he threw at Thea when he caught her sneaking out of Luke’s room. Yeah, maybe he’d been a little too smug about it at the time. And sure, he knew she’d get her revenge eventually.

But honestly? Making his brother and his date uncomfortable had been way too much fun.

Jack would love to say he’d learned his lesson.

But he was way too much of an asshole for that.

“Yeah, yeah, enjoy every moment of this,” Jack grumbled, grabbing the last of his coffee and standing up. “Because this will be short. I’m just gonna figure my shit out. No more cuddling, no more kissing her on the cheek like I’m some goddamn romantic. I’m not built for this.” He slammed his mug down with a little more force than necessary. “I’ll find some random girl tonight, bang her, and get over this. Problem solved.”

Luke just shook his head, his curly hair bouncing with the motion, falling in soft waves across his forehead. “You know you’re not fooling anyone, right?”

Jack shot him an icy glare. “Shut up, Mr. Pedo Lover.” He practically growled as he stomped over to the sink, banging the mug down.

Thea and Luke exchanged a look, their smiles knowing. They didn’t even need to say anything, and it pissed Jack off even more. He muttered under his breath as he turned to leave the kitchen, needing to get away before he said something even dumber. But in the back of his mind, his thoughts kept running. Fuck. What the hell was he even doing?

—

The music pounded through the bar, a steady, brain-numbing beat. Jack Hughes barely noticed, his attention fixed on his beer as he took a slow sip.

He was in trouble.

Not because of the game. Not because of a fight. But because, for the first time in his life, he couldn’t find a single fucking woman he wanted to take home.

And that was a problem.

A huge problem.

This Sunday night was supposed to be easy. A big win finally, a few drinks, a quick fuck. No strings, no thoughts, no mess. That was the routine. That was him. And yet, here he was, staring into his beer like it held the answers to his fucked-up brain.

It was Nico’s slap on his back that snapped him out of it.

“Come on, man! What the hell’s up with you? You’ve turned down, what? Ten girls already?”

“Four,” Jack muttered.

Nico laughed, shaking his head. “That’s not like you, Jacky boy. You sick or something?”

Jack grunted, smacking Nico’s hand away when he pressed it to his forehead. He took another long swig of beer, hoping the alcohol would do something—blur the edges, dull the noise, drown out her.

Because that was the real problem, wasn’t it?

Anja.

The fucking Anja Syndrome.

Every girl, every goddamn girl, he measured against her. And every single one of them came up short.

Too blonde. Too tall. Too high-pitched. Too weird with her fucking drink.

It was bullshit.

Jack never gave a shit before. He didn’t care if they were tall or short, blonde or brunette. If they had a body and were willing, that was enough. And yeah, he knew that made him sound like a dick, but he was 23, a pro athlete, and he’d be an idiot not to enjoy the perks.

So why the fuck was he sitting here, empty-handed, second-guessing his entire goddamn existence?

“Come on, Jack,” Bas nudged him, nodding toward the bar. “That little blonde has been eye-fucking you all night. Give her some mercy.”

Jack glanced over.

Petite. A little too skinny, but she had pretty greenish-brown eyes and a face guys would probably call “cute.” She was fine.

She should be perfect.

But she wasn’t her.

Oh, fuck off.

No more of this shit.

This girl was hot, and she was ready to go. She was exactly what he needed to snap himself out of this bullshit.

“Perfect,” Jack muttered. Ignoring his teammates’ laughter, he downed the rest of his beer and pushed himself to his feet.

With long, confident strides, he crossed the bar, slipping back into the guy he used to be—the one who didn’t overthink, didn’t feel. He flashed his best smirk, the one that melted panties before he even said a word.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he drawled, voice dropping into that low, rough tone that always did the trick.

The girl beamed. “Hey! Took you long enough.” She giggled, the sound high and grating.

Jack forced a smirk. “You know how it is—can’t ditch the team right away.”

He didn’t care about the small talk.

Didn’t want it.

He just needed this to work.

“So… wanna head to the back with me?” He made sure his tone left no room for misinterpretation.

The girl’s eyes sparkled. “Of course.”

That was all he needed.

He took her wrist, weaving through the crowd until they reached the back exit. He’d spotted the terrace earlier—quiet, dim, completely empty. Perfect for what he needed.

And the second the terrace door swung shut behind them, Jack wasted no time.

He grabbed the girl by the waist, pulling her flush against him, his mouth crashing onto hers with a force that had always been enough. His hands slid down her back, gripping, squeezing, searching for that familiar spark—that fire that always ignited the second he got a girl alone.

But nothing came.

Not even a flicker.

The girl moaned into his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hair, pressing herself against him like she wanted to be devoured. It should have been hot. It should have sent a jolt straight to his dick, setting off that automatic chain reaction his body had perfected over the years.

But there was nothing.

Nothing except a creeping, cold frustration curling in his gut.

No. No, this was just in his head. He needed to push through it. He could push through it.

Jack deepened the kiss, tilting her head back as his hands roamed lower, his body pressing her into the brick wall behind them. He rolled his hips forward, desperate for his body to wake the fuck up, desperate for the heat to kick in, for the hunger to return.

Still nothing.

His pulse pounded—not with arousal, but with something dangerously close to panic.

What the fuck was happening to him?

The girl let out a high-pitched giggle, threading her fingers down his chest, her nails scraping against his shirt as she reached for his belt.

"Let me take care of you," she whispered, voice dripping with suggestion.

Jack flinched.

His stomach turned.

It wasn’t her voice.

It wasn’t her hands.

He sucked in a sharp breath, squeezing his eyes shut, willing himself to snap out of it. He could fix this. He just needed to focus.

He dropped his head to the girl's neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses down her throat, hands gripping her hips, fingers digging in. He sucked at her pulse point, dragging his teeth over her skin in the way that usually made a girl melt against him.

She gasped, arching into him, nails raking down his back.

Jack felt nothing.

His body was like a fucking corpse.

Dead.

Unresponsive.

Refusing to play along.

And then, before he could stop it, before he could shove it back down where it belonged—her face flashed in his mind.

Anja.

That smug little smirk she got when she knew she was right. The way she tilted her head when she was listening to him talk, like he was the most interesting person in the world. The fire in her eyes when she called him on his bullshit.

The way her body had felt against his that one night when they slept in the same bed.

The way he’d spent every second since aching to feel it again..

Jack froze.

His entire body locked up, his breathing sharp and erratic.

The girl noticed immediately.

"You okay?" she murmured, pressing a kiss to his jaw, hands still working at his belt. "Just relax, baby."

Jack jerked back like he’d been burned.

Baby.

She wasn’t her.

She would never be her.

And for the first time in his life, that mattered.

"Fuck," Jack breathed, running a shaky hand through his hair.

The girl frowned. "What?"

He swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper. "I— I can't. I— This isn’t gonna happen."

Her expression flickered with confusion, then shifted into irritation. "Oh, come on. You just need a little—"

She reached for him again, her hand slipping down toward his belt, but Jack caught her wrist before she could get any further.

"No." His voice was firm. Sharper than he intended.

She yanked her hand back like he’d slapped her, eyes narrowing. "Seriously?" She let out a harsh laugh, crossing her arms. "What, you bring me out here just to waste my fucking time?"

Jack exhaled heavily, raking both hands through his hair. His chest felt too tight, like his ribs were closing in on his lungs.

"You’re not her," he muttered, his voice raw, barely above a whisper. He shook his head, running a shaky hand through his hair.

"Fuck. You are not her."

And that was the problem.

Her gaze darkened with annoyance. "Oh, so it's me that’s the problem?" She scoffed. "Classic. Maybe next time don’t bite off more than you can chew, Hughes."

And with that, she spun on her heel, shoving open the terrace door and storming back into the bar.

Jack didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

His back hit the brick wall as he slid down, knees bent, head tipped back against the cold surface. His breaths were uneven, his entire body wound too tight, but still—nothing.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his fists clenching uselessly in his lap.

His body had never betrayed him before.

Never failed him.

And now?

Now, it was screaming the truth at him.

The truth he’d been trying to ignore for weeks.

He didn’t just want Anja.

It was worse than that.

She was the only one who fucking existed.

And he was so. Completely. Fucked.

—

“Shit,” he muttered to himself, still trying to make sense of what had just happened. The girl in the back. His body refusing to cooperate. The cold panic that had washed over him like a wave when he realized it wasn’t just that he didn’t want her—he didn’t want anyone. Not unless it was her.

Anja.

That thought hit him again. Like a sucker punch straight to the gut.

He hadn’t realized how deep this shit went until now. He’d spent weeks trying to deny it, trying to make himself believe that it was just a phase. That he could get over it. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t because Anja wasn’t just someone he was into. She was the one. She was it.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it. His mind was too loud. He didn’t want to talk to anyone else. Not right now. Not when his entire body was screaming one thing.

Her.

He reached the street and stood there for a second, trying to get his bearings. The world around him felt off-kilter. Everything looked distant, like he wasn’t actually here, like he was floating in some fucked-up dream.

“Fuck it,” he muttered under his breath, pulling his phone out. He tapped through his contacts and hit the taxi app without a second thought. He needed to get to her. Now.

His finger hovered over the ‘Confirm’ button before he pressed it without hesitation. He didn’t even care if he was drunk—he couldn’t stay here, couldn’t keep sitting with the fucking mess in his head.

He could already feel the buzz from the alcohol, the remnants of the beers he’d downed earlier, swirling in his blood. But it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered except getting to her.

The ride felt endless. The city lights blurred outside the cab window as he stared at his phone, willing it to stop feeling like it was vibrating in his hand. His mind kept replaying the images of Anja—the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention, the sound of her voice when she laughed at his dumb jokes. God, even the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating made him want to crawl out of his skin.

By the time the taxi pulled up to her building, Jack didn’t know if he was angry, frustrated, or just scared shitless. Probably all of the above.

He handed the driver a few bills without even looking at the change, already pulling the door open and stepping out before the car had even come to a full stop. He jogged up the steps of her building, his hands clammy, stomach twisted in knots.

When he reached her door, he didn’t ring the doorbell. He didn’t wait. He just raised his hand and banged on the wood, the sound echoing in the stillness of the hallway. He felt like he might pass out from the tension in his body, the anticipation clenching his chest tighter with every passing second.

It felt like forever before he heard the sound of footsteps. And then the door creaked open.

After a few seconds, he heard the shuffle of footsteps, and then the door cracked open to reveal a very unimpressed, very sleepy-looking Anja. Fuck she was beautiful. 

She blinked at him. “Jack?” Her voice was groggy, her hair a mess. “It’s one in the morning.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said quickly. “I—I needed to talk to you.”

She sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Are you dying?”

“No.”

“Is someone else dying?”

“No.”

She squinted at him. “Are you drunk?”

Jack hesitated. “...A little.”

Anja let out a dramatic sigh and leaned against the doorframe. “Alright, go on then. What’s so important that you had to wake me up in the middle of the night?”

Jack opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

Then ran a hand through his hair because shit, this was harder than he thought.

“Okay, so—” He exhaled sharply. “Something happened tonight, and I think I’m broken.”

Anja raised an eyebrow. “Broken?”

“Like, physically broken.” He gestured vaguely to himself. “Like… I had a girl—a very hot girl, by the way—practically throwing herself at me, and nothing. Not a damn thing.” He pointed at his own chest. “My body just—betrayed me.”

Anja stared at him for a second. Then, to his absolute horror—she burst out laughing.

Like, full-on, body-shaking laughter.

Jack scowled. “Okay, rude.”

“Oh my god.” She clutched the doorframe for support, laughing so hard she nearly lost her balance. “Jack, I swear, if you woke me up just to tell me you couldn’t get it up, I’m slamming this door in your face.”

“It’s not about that!” Jack groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Well, it is, but it’s also not.” He sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Look, I was with this girl, right? And she was perfect—like, objectively, guys would kill to be with her. And I tried, I really tried—”

Anja snorted. “Poor girl.”

“—but the whole time, all I could think about was you.”

That shut her up.

Anja’s smile froze, her laughter dying in her throat.

Jack swallowed hard. “That’s the problem, Anja. It’s you. You’ve ruined me.” He pointed at her like she was some kind of criminal. “I used to be great at this. No thoughts, just vibes. But now? Now, I go out, I find a hot girl, I do my thing—except I can’t do my thing, because all I can think about is how she doesn’t laugh like you, or talk like you, or smell like you, or—fuck, Anja—hell, even the way she breathed just annoyed the hell out of me.”

Anja blinked. “...The way she breathed?”

Jack threw his hands in the air. “Yeah! Stupid, right?! But it mattered! And you wanna know why? Because she wasn’t you.” He let out a frustrated noise, pacing in a small circle before turning back to her. “I fell, Anja. Hard. And I don’t even know what the fuck to do with it, because I’ve never—” He stopped, exhaling shakily. His voice dropped, raw and unguarded. “I’ve never been in love before.”

She stared at him, eyes wide, lips parted slightly like she wasn’t sure if she should laugh again or take him seriously.

Jack exhaled loudly, raking both hands through his hair. “So, yeah. I’m here. I’m standing on your doorstep like a fucking idiot, telling you that I’m gone for you. And I don’t even know what I expect you to do with that information, but I couldn’t not tell you, because keeping it inside was making me lose my goddamn mind.”

Silence stretched between them.

Jack’s pulse thundered in his ears as he watched Anja process everything he just blurted out like an absolute lunatic.

Then, slowly, she started smiling again.

And then—yep, there it was—she was laughing again.

Jack groaned. “Oh my god, Anja, I’m baring my soul here!”

“I know,” she gasped between laughs. “That’s what makes it so funny!” She wiped her eyes. “Jack Hughes, king of hookups, showing up at my door at one in the morning to tell me he’s emotionally constipated and in love with me? This is gold.”

Jack scowled, crossing his arms. “I take it back. I don’t like you anymore.”

Anja just grinned, stepping forward until she was standing right in front of him. “Too late, idiot.”

Jack’s breath hitched.

She was close now. So close that he could see the tiny freckles on her nose, the way her lips curled just slightly at the corners like she was still fighting laughter.

Then, before he could say anything else, she reached up and flicked his forehead.

“Ow,” Jack muttered, rubbing the spot.

Anja smirked. “That’s what you get for waking me up.”

And then—finally—she tugged him down by the collar of his hoodie and kissed him.

Jack froze for half a second before his brain caught up.

Then?

Then, he kissed her back.

This kiss was different. It wasn’t rushed or uncertain. It wasn’t a fleeting thing. This was everything he’d been missing, everything he didn’t know he wanted. The warmth of her lips, the softness of her touch, and the unmistakable scent of oranges that clung to her skin—it was intoxicating. He couldn’t breathe without it. Without her.

When they finally pulled apart, Anja’s smile was wide, like she’d just won something precious.

Jack blinked at her, heart pounding. “So, just to clarify… you like me too, right? This isn’t just, like, a pity kiss?”

Anja rolled her eyes, but the affection in her gaze was clear. “Yes, dumbass. I like you.”

Jack let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his entire body sagging with relief. “Oh, thank God.”

She laughed again, the sound like music to his ears, shaking her head as she pulled him inside.

And just like that, Jack Hughes—the guy who swore he'd never let anyone in—was completely, hopelessly lost.

—

It took Jack three months to finally introduce Anja to Luke and Thea. Not like he didn’t want to shout it out to the world the very next morning after his drunk love confession that Anja had said yes to be his girlfriend. The thing was, saying those words had felt strange, almost surreal for Jack. He didn’t remember the last time he’d had a real relationship—maybe back in high school? But high school felt like a lifetime ago. And back then, relationships were fleeting, brief. Nothing like what he felt for Anja.

But after meeting Anja, everything started to feel different. Jack couldn’t stop thinking about how he felt when he kissed her, when she smiled at him, when they were together, just the two of them. It wasn’t about sex, and that was the biggest shock to him. Every relationship he’d had before had always been tied up in physicality—chasing the high of the next touch, the next kiss, the next night. But with Anja, things were slower. The chemistry was undeniable, but they didn’t rush into anything. They took their time. And Jack was fine with that. 

So when Jack finally brought Anja around Luke and Thea, it felt like a milestone. They immediately clicked with her and both of them could see how well Anja handled Jack’s sometimes overly confident, sassy nature. Anja, in her own calm, collected way, knew how to ground Jack. She didn’t put up with his antics, but she didn’t try to change him either. They balanced each other out perfectly. Jack made Anja more confident, and she made him more humble. The shift in him was noticeable—his arrogance softened when she was around.

Things between Jack and Anja were effortless, natural. They’d fallen into a rhythm—hanging out with Luke and Thea, then slipping into quiet nights together. They’d binge-watch their favorite shows, wander around town grabbing food at random spots. But as their connection deepened, so did the tension—the unspoken feelings Jack wasn’t ready to confront.

Anja had made it clear she wasn’t in any rush, but Jack noticed a flicker of impatience in her over time. And he understood why. But for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to rush things. He didn’t want to mess up what they had by diving into something physical, especially after everything he’d been through. Every other relationship had been based on attraction, and they’d all ended in disappointment. This time, he wanted something real. He wanted something that could last. He cared too much about Anja to risk ruining it.

Then came that night. After a double movie date with Luke and Thea, the evening wrapped up with everyone saying their goodbyes. Anja had laughed with Thea all night—joking and teasing like they’d known each other for years. Jack watched them, captivated by how easy and natural it all was. And more than once, he found himself just staring at Anja, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky to have someone like her in his life.

As Luke and Thea headed off to their room, Anja turned to Jack, her smile soft but knowing. She stepped into his space, her body warm against his as she slid under his chin, leaning into his chest. Jack’s breath caught, his heart rate picking up. The scent of her perfume only made everything more intense.

"Hi," she said, her voice low, playful.

"Hi, baby," Jack responded, his smile matching hers, but there was something more beneath the surface. He brushed a strand of her hair from her face, his fingers grazing her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. She was up to something.

Anja’s fingertip traced small, slow circles on his neck—light, teasing touches that were enough to make his body respond before his mind could catch up. "So, I was thinking..." she said, her voice filled with mischief.

"Dangerous thing to do," Jack teased, his voice rougher than he intended, heat already pooling in his chest. He could feel his body weakening.

Anja giggled, hitting him lightly on the chest. "Shut up, you."

Jack grinned, but his thoughts scattered. Her touch was like fire, and it was hard to think straight with her so close.

"Can I stay the night?" she asked, her voice soft, but there was an edge to it now—something more vulnerable, something Jack couldn’t ignore. "I’ve missed you these last couple of days. Your schedule’s been all over the place, and I’ve been working late shifts... It’d be nice to just snuggle with you. You know, wake up next to you."

Jack’s brain short-circuited. The thought of waking up beside her, of having her close, overwhelmed him. Just the way she said it—her words carrying something deeper—made his heart race. He couldn’t focus on anything else. She knew exactly what she was doing. The sly smile on her lips, the gleam in her eyes—it all made it clear she wasn’t just asking to stay. She was asking for something more.

Jack kissed her temple—soft, quick—before answering, his voice unsteady, without thinking, “Sure, Jaja. That sounds amazing.”

"Thanks, baby," she said lightly, almost singing the words. "I’ll just grab one of your T-shirts for PJs and take a quick shower."

Before Jack could even process it, Anja jumped up from his lap, leaving him sitting there alone, his mind racing. She was leaving him spinning, and he had no idea how to catch up. He tried to steady himself, but his thoughts were already scattered, caught between what he wanted and what he was afraid of.

“Minx,” Jack murmured under his breath, leaning back into the couch, running a hand through his hair. He knew exactly what she was doing, but he wasn’t ready to play along—not yet. Anja deserved more than a rushed moment while his brother and his girlfriend were just down the hall.

Still, the thought of her in his T-shirt, of her curled up beside him, made it hard to resist.

—

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to think about anything else. Hockey stats. The weather. The existential dread of taxes.

Then the bathroom door clicked open.

Jack’s head snapped up.

Anja stepped out, bathed in the soft, golden glow of the bedside lamp. Her damp hair cascaded over her shoulders, darkened from the water, strands sticking to her collarbone. His breath stalled in his chest as his gaze drifted lower, catching on the oversized white T-shirt she’d chosen.

His T-shirt.

The fabric was old, worn thin from years of washing, clinging just enough to show the shape of her body. It barely covered her thighs, teasing at modesty—but when she moved, the dim light made the cotton damn near see-through. And under that shirt…nothing. Not even a pantie.

Jack’s grip on his phone tightened. Hard.

She knew what she was doing.

Anja smirked, catching the way his dark eyes flickered over her before he forced them back up. The way his chest rose and fell just a little too fast. She crossed the room slowly, stepping onto the bed, crawling toward him with deliberate slowness. Her fingers traced over his bare arm, featherlight, enough to make his breath hitch.

“You know,” she murmured, tilting her head, “I could have brought my own pajamas.” Her smirk widened. “But this just felt… better.”

Jack swallowed hard, his back pressing against the headboard like it could somehow create space between them. He needed to slow this down. He needed to say something—anything—to keep himself in check.

“Anja…” His voice was low, rough, a warning.

She didn’t let him finish.

Curling up beside him, she let her lips graze his jawline, barely a whisper of contact. Jack went still, every muscle in his body wound tight. Her breath was warm against his skin, her presence intoxicating, impossible to ignore.

“Relax, Hughes,” she teased. “I know what I want.”

Jack exhaled sharply, his hands flexing at his sides. He wanted to touch her. Badly. But if he did, there’d be no going back.

Anja’s fingers slid under the hem of his shirt, her nails tracing faint patterns across his stomach, slow, exploratory. “I want you, Jack,” she whispered against his ear. “Not just the careful version of you. I want all of you.”

Jack clenched his jaw, tilting his head back, fighting for control.

“Anja…” he ground out, his voice thick with restraint, “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

She shifted, straddling his lap, her hands gripping his shoulders, forcing him to look at her. “Don’t I?” she challenged, her gaze locked on his.

Jack knew that look. The same one she’d given him in the bookstore the first night they met—the night they sat there, arguing over War and Peace, the night he’d felt something shift inside him. That knowing, unwavering gaze.

“I saw you, Jack,” she said softly. “Not just the cocky hockey player everyone else sees. Not just the guy who acts like nothing gets to him. I saw You. And I think—no, I know—that we are perfect for each other. So stop fighting. Stop being afraid that being yourself will chase me away. I trust you. With my heart, with everything.”

She leaned in, lips brushing his ear, her voice a breathless whisper.

“So take me, Jack.”

Jack’s restraint snapped like a frayed thread.

His hands found her waist, fingers pressing into her skin, pulling her against him. With a rough growl, he flipped them over, pressing her into the mattress, his body caging hers in.

His lips crashed onto hers, all heat, all desperation. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t slow. It was every moment he’d held back, every time he’d wanted her and hadn’t let himself have her.

Jack’s hand slid up, fingers curling around her throat, firm enough to make her breath hitch. His grip wasn’t tight—just enough to remind her who was in control. He crushed his mouth to hers, his tongue sweeping inside, swallowing the soft gasp she let out.

Anja rocked her soaked core against his thigh, her fingers threading through his hair, tugging, demanding more.

Jack pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his breath ragged, lips swollen, self-control slipping fast. “You sure you want this?” His voice was rough, almost a growl. “Luke and Thea are in the other room. And you won’t be quiet if we start, darling.”

His eyes locked onto hers—one last chance to stop him.

Anja arched up, pressing her body flush against his, nails scraping down his back, making him suck in a sharp breath. Her smile was wicked, teasing. “Pretty sure we’ve both heard enough of them to know they’re not exactly holding back.” Her lips brushed his ear, her voice pure sin. “It’s our turn.”

Jack’s smirk was slow, dark—pure fucking trouble. That cocky, self-assured look that had driven her crazy since day one.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over her throat, making her shiver. “You just opened Pandora’s box.”

[bunni-v1]

Pure Vanilla Sfw & Nsfw Headcanons

🍓These are shorter than SMC's, purely (hah) since there's less to say about nsfw headcanons. He's a really simple guy, alright? Anyway, I hope you enjoy these. I'll be working on the poly hc's soon and also some requests -- cookie run related and not. Love you all MWAH!

MDNI (Seriously I'll find you)

Tw: None?; Grammar errors

Info: Pure Vanilla Cookie x Reader; Fluff; Angst (only a little); nsfw

-Pure Vanilla Cookie is a gentle soul. His hands are soft and kind to any and all he meets, and he does the most he can to keep the peace amongst those he holds dear. His calm demeanor makes him seem like the perfect candidate for a partner, but I’m gonna be 100% this guy has issues. 

-He has very real trauma from the Dark Flower War that keeps him up at night, despite how much he tries to hide it. Betrayal from one of his dearest friends also haunts him, despite things being… different now… it sticks with him as it would any normal cookie. He’s insecure to a level that a god-king should not be capable of, but he certainly feels that insecurity deeply. Oh, and he never got over White Lily Cookie.

-It’s also very likely that he wouldn’t deem himself ‘worthy’ of being loved in such a manner, especially after the situation with White Lily. He can’t save his friends, he can’t save his subjects, what would he do if he couldn’t save a lover? It would be better not to have his heart broken like that.

-Not to mention his experience with relationships is… sparse. Other than White Lily Cookie, he hasn’t really had much romantic experience – nor did he want to. His focus is often set elsewhere, and his humility can frequently get in the way of forming genuine connections with others.

-He’s so incredibly old now, he feels like his time has passed. Besides, any cookie who might proposition him is far younger, and while he respects them he wouldn’t want to get in the way of their opportunity to connect with someone who could be a better match.

-Not to mention he gets propositioned a lot. Many cookies like the idea of him, but few can actually handle how patient and gentle he really is. It doesn’t upset him, nor does he hold it against them, it’s just how the world seems to work out.

-Excuses, excuses, excuses with him. They’re never-ending.

-Then, of course, there was you. The sweet cookie you were, you had the patience of a saint. Any excuse he came up with, you seemed to find a way to prove him wrong. (You make him second guess if he really is patient, with how much you wait on him and work to prove him wrong).

-He isn’t testing you by any means when he pushes you away. Pure Vanilla Cookie really does believe you could do better than him. (Him! How could you do better than him!?) He’s trying to save you from himself, but the more steadfast you are the more he starts to fold and bend to what you like.

-It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy having you around, he quite prefers it when you’re by his side. You’re also so very pretty, he gazes at you when you aren’t looking more than he’d like to admit (his staff gives him quite the stink eye for this one). Your patience with him is admirable, and you make such an effort to get close to him. You’ve more than proven that you are serious about your confessions to him.

-After (literally) a thousand years, he decides just to try again. Leading you on was cruel, especially when he reciprocated your feelings, so he makes the effort of a confession – and great cookies above it was sweet.

-He brings you to his pagoda, a place you frequently spend sitting quietly next to him. He knows you’re fond of it, especially of the white lilies that bloom around it. You sit next to him as usual, staring off into the distance in thought while he watches you through his lashes. Your beauty is something he loves to behold, and he wonders if the kingdom would be alright if he did so for the next thousand years. Just like this, quiet and alone in the place you’ve both made your own.

-You laugh when you catch him staring, and his dough burns hot – both from the melodious sound and from being caught so shameless. He doesn’t let it linger too long, taking your hand in his with care he hadn’t shown you much yet. It’s a bit odd for him to suddenly be physical with you, but when he looks at you, and I mean looks at you, you understand what's happening.

-He tells you how he’s grown into his fondness for you, that he appreciates your patience with him and giving him a chance to think things over in himself before pushing him into a choice. He expresses what he loves about being around you and how he feels like himself when he is near your side. How he aches when you aren’t around, and that he worries for you all the time even though you’re more than safe in the walls of the kingdom.

-He goes on for so long that you have to cut him off and tell him you get the point, which just makes him laugh because that is something he likes about you. You never let him get too far ahead of himself or too deep in his head before you pull him back up for air.

-And, while you might’ve fallen first for his gentleness and his kindness, he falls leagues harder than you ever could. After his confession, he goes out of his way to have you around, and it’s not until nearly all of your things are within his room that he realizes maybe he got a little too deep a little too fast.

-Then you smile that smile and all his thoughts are washed away in favor of following after you on whatever adventure you had planned in the kingdom for the day.

-As a partner, believe it or not, Pure Vanilla Cookie is not physically affectionate so much as he is verbally affectionate. He prefers showing his love through words and acts of service. He will run himself ragged to make sure you won’t worry about anything. You’ll have to step in and stop him at times because he will go to the ends of earthbread for you.

-He’s so giving, always thinking of things he can do for you or gifts to get that would make you smile so widely at him. It’s something the other Ancients tease him relentlessly for, especially Golden Cheese and Hollyberry. 

-Though, they are all fond of you in their own way. It’s been a long time since Pure Vanilla has been so… contented with things. He finds pure joy in doting on you, and he feels secure having someone who loves him as he is. None of them can disapprove of you when you make him so happy.

-They tell you embarrassing stories of him when he was younger, not a hero or a god, but a regular cookie who tripped over his own two feet and made a fool of himself. They tell you plenty of embarrassing stories about him having earned his power too and believe that to be true, but the ones they seem most fond of are those before they rose to their current titles.

-Pure Vanilla always huffs and pouts, but doesn’t interject much more than that when he sees the wide grin on your face. Seeing you get along with his long-time friends is very important to him, so he’s glad they’ve taken a liking to you. 

-Even Dark Cacao Cookie seems to like you, humoring your little jokes and jabs as you give them. He feels as though he’s chosen the right cookie to love – though, he supposes you chose him and he just followed your lead like he always does.

-There is one tiny dilemma, though… White Lily Cookie. See, it’s not as though she is a threat to your relationship at all. She would never and could never interfere, even if she still held feelings for Pure Vanilla (if she ever did in the first place). Pure Vanilla is just a trainwreck of grief and regret surrounding her, his dearest friend.

-His love for you has never wavered, not once since he fell for you, but for a moment when he sees her, he’s terrified that it might. All of those feelings hit him at once, and he is again that reckless young cookie at the academy following her around like a lost puppy. She looks at him and his heart races, then it sinks to the pits of his stomach.

-How could he be so selfish to consider hurting you in such a way, for even a moment? He and White Lily Cookie were no longer the same as they were before their falling out, he knew that, and yet his past crept up on him like a monster in the shadows. It makes his stomach churn.

-But you lay a hand on his arm, and you give him this look like you know exactly what’s going on, and suddenly it’s all alright. You’re right here, and you’re all he needs. He knows that more than anyone else.

-That doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting in your chest when you see the way he looks at her, but you know your Pure Vanilla. He would never do anything to hurt you, he was the kindest and most loving cookie you have ever had the privilege to share your life with.

-Now, with that established, we can divulge into him as your partner.

-As I mentioned he’s very giving, but he’s terrible and receiving gifts from you. He’s not used to it, and he may outright refuse to accept it, but if you push him he’ll give. He always loves what you give him anyway, even if it’s the smallest insignificant thing. It always gets displayed somewhere he can see it, or he makes a way to use it in his daily life.

-It takes him a while to be open with you. He feels his feelings and thoughts are a burden on you, so his worries usually go unspoken unless you notice them yourself. 

-If you notice something and point it out, he’ll tell you what's wrong. He wouldn’t want to lie to you and make you more worried about things. He downplays it a lot, though. It takes a lot of stubbornness on your part to get him to open up and admit when he’s feeling really bad.

-He does let you in little by little, and you get to see more of Pure Vanilla as he is beneath all the smiles and passivity.

-I also mentioned that he’s verbally affectionate over physically. He gives you so much praise it makes your head spin in circles. Everything you do is worth praising in his eyes, even silly little things like finding your way through the castle or grabbing yourself something special to eat one day.

-Constantly mentions how lucky he is to have you, his admiration truly knows no end. Ah, and he speaks of you all around the kingdom. Other cookies think you’re a literal saint thanks to him, and you’re treated with so much respect by those in the cookie kingdom.

-Gingerbrave, Strawberry, and Wizard Cookie all adore you, and get so very excited when you offer to go on an adventure with them. (Much to Pure Vanilla’s worry and dismay.) The way you interact with them makes Pure Vanilla’s chest ache at the sight. You’re so wonderful with children, he loves seeing the way you handle them with love and care. Makes him wonder what you might be like with children of your own… Ah, that’s not a trail of thought he should go down too far just yet. One day, though.

-As sweet and loving as he is, he’s fiercely protective of you. He’s lost quite a bit in his life, and he knows he will lose more, he’d like to prevent another loss if he can help it though. If you argue with him, it’s almost always about this.

-He doesn’t like you going to dangerous locations, he doesn’t like it when you leave his side for more than a day or so, and he certainly doesn’t approve of you putting yourself at risk for adventure. Usually, you settle this by just having him come with you, but sometimes even that isn’t enough for him.

-Regardless, the angriest you see him (other than the Shadow Milk incident lol), is when you are at risk. It’s easy to forget he’s very powerful, akin to a god, but he is. He is not afraid to use that power to protect you if he must. (It’s lowkey hot I’m ngl.)

-Now he’s not the type to go overboard with this kind of stuff, he’ll only do what he must to remove the threat if he has to. He is not afraid to be violent if he needs to be, though. Immediately after he will worry over you with such gentleness it will give you whiplash.

-He’s aware his outbursts of anger are uncommon and jarring from his usual demeanor, but he’s just a cookie after all. He loves you very much, and if he can keep you safe he will for as long as you live.

-Jealousy is rare from him, which is to be expected, but he does get jealous. Specifically when he sees you interacting with cookies in a way he can’t interact with you. Physical affection is usually what gets him upset.

-Not that he can’t be physically affectionate, but that he has a hard time being physical with anyone. It’s a difficult thing he struggles with, and while you’re understanding and loving, he can’t stop the rare annoyance bubbling up in his chest when he sees one of your friends touching you so casually.

-It’s the only time other cookies might get to see him frown around the kingdom, a displeased expression etched across his normally gentle features. It won’t fade until you return your attention to him and make him feel validated in his feelings.

-After these stints, it is common that he drags you (pulls you gently by your hand) back to his room and cuddles up to you in the quiet of his bedroom. He’ll whisper his worries at your insistence, and melt into your touch as you soothe him instead of scolding like most others would.

-Oh, and it’s very very bad when Shadow Milk Cookie is involved. Shadow Milk knows just how to get under his skin, and you are an easily accessible soft spot.

-Not only is Shadow Milk far more open in expressing himself than Pure Vanilla is, but he’s very physical with everything. While Shadow Milk may not see you as anything more than a doll to play with, it infuriates Pure Vanilla to see him touch you and flirt with you like you are his when you are Pure Vanilla’s. 

-He brings out that possessive side of Pure Vanilla that he represses as hard as he can. He doesn’t want to share you, though. Not with anyone and especially not Shadow Milk Cookie. You are his life partner, the person he loves more than anything in the world, that’s not something he’s ever had before and he doesn’t want anyone else to be able to feel what your love feels like. Allow him to be selfish just this once.

-I also have a belief that ancients have something similar to a beast bite, though it’s less common that any of them “mark” a partner. Pure Vanilla is the least likely to leave such a mark on you unless you seem insistent upon learning about it.

-Functionally it’s similar to the beast bite, but there is no need for biting in their case – they can if they’d like to, though. Instead, it’s just a magical seal that can be placed upon your dough that resembles their souljam. It connects the two of you physically and emotionally. 

-When Pure Vanilla misses you, it sends a wave of sadness through you. A longing that is not your own, but feels so familiar to your own that you could easily mistake it as such. His emotions always come in big waves that nearly drown you then quiet down again as soon as they come.

-Pure Vanilla, again, wouldn’t place one on you unless you really wanted it. If you did, though, he would place it right where your spine meets your neck. The little blue mark peeks over the tops of your shirts like a tease, reminding everyone who you are with.

-Just because he is kind doesn’t mean he can’t also be a little possessive of you. You’re wonderful, after all, he can’t risk any cookie thinking you’re available.

-Besides the blue looks stunning on your dough, if he says so himself. And he does.

-Now, onto the bedroom.

-To start I’ll say Pure Vanilla is deceptively innocent-looking. It’s easy to imagine he feels no urges or wants in a sexual sense, but that’s not true at all. He’s just good at repressing them. And he’s repressed them for years and years and years.

-His sexual experience is probably also low, but I can imagine he’s had sex previously with a cookie or two (maybe even White Lily, depending on the circumstances). The important thing is that he has experience, and he’s not as awkward about it as one might think.

-It’s very similar to how he falls in love with you, once he gets a taste he really can’t stop himself from falling further and further down.

-He’s very patient though, so he won’t initiate your first time together. He’d rather you decide that since he’s more than ready to do whatever you’d like. (He’d been thinking about it since three months in, but he didn’t want to move too fast so he just pretended nothing was wrong.)

-When you do decide you are ready, he is there waiting with open arms for you. He makes sure your first time together is all about what you want and focuses on making sure you feel good. He’s a people pleaser in every aspect of his life, including the bedroom.

-But, if he had to pick what he preferred, he’d probably admit to being a service top. He likes to make you feel good, and he wants to know everything that makes your body react to him. He treats it like a secret ancient knowledge that only he is privy to. 

-He likes to know you in every aspect of your life, the bedroom is no different. He takes his time always, preferring to go slow and steady rather than fast and rough. He’s a quick learner too, picking up your likes and dislikes with an ease that would make any student jealous. Within two, maybe three sessions he’s got you read like a book. It’s infuriating how easily he manages to get you to melt under his touch.

-If you want to top, he’ll oblige you, though you can tell he really prefers taking care of you over being taken care of. There’s just something so special about being allowed to have you like this. So soft and pliant beneath him. All the trust in the world rests on his shoulders, and he holds it like it is the most important thing in the world.

-And he is so, so giving during sex.

-He takes his time with you, starting with slow and deep kisses that trail down your neck. He worships you like a god, smothering your dough with his affections. Not an inch of you will be left untouched from his lips, burning your skin into his memories so he never forgets how it feels beneath his tongue.

-And he whispers such loving words of admiration, talking about how wonderful you are for him. Mumbling against you that you taste so sweet and that each noise you make sounds like a symphony to his ears. He encourages you to let go, allow him to love you as you are, and let him see all the most vulnerable sides of you because that is all he wants.

-When he tastes your juices he sighs like he is in heaven. His pleasure is only found in you, after all. Your taste is something he could easily fall into addiction for, just like every other part of you.

-You can be rough with him while he goes down on you if you’d like, he doesn’t mind at all. Grab and pull at his hair, grind yourself into his face, and squeeze him between your legs with all your might. They’re just signs he’s doing his job right, after all.

-Oh, he’s a huge proponent of eye contact. While he can’t quite see well all the time, he always has his eyes open and on you when he can help it. This is especially prevalent when he is inside you (or when you are inside him).

-He presses his forehead to yours and watches your face contort in pleasure, allowing you to do the same. It makes the act more intimate, and he feels so much more connected to you like this. Like he can really see you for who you are in these moments, and feel that love that burns for him in your gaze.

-Alongside this, he always holds your hand. Regardless of if he’s going down on you or if you’re riding him or anything he is adamant your hands remain interlocked. It’s another layer of connection that he uses as a means of expressing his love for you.

-If you can’t tell, he’s seriously into body worship. He loves every inch of you, and sex is the easiest way that he can express this to you.

-He uses sex as an extension of his affection for you, rather than something for fun or to stake claim. It’s another form of love to him, and you can feel this through the way he treats you with such gentleness during the whole act.

-I don’t believe he’s into much other than what I’ve listed above. He’s very vanilla (lol) and traditional about sex, preferring things to be simple, sweet, and loving. 

-He prefers to keep things in the bedroom, the idea of being caught makes him run hot, but you can convince him to try a few riskier places. Like the pagoda or in quiet rooms near other cookies, so long as the doors are locked and there’s no risk of interruption.

-He does not like being cared for during the deed, it makes him feel guilty that you’re caring for him when he would rather care for you. If you are insistent he’ll give in, but he makes it known he would prefer to be providing than being provided for.

[mulloey]

finally i found someone who does nsfw reqs - or just haven't seen other writers, but whatever - some yangyang headcons with little shy n vulnerable reader would really ease my mind rn, thank u so much in advance !

a few ways of keeping you

warnings: dom/sub dynamics specified in the request. very deep and deliberate subspace, very slight little dynamics if you really really squint, but it’s more in the sense that you like to feel small and cared for and he babies you and calls you little/little girl etc., emotional elements of dom/sub relationships, mentions of anxiety, panic attacks, body image issues, insecurity. nsfw: oral (f.receiving), bondage, dumbification, punishment, spanking, overstimulation. this is a fairly intense power exchange within a dom/sub dynamic. it won’t be for everyone and hate is blocked.

author’s note: i’m not entirely sure this is what you were wanting as it’s quite a vague request, but i did my best. i don’t like the short bullet point headcanon format so i fleshed it out a bit more while still exploring different elements of the relationship. requests open & feedback appreciated.

—

never in his life has he seen something so sweet.

it’s a cold, miserable day in december when you first encounter him; the whole city is covered in snow, sidewalks wet and icy beneath your feet and you almost stumble on your way to your favourite cafe. you just want a hot cocoa and a grilled cheese, and then you’ll go home and stay there until the weather eases up a bit. you really hate the cold. but this cafe doesn’t do home delivery and their food is the only one that manages to taste exactly like home.

you’re shivering when you push open the door, burying your head in your thick scarf and shuffling over to the counter. they’re familiar with your order by now, and once you’ve paid you trudge over to your favourite seat, against the wall in the corner, and start removing your wet, snow-covered outerwear.

you don’t realise you’re being watched until someone sits down beside you. you open your mouth to tell them to go away when you meet their eyes and your words are caught in your throat.

it’s a man around your age, maybe a few years older, handsome and smiling, and he’s looking at you like you’re something precious.

“hi,” he smiles. “i’m yangyang.”

it’s been over a year since that day, and almost a year since you started dating him. you’d shied away from it at first; you’d never really done that sort of thing and you had no intention of starting to. he persisted but never pressured you, just happy to be in your presence. only when you’d woken up from a nightmare one night and found yourself calling his name into the darkness did you realise that maybe he could be what you needed all along. and when he picked up your call on the second ring, showing up to your apartment ten minutes later and watching movies on the couch with you until you fell asleep, you knew for certain.

there’s a lot you love about yangyang; his smile, his laugh, the small gifts he brings you when he comes home from tour. even his yelling and loud laughter when he’s gaming with his friends, which ordinarily would frighten you, is somehow endearing.

but the best thing about yangyang is the way he cares for you.

it wasn’t something you ever discussed; he just fell into the role naturally. even on that first day you met, when he helped you peel off your wet coat and insisted on giving you his dry one, something about the way he spoke, acted, looked at you, made you feel cared for and looked after in a way you never really had before. he was patient and gentle with you from the very beginning and you quickly felt at ease, even confident, in his presence. and that is something he will never take for granted. even if it is a lot to bear sometimes, he couldn’t have it any other way.

0 - duty of care

since he met you he’s felt a sense responsibility for you that he’s never experienced before. he felt bound and compelled to protect you from everything and everyone what might cause you harm—even yourself and it became his life’s mission to see it through.

you hadn’t realised how much you needed what he was offering until you finally accepted it; until you finally but reluctantly put down your shields and barriers you’d built to keep yourself safe and let him in people, and completely. and you knew instantly and unquestionably that this, that he, was what would finally complete you.

his care for you manifests in different ways; holding your hand when you go, ordering for you in cafes and restaurants, keeping you next to him; a tether between the two of you that binds you together. then there’s the emotional side; when you panic and fret and he talks you down with a low, calm voice and a firm hand on your skin; when you’re wracked with insecurity and he spends the whole night showing you why you shouldn’t be; when he picks apart all the problems that to you seem insurmountable, until they’re small and digestible enough that they don’t really seem to be problems at all. he knows your brain far better than you; knows how to pick apart and mould it how he wishes but he would never think to take advantage of it. everything he does is for you.

his role with you differs depending on your needs that day; sometimes it’s nurturing, parental, others it’s punishing and authoritative. sometimes you just need a friend to listen and nod along as you try to pull apart all the pressure in your head.

and sometimes, of course, you need to be fucked.

1 - love and comfort

not even he can keep you happy and comfortable all the time, though. like everyone you have your own problems and struggles and you’ve never been very good at dealing with them or even admitting their existence. he takes them from you when he can, bearing as much of the burden as you’ll allow him to, but sometimes it’s not enough. sometimes you break. and sometimes, you can’t. not on your own.

the days when he comes home to find you in a heap on the floor, or feels the tension in your body and sees you beginning to cave under the pressure of it, are the ones most important. to be the one to pick you up or bring you to safety, to soothe and protect you from it all, is a privilege.

sometimes you want to be rocked; to be held and caressed and cooed at like a fragile creature who knows nothing except him. you want him to feed you by hand, to wash you while you lie limp against his chest in the bath, to tell you it’s all okay.

but sometimes it’s not enough. sometimes, when you’re on the verge of shattering but unable to let go completely, you need to be taken apart by hand. you need to be completely broken, and reset and rearranged as he decides. you need to surrender everything to him—whether you like it or not.

that’s how he finds you today. you’re curled up in bed when he trudges in after practice, head buried in the pillow, shaking and sobbing but not crying. no tears. when you finally notice his presence next to you he has no time to think before you’re launching yourself into his arms and wrapping yourself around him. “yangyang,” you gasp. “please. turn it off.”

he sees the gears turn in your head, knows what you mean; you need the thoughts to stop. you need the cracks to pull apart completely and come undone at the seams. and you need him to do it. now.

“what do you want me to do, hm?” his voice is soft but his grip on you is tightening protectively and painfully. “need me to break you?”

“yeah,” you breath. “just—anything, yang. anything.”

“yeah?” he croons. “want yangyang to decide? you don’t want to make any decisions, do you? s’too much for your little brain.”

he feels you tense in his arms, breath hitching and his lips curl into a knowing smile. he can recognise the signs with ease now; the silent indicators that you’re finally going under. it used to be difficult, it used to be a battle despite how much you both wanted it, but now it’s as simple as his hands on your skin and soft, crooning whispers of how small and dumb and helpless you are. how much you need him.

“that’s it,” he mumbles against your hair, feeling you start to relax, tension subsiding and you sink into it. “go dumb for me, baby, s’alright. i’ll never hurt you.”

a lie, technically, but you know what he means.

sometimes he gets you so far under that you barely remember what happened when you come back up; only the faint memory of his hands, his teeth and pleasure that came in waves. the loss of control of even your own recollections is thrilling.

of course, you like when you remember it, too. when he’s away at work or on tour and you get to fuck yourself to the memory of red-hot strikes against your skin; the snap of folded leather in his hands, the bite of hardwood floor against your bare shins, the burning humiliation of being talked down to while you squirm and whine under his touch. you’re lucky he allows you to touch yourself without him—all you have to do is send him the video and tell him exactly what you thought about.

no one cares for you like yangyang, and that includes the ways he breaks you. everything is strategic; every word, every movement designed to hit you just deeply enough to hurt in the moment but not deep enough to linger beyond it. there’s no point breaking you down if there’s nothing to build back up again when he’s finished.

dominance is a fine art, especially with you. even now, after all this time, he’s still learning the best ways to care for you, the best ways to maintain and exercise the control you’ve handed to him. but even he must admit, he wields his power with expert precision.

it doesn’t scare him when you cry anymore; he knows when it’s coming and how to coax it out of you; he knows the way you cry when you’re getting exactly what you needed and the way you cry when something is wrong. he knows what to do in the latter case but he always manages to keep it in the former; certainly he makes mistakes, pushes you too far on occasion, but he always stops it. from your body, your face, your voice, he knows when he’s gone too far long before you do.

his hands are always soft on you afterwards. always tender and careful once the destruction ends and the rebuilding begins. he holds you close to him, letting you cry or scream or whatever you need to do to work through the flood of emotions he’s finally forced out of you. he runs his hands across your red, swollen skin, treating the welts that are particularly painful and, rarely, deep enough to cut you. he feeds you by hand, bathes you by hand, keeps you tight against his chest as you fall asleep in his warmth.

he’d do anything for you. anything. unfortunately, sometimes it’s not so pleasant.

2 - a guiding hand

he set the rules early on in your relationship. you had suggested it with a shy, anxious tone and reddened cheeks. “i want you to… control me more,” you’d squeaked.

he’d been eager to agree, and the rules were simple by design. they had to be for your little brain to compute them.

be safe. be healthy, be good. be honest.

but even the simplest of rules can be difficult to adhere to. especially to someone like you. and that’s when he has to be firmer, to put his foot down and lay down the law in a way you’ll understand no matter how far you’ve slipped.

he’s always careful about it and he always times it right. it’s not always immediate; sometimes you’re just not in a space to fully comprehend the lesson he’s trying to teach. at that point, a few smacks to your ass, nothing procedural or clinical, is enough to settle you until you’re ready to be properly disciplined.

when you are ready, you know well by now what to do. all he needs to do is sit down on the bed or sofa or chair, pat his thigh and mutter “over, honey”, and you’re clamouring to obey no matter how much you don’t want to. honestly, you like it more when you don’t want to do it; it makes it more real. you’re not excited or aroused and neither is he. there’s no thrill or game to be found here. you must learn, and he must teach you.

you know he wants you, and you bend your body over one of his knees so your ass is in the air. he bares it without a word, tugging down your pants or shorts and inching down your panties to the middle of your thighs. the cold air on your ass always makes you shiver and he waits for you to relax before beginning.

he’ll tell you what he’s going to do. he’ll tell you why, and you’ll repeat it back to him in a small, scared voice. the first hit will come. he’ll tell you to count.

sometimes you only need ten to learn your lesson; other times it takes so long that you eventually stop counting and just feel the weight of his palm against you. sometimes your safeword dances on your tongue, but you never say it. you never need to.

he’s always extra tender with you afterwards, but his voice is still firm when he asks you if you’re going to repeat your mistake. he always softens, though, when you smile through tears and shake your head softly. “never, yangie.”

well. not for a while, at least.

3 - pleasure and worship

the first time you had sex with yangyang, you’d been clumsy and unsure of yourself. you were determined to be sexy for him, seeing all the girls he interacted with at work and wanting to be as good as them, but you felt ridiculous in the black lace, like you were too big for your skin, stupid and unsexual. you’d intended to surprise him when he got home from work, waiting prettily on the couch for him, but when you looked in the mirror and saw the way it clung to you in all the wrong ways, you couldn’t get it off quick enough.

i mean, you literally couldn’t. because the door opened just as you reached to unhook the bra, and your boyfriend was standing there with an open mouth.

“i—” you tried to think of an explanation or an excuse but nothing came. you’d just have to face up to it; confront the shame and embarrassment head on.

“baby,” he breathed. “you look incredible.”

only after the second time he made you cum with his mouth did you really believe it.

yangyang lives and breathes to pleasure you, cherishes every inch of your skin; even—especially—the parts you wish wouldn’t away. of course nothing is better than fucking you, than the feeling of your tight pussy clinging to his dick as he slams into you over and over. but pleasuring you with his mouth or toys or fingers until you’re near delirium is a very close second.

he knows just how to talk to you, just how to act to get and keep you where you want to be. the sex you have when you’re deep in your headspace and the sex you have outwith it aren’t quite the same, but the common factor is always there; he’s relentless, he’s hungry and he’s really, really good.

“you’re so little, aren’t you?” he coos, pumping his fingers in and out of you. his palm is sticky with cream and your pussy squelches and squeals with each movement. you’re barely conscious at this point, but you can take more. you will take more. “you’re so dumb, baby. can’t even think once you’re got a couple fingers in you, can you?”

“no,” you gasp. “c-can’t, yangyang.”

you’re writhing and thrashing but the soft, fur-lined leather restraints keep you where he wants you. still, sometimes he slaps your thigh or your pussy and barks at you to ‘stay still’, but it’s more for his amusement than anything else. truth is, you can move as much you want, but you’re done when he decides. you can’t go anywhere.

“i know,” he hums. “taking it so good. you’re gonna cum again for me, alright? just one more, baby, i know you can do it.”

“yeah.” you shudder, closing your eyes and trying to get lost in the pleasure, in the pressure that builds in your gut as he fucks you open. “can do it. i can do it.”

“you can,” he smiles. the pace quickens and he presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh. “go one, baby. make me proud. cum.”

your composure breaks in an instant and your body is writhing and seizing like you’re about to die. you go limp, collapsing with gasped breaths and he kisses your painful, swollen pussy.

“that’s my girl.”

his girl. his baby. and you always will be.

[drdemonprince]

do you think it's worth it being nonbinary if you dont have like, body/physical dysphoria? Ive been identifying as nonbinary since i was 14 and when i was in high school it was great, i had my little liberal bubble queer friend group, and the rest of the school didnt pay much attention to me. My mom accepted me in the "i dont get it but whatever i dont want you to stop talking to me so i guess ill go along with it" sense, which while not perfect, its fine. But last september i started studying engineering and. Its really not going well. Like 85% of my classmates are straight guys and they range from thinking nonbinary people are cringe (and therefore they make fun of me when i walk by) to being extremely transphobic (im very scared of some of them.) And ive been trying to make friends with the girls in my class, and some of them are nice, but i can tell they also dont like that im nonbinary. One of them literally told me "i get that being a woman is hard, i dont like having periods or the ways guys look at me either, but you dont gain anything by denying yourself". So. I kind of think about that nearly every night now. Doubting whether im really nonbinary. And it really doesnt help knowing that basically every girl here either thinks that or just straight up thinks im gross and weird, ive literaly heard one of them go 'what is THAT doing in the womens' when i walked past her from the bathroom. I dont like going to class much.

Im thinking of detransisioning, i guess. I never started taking hormones (good luck getting those in eastern europe lol), so I could easily start looking like a cis girl again. These will be my coworkers and bosses, i cant live like this until i retire. i want to have fun uni experiences too. And ive been thinking so much lately about why im even doing this. Its just a few words that people call me by. Theres nonbinary people who use binary pronouns and pass as cis, i could be one of them and just not tell anyone that im actually nb. but on the other hand, it feels like im giving up on the trans community if i do this. Giving up on activism. Im sure im not the only one in this situation, if i detransition ill be letting them down completely. I dont want the next generation to be as fucked as this one. Also i came out very publicly to my entire class (i wanted to find other queer people to be friends with, i hoped that would do the trick maybe. I was so naive and stupid) and it will be so fucking humiliating to go back on that and im scared ill do all that and theyll keep treating me the same anyways because im already "tainted" by transness. So i would let so many people down for nothing.

The one other trans friend from my high school friend group solved this issue by paying more than ten fucking thousand euros per year to study in the netherlands btw. The exchange rate to our currency makes it somehow even worse than it sounds. Hes probably going to be able to start taking hormones before he gets his bachelors. I wish my mom was that rich :|

First of all, I want to say that I am so sorry anon that you are facing so much fucking exclusion and harassment. That kind of treatment pushes a lot of trans people into detransitioning, and it is brutal, and that this experience can happen to nonbinary people who are not on hormones but have otherwise transitioned is something that does not get acknowledged enough.

I can't tell you what you should do in your situation, because no outcome is great. But I think you might find some elements of this article from Kier Adrian Grey on ceasing their use of they/them pronouns (among the cis public!) interesting. They're an "ex anarchist" and a bit of an anti social justice dogma kinda person so I don't agree with them on many things, but I did like this point that they made:

"Hear me out: maybe the best way to understand they/them pronouns, within the context of a pluralistic democracy, is as a subcultural norm, a way for LGBT people to show respect for one another within our community. That sense of belonging I felt when I first found queer spaces was profound, and if using gender-neutral pronouns gives someone that gift, I am all for it. "But I do wonder if we are setting people up for hardship when we tell them that they should hope for, expect, or insist on they/them pronouns being used by everyone they encounter, and that they will be emotionally injured every time this fails to happen. In my thirteen years, misgendering was rarely malicious, and yet it still fed into a wounded identity and a suspicious worldview."

I don't think that what Kier has written about their experience applies to even most nonbinary people, and if taken too prescriptively by the wrong people it could be an awful dysphoria cope that leads a person to some pretty dark places. But! For someone whose feelings about it all are like Kier's, and whose life experiences have given them similar perspective, I think there is something to it. It's true that thinking a great deal about how one is gendered by others is crazy making and sometimes isolating, and if that's the sole way in which one's transness interfaces with the world, it's not always to the person's net benefit.

Here's the full piece:

I will say that based on all you had to say, anon, it would be a lot better for you if you could get around a lot of queer and trans people! What you're struggling with is not being seen and appreciated for who you are, and all the cis people undermining you are driving you crazy and making you doubt yourself. I'd MUCH prefer if you could find more local queer community or relocate if necessary to feel more appreciated as you are.

BUT if you find yourself resonating with this author's points and it feels like only being out to other trans and queer people would be good for you, that is okay to do. That isn't "detransitioning," it's being choosy about whom you trust. And many of us navigate those decisions. I'm not out as trans to everyone I meet! Most people just think I'm a cis guy. The big difference between you and me is that I have medically transitioned (and if you want to, I recommend ordering some hormones on India Mart!!!). You have some choices here about how much information you give to other people, how much you trust people who are incredibly ignorant, how much you will expose yourself to harm by making requests for treatment that might not happen, and how to build the community you need to survive this awful transphobic reality.

[etclouie]

“oh sweetheart”

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 — summary; giddily following around after Negan throughout the sanctuary, until he sat you down to try and shift your feelings (Negan x fem!reader)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 — setting; s7 saviours era 

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 — warnings; implied age gap (negan is mid 40s and reader is in her 20s) — don’t like it don’t read, negan makes reader spell out her feelings pretty much, they kiss briefly at the end, reader sits in negan’s lap towards the end too, uhm that’s it i think

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 — word count; 1.2k

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 — a/n; will eternally share my thoughts for negan (this was inspired by the “sweetheart, i’ve got tattoos older than you” thing)

twd masterlist | main masterlist like negan? join my taglist !

recently, you and your family had joined the Sanctuary. they’d been split off into various different jobs, but you hadn’t. 

you’d quickly grown used to the rules, though Negan would make comments about you not having a job and earning your keep— you couldn’t help but to develop feelings for him. 

it was just a silly little crush, that’s what you always told yourself. 

he was older than you, attractive and he held so much authority over everyone; alongside the little bits of attention he’d give you, which made you swoon. 

today was like no other, you’d found Negan and trailed after him. he never outwardly pushed you away, letting you trail after him like you usually did until he rounded the corner into his meeting room. 

he gestured towards one of the seats while he sat at the head of the table, resting Lucille against the leg of the table. 

“i gotta ask, why’d you follow me so eagerly?”

his words hung in the air for a moment as you watched him, tapping your fingers against the edge of the table. 

he ran a hand down his face, scratching at his beard while tilting his head to meet your eyes. 

“i uh, i find you interesting”

that was a new one. 

he’d been called a lot of things, but a lot of different people. but interesting was never one of them. 

“interesting, huh?”

he chuckled, shaking his head while his lips curled into a smirk. he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table as he continued to eye you. 

you watched entranced, following his every move as words died on the tip of your tongue. 

you knew exactly what you wanted to say, you just couldn’t explain it properly, in a way that would make sense to Negan but also wouldn’t make you seem like an idiot. 

“interesting yeah..”

nodding as you repeated yourself, laying your hands flat against the table now instead. 

his smirk had deepened, and he chuckled again. shaking his head as he spoke once more. 

“meaning what sweetheart?”

sweetheart. 

in all of the brief conversations you’d had before this, he’d never called you sweetheart before. he’d never called you anything more than your name. 

a chill ran down your spine, that giddy feeling bubbling in the pit of your stomach. 

“i like you—“

the admission felt foreign on your tongue. you hadn’t even admitted to it to the few friends you’d made since arriving, but the weight of it lifted from your shoulders. 

“oh sweetheart”

he grumbled, though there was no malice to it. his tongue darting out to wet his lip, which made your breath hitch once more. 

you had to look away from him, heat running across your cheeks and down your spine before it landed in your belly. 

you could feel his eyes on you, the way they cast a glance down your form before stopping on your face again. 

which most definitely didn’t help with your crush, or the arousal forming in the pit of your stomach. 

“you like me, huh? that’s new”

every time he chuckled it had you wanting to disappear. you never could tell if it was a laugh of mocking, or if it was simply fuelling his ego. 

something else you stupidly liked about him. 

“tell me, you think of me often? want to be one of my wives or somethin’?”

the suggestion felt like a dream. 

one of his wives?

though you’d like to be his only wife, you wouldn’t pass up the chance with him if it presented itself. 

“no.. i just, i think you’re attractive”

definitely fuelling his ego. 

he leaned back in his seat, legs resting on the edge of the table on the opposite side to you.  

despite his scrutinising stare, you couldn’t help the way your eyes flickered down his body again. 

appreciating the view, mind beginning to wander before he cleared his throat. effectively gaining your attention back. 

“not so bad yourself”

your cheeks had grown impossibly warmer, having to look away from him in an attempt to conceal your flushed state. 

only looking back to him once he called your name, giving him a meek smile. 

“what is it you want then, hm?”

the list of things you wanted from him, was endless. but one thing shone on top. 

you wanted a chance with it. 

wether it went anywhere or not, you wanted a chance. 

“dunno, maybe a chance with you?”

he chuckled again, that fear creeping back with every chuckle he gave. though, this time it felt warmer, as if he was considering the option. 

“a chance?”

he repeated, pulling his legs from off the table and sitting upright again. one of his arms stayed on the table while the other scratched at his beard again. 

“there’s twenty something years between us, don’t you think that’s a little much?”

your eyebrows knitted together instinctively. you never paged Negan as the type to turn down a woman because of the age gap, but then again, did you really know him that much?

pushing the thoughts aside, speaking softly as you held his gaze. 

“age is only a number”

the sound of his chuckles started to sound like a melody, being played on a broken and scratchy disk so it only sounded every so often. 

but it was warm, familiar. 

“sweetheart, i’ve got tattoos older than you”

he countered, making show of shrugging off his leather jacket enough to show the tattoos across his arms. 

and instinctively, you squeezed your thighs together. 

thoughts of previous lonesome nights rushing back at the sight of his toned arms and the tattoos across them. 

“one chance is all i’m asking for”

your voice stayed soft, despite the heady desire swirling around the room. 

god, you were going to be the death of him. 

he let his head lull back, eyes trailing across the ceiling as he thought over your words. 

it’s not that he wasn’t interested, hell he’d been admiring you for days now. his mind running wild with thoughts, but it felt different. 

as if he didn’t want to corrupt you in a sense. 

“please Negan”

he sighed, defeatedly. he knew he’d give in to you, he just had to prolong this a little longer. 

“one chance, that’s it”

you beamed at his words, standing from your seat and moving closer to him. wrapping your arms around his neck as you hugged him, earning a pinch to the hip before he pulled you down into his lap. 

sitting sideways in his lap, his legs spread wide and his hips rolling upwards ever so slightly to slouch back in the chair. 

one of your arms was around his neck, your other hand laying on his chest. the closeness made your heart skip a beat. 

he squeezed at your hip before he leaned in, pausing inches from your face to gauge your reaction. only pressing his lips to yours as you leaned in to meet him halfway, kissing him with more force than you’d intended. 

it felt like a dream, every dream you’ve had all coming to fruition all at once. 

you nipped at his bottom lip before he pulled back, smirk still across his lips before he whispered out to you. 

“christ, you’ll be the death of me”

reblogs are highly appreciated !

[staryscorner]

Someone tries to flirt with their significant other

Characters: Gi-hun, The Salesman, Se-mi, and Hyun-ju

Y/n is gender neutral reader

Warnings: None just mention of cheating and alcohol

Pt1 | PT2

Gi-hun-

Gi- hun and you would go out every Friday to bet on horse races. It was one of your favorite date night ideas since you would either walk out with a pocket full of money or empty ones but both your hearts full of love. On one of these dates night Gi-hun actually won quite a lot so he went to the front box to collect it. So you were left there alone looking to see if you had also won and you did you jumped up in happiness and you were about to head to where Gi-hun was but a strange women decided to cling to your arm “Oh hey I see that you won so how about you take 

me out.” You tried to wiggle yourself but you couldn't since she kept gripping your arm harder. 

Gi hun was on his way back to you when he saw the scene of a random lady holding on to you so when you looked over to where he was you just lip whispered help me and he was glad to do so. “Um miss could you please let go of my S/o” “And who do you think you are” The lady hissed at him. 

“I'm their boyfriend!” He shouted “So you better not mess with them” She let go of you so fast and just covered her face due to everyone watching. Your bf made you wrap your arm around him and you both walked off laughing at what just happened “Thanks for saving me there” you told him as you kissed his cheek.

The Salesman-

After getting married with the love of your life you were both unable to be apart from each other. The only times where you both weren’t together was when he had to work. So whenever he left you would just stay home and do the chores since he would bring the money home it was the least you could do. It was about that time that he would come around so when you heard the doorbell you thought it was him “Welcome back hon-” You soon notice that it wasn't him just some door to door salesman. “Oh hello, how could I help you?” “I was wondering if you might have some time to hear about these products we sell” He said, grabbing the door making sure you couldn’t close it “Well-l” “It will only be a few minutes” As he began to speak about the products he eye’s lingered on your body. “If you don't mind me saying that outfit you have on looks nice nice on you body” he growled at you. You felt disgusted. Was he looking at your body this whole time!? You wanted to push the door shut but you couldn't since he had a firm grip on it. You soon saw a taller figure behind him that pulled him right to the floor. It was your lovely husband. “WTF was that?” When he saw the taller man that pulled him he became quiet. “Honey was this disgusting human talking to you” You just nodded and knew what was about to happen.

“Sweetie, could you serve us dinner? I'll be right back ok!” he smiled at you while holding the salesman by the collar. You don't question it and do what he told you to do. After only 5 minutes he came back with some blood on his face and his hair kinda messy.

“I'm glad I got here in time” he said, giving you a passionate kiss. You just melted in his kiss forgetting all that happened.

Se-mi-

Being the bold person that she is you knew what she was going to do

Both you and Se-mi were invited to a mutual friend party. You both dressed in matching colors so others knew you were both in a relationship. But without you knowing your friend invited your ex and to say that things ended awful was an understatement. 

When you both arrived you went to greet your mutual friend. The party was already halfway in so people were already tipsy. You both made it around greeting new and old friends and then you saw them….your ex. 

You told Se-mi you were going to the bathroom to freshen up. Your ex was listening in on the conversation and began plotting something. Once you left the bathroom someone pulled you into a corner. It was them. “Please take me back Y/n I beg you without you i'm lost.” They reeked of alcohol so you knew they weren’t in the right state of mind. She began to get touchy with you. “Please get away, I don't want to have anything to do with you” You said trying to push them off you. Before anything could happen Se-mi waltz in and slapped them making sure everyone's attention was on her. “If you’re here to hit on other people's partners then what type of human being are you?” She grabbed you in and kissed you in front of everyone. This is my love so you better not get in between us and if you do then you better watch your backs. She apologies to the host before leaving. 

Once you made it to her car you broke down. She listened to everything that happened and comforted you. I’ll always be here for you “I love you” she said “ I love you too” 

Hyun-ju-

While walking around the mall you and your girlfriend passed by a perfume shop so both decided to check it out. Once you enter you both get bombarded by workers asking if they wanted to try a sample of perfume. You didn't want to be mean and say no since they were just doing their job so you let them spray each perfume on you. 

You soon started to feel dizzy and almost fainted but you fell into one of the workers arms. “I think an angel fell into my arms.” You got up quickly stumbling back a bit as you did. “I'm sorry but I have a girlfr-” she soon stopped you from finishing your sentence and asked if you wanted to be there S/o and if you did then it would be a match made in heaven. You wanted to get away but you thought it would be rude. 

Hyun ju knew you weren’t a mean person and wasn't going to speak up so she went over and introduced herself. After Hyun-ju introduced herself to the worker she was in shock “OMG I'm so sorry I didn't mean to just flirt with them. I just thought since they were alone they weren't with anyone.” She apologized again before coming over and giving a free perfume. Sorry again for the inconvenience. You accept her apologies. Before leaving Hyun ju said “I hope you one day find your angle like I did.” You blushed at her words and quickly covered your face. “Thank you” she said as she watched you both walk hand in hand.

Here's Pt2!! So I did end up getting it done today and i'm glad I did!! If there's any other characters you want to see please suggest them!! (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

[gamesetattach]

You Always Know

Jannik Sinner x Reader An old friend comes to Jannik's rescue, so he doesn't drive himself crazy during his three month ban. Friend is a loose term... they've always been something deeper than that. A little angst, a lot of comfort. Can't wait to see our man play again..

The world wouldn’t let him ignore it. The news of his ban had sent shockwaves through the tennis world, the headlines relentless, the debate louder than he could ever tune out. He ignored the worried looks from his team, the sympathetic texts, the way even strangers seemed to have something to say—ignored how it all pressed down on him, demanding a response he refused to give.

So instead of facing it, he did what he knew best—he buried himself in routine. Trained like nothing had changed, like he wasn’t forced onto the sidelines of the sport that made up his entire life. He ran drills, pushed himself harder in the gym, kept his schedule the same as if all those tournaments were still on the horizon.

If he didn’t acknowledge it, maybe it wouldn’t feel as real.

His team noticed. They always did. Darren Cahill, who had seen athletes crumble under the weight of lesser storms, wasn’t about to let him slip through the cracks. He had coached enough players to know when one was trying to outrun the things they didn’t want to face. And he knew Jannik well enough to recognize the warning signs—the clipped answers, the longer hours on court, the empty look in his eyes when he thought no one was paying attention.

And so, Darren made a call.

Not to any journalist, not to his lawyer, not to a PR team—but to you.

---

You had been in Jannik’s life for years now, an old and trusted friend. You were the person who knew him beyond his forehands and trophies, the one who could pull laughter out of him on even the hardest of days, the one who he let see him as more than just Jannik Sinner, World No. 1.

You and Jannik had a low maintenance friendship—you'd known each other long enough to stay close even through stretches of time with no contact. Even without consistently staying in touch, you always picked up where you left off. Silence had never been uncomfortable between you, so close that your relationship had settled into something easy, something unshakable.

You weren’t part of his team, weren’t tied to his career in any professional sense, but you had always been a constant. The person he called when he wanted to talk about something that wasn’t tennis, or about everything to do with tennis. The person who never expected anything from him beyond who he was off the courts, and outside of the cameras. You didn’t need to be around all the time to know him better than anyone, to read between the lines even when he wasn’t saying anything at all.

And right now, he really wasn’t saying a thing.

---

You'd hopped on the soonest flight, barely packing a bag before heading to the airport, knowing Jannik wouldn’t have asked for help himself. He never did.

You already held your suspicions about his state of denial, and so when Darren reached out, you dropped everything. You never did need much convincing when it came to Jannik.

Which was why you now found yourself standing outside his front door, your fist hovering just before knocking.

You could hear movement inside—soft footsteps, the muffled sound of a chair scraping against the floor. He was up and around. You knocked.

A few seconds passed before the door opened. Jannik stood in front of you, hair slightly damp from a shower, already sticking up in a way that told you he had run his hands through it too many times. His expression barely changed, though his brows pulled together just slightly.

"Hey, stranger," you said, offering a small smile.

"Did Darren send you?"

"Something like that," you admitted, stepping past him into the room without waiting for an invitation. "You weren't answering my calls."

He shut the door behind you, sighing. "Didn't mean to. Just—"

"I know," you said in gently, he didn't have to finish. And he knew that.

He met your gaze, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between you. Then he shrugged, a feigned nonchalance that didn’t fool you for a second. "Nothing to talk about. It’s done."

You dropped your bag onto the chair by the window, glancing around the space. It was neat, and Jannik was always one to leave things laying around—he had always needed extra motivation to pick up after himself, but there was an emptiness to his home now. A kind of sterile order that made it feel like he was just barely existing, moving through the motions without really being there.

His silence stretched between you as he let you survey his state of living, the air thick and weighted. This was how it could get with him—he let things simmer under the surface, kept them locked away until they built up into something too heavy to carry alone. And he’d been carrying this for too long already.

You turned back to him, and watched him for a moment before speaking, arms crossing over your chest. "Jannik. The world is throwing opinions around like confetti, your name is in headlines every day, and you’re pretending it’s not happening?"

He sat down on the edge of the couch, elbows resting on his knees. "What is there to say?"

You raised a brow. "Oh, I don’t know. Maybe something about the fact that you’ve been banned from playing for three months? The fact that the entire sports world has an opinion on you right now? That half of them don’t even care about the truth?"

Jannik’s jaw tightened, his fingers pressing together. "Talking about it won’t change anything."

"Maybe not," you said. "But ignoring it won’t either."

"What do you want me to do?" His voice raised ever so slightly now, and you could hear he was trying to temper himself. "Go online and argue with everyone calling me a fraud? Defend myself to people who’ve already made up their minds? It won’t change anything."

You studied him—his tight shoulders, the tired look in his eyes, the way he was holding himself together like he was afraid of what would happen if he let go even for a second.

"No," you said finally. "I want you to let someone in before you shut down completely."

He let out a breath, but the tension in his shoulders refused to let up. "I don’t know how to do this. How to just... stop."

"Jan," you spoke softer now, sitting down beside him. "You don’t have to hold this by yourself."

Because this wasn’t just about the ban. It was about what it meant. The helplessness of being forced to wait, of watching his sport move on without him, of knowing that no matter how hard he trained, he wouldn’t be able to prove anything until time had run its course.

"You don’t have to figure it out alone," you said. Your hand found his, fingers brushing lightly before curling around his palm.

Jannik glanced at you then, the exhaustion clear in his gaze. You didn’t push, didn’t ask for more. You just sat there, letting the silence settle, a quiet reminder that he didn’t have to say anything for you to understand.

Jannik let out a dry laugh after some quiet, shaking his head. His fingers tightened around yours, grounding himself in the one thing that still felt real. "You always do this."

"Do what?"

"Show up."

You gave him a half-smile. "I know."

And you knew what he really meant. And, for now, that was enough.

---

Jannik never asked you to stay. But he never asked you to leave, either.

The first night, you figured you’d take the guest room. You had barely set your bag down before Jannik wordlessly picked it up and carried it into his room. He didn’t say anything as he placed it down near his dresser, just looked at you once, as if daring you to argue, before climbing into bed. You had paused for only a moment before following and slipping under the covers beside him, the little space between you known and warm.

By morning, it was like you had always been there.

Jannik’s house had been eerily quiet before you arrived—so quiet it felt like a void. You filled it effortlessly. You worked remotely from his dining table, half-ignoring his commentary whenever he passed by, and usually replied with some sarcastic remark about how you technically were on the clock. When he came home from practice, his hair damp with sweat and exhaustion evident in his posture, you tried to have food ready, or would at least shove a snack into his hands before he could think to protest.

You weren’t trying to fix anything. You were just there. And that, more than anything, seemed to keep him steady.

---

The first time you went with him to practice, he acted like it was no big deal. Like you hadn’t slipped into his life so comfortably, like his team had no reason to be surprised by your addition. And they weren't, really, they welcomed your presence and the version of Jannik it brought.

"So, are you her assistant now?" Darren asked as Jannik entered the court, shooting a look at where you had settled on the bench with your laptop.

"Shut up," Jannik muttered, stretching his arms.

You smirked. "You did carry my bag in."

"Because you left it in the car."

"Because I knew had an assistant for that."

The team laughed, and Jannik shot you a glare, and there was something lighter in his mannerisms than before—his humor was coming back. And when he started hitting, there was something looser about his body, too.

The days blended together like that. You'd wake up tangled together, your leg thrown over his, his hand resting heavily on your waist. Neither of you would move for a while. And when you did, it wasn’t to pull away, but rather to burrow deeper into the warmth of each other. It was silent, comfortable. The kind of closeness that required no explanation.

You worked while he trained, watched his practice matches, ate meals together like it was second nature. It wasn’t something you talked about; it just was. The easy familiarity of it all. The fact that neither of you ever brought up the way your feet always ended up in between his under the dinner table, or how he absentmindedly pulled your chair closer when you sat too far.

---

One night, you decided to cook dinner together. It started out with the best intentions—simple pasta, nothing too complicated—but somewhere along the way, chaos took over. You were in charge of chopping, Jannik was on sauce duty, and neither of you were taking it particularly seriously.

"That’s not how you dice an onion," Jannick observed as he glanced at your poorly cut pieces.

"You play tennis, not Head Chef," you shot back, pushing the board toward him. "Do it yourself if you’re so good."

He rolled his eyes, reaching to grab the knife, but you were faster—sliding it just out of his reach.

"Weren't you ever taught not to play with knives." He yelped, but laughter was bubbling underneath his words.

What followed was an impromptu game of keep-away, him chasing you around the kitchen, laughter bouncing off the walls as flour somehow ended up in your hair and tomato sauce splattered onto his sweater.

By the time the food was actually done, the kitchen was a disaster, but neither of you cared. You sat on the counter, Jannik leaning against the sink, both of you catching your breath between bites of pasta straight from the pot.

"We’re horrible at this," you mused, twirling spaghetti around your fork.

Jannik huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Speak for yourself. I think I was doing just fine until you got involved."

You nudged his knee with your foot. "You love the chaos."

He didn’t respond right away, just gave you a look, something warm and knowing in his expression before he took another bite.

---

Another afternoon, it started to rain just as Jannik finished practice. You had been waiting by the parking lot, sitting on the steps of the training center, scrolling on your phone. When the first drops hit, you got up to rush to the car, but Jannik, fresh from his session, grabbed your wrist and pulled you back.

"Come on," he said, a rare, mischievous glint in his eye.

"What?" You barely had time to react before he took off into the open courtyard, tugging you with him. The rain picked up, soaking both of you within minutes. You groaned dramatically but gave in, letting the rain drench you both as you danced around in the open space, laughter spilling between you.

"You are ridiculous," you laughed, wiping water from your eyes as he lifted your arm to twirl you lazily.

"And yet you’re still here." He smirked, pushing his dripping hair out of his face and turning you to face him again, still holding your hand.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away, letting him spin you around once more before tugging you closer, your clothes sticking together from the rain.

You stayed like that for a moment, breathing in the scent of wet pavement and him. His thumb brushed against your wrist absentmindedly, tracing small, barely-there circles. Neither of you moved, neither of you broke the moment. It wasn’t hesitation that kept you still, nor was it uncertainty. It was something deeper, something heavier that had settled between you long ago. The rain kept falling, but neither of you seemed to care.

When he finally let go, he didn’t step away. "We should probably get back."

"Yeah," you agreed, but neither of you moved.

After another beat, he shook his head and exhaled a soft laugh, and reached for your hand again, this time simply lacing his fingers through yours as he pulled you back toward the car. It wasn’t even anything to be addressed. Just another moment in a series of many others neither of you had ever tried to name.

You went home and showered, and then you both found yourselves on the couch watching a movie neither of you were paying attention to. Jannik’s head, which had started off resting against your shoulder, made its way onto you lap. Your fingers absentmindedly played with his curls. Throughout the film, you made comments about the ridiculous plot and the over the top acting, and he chuckled each time, the low sound vibrating against you.

"Are you even watching?" You teased, poking his ribs lightly.

He hummed. "How can I? When your narration is drowning out the actual movie."

"Okay and? Just tune it out like background noise, because I'm not going to stop."

His lips quirked. "Bah, no. Why would I do that when you're best part?"

---

The tension from the ban was still there, but it had dulled at the edges. His frustration still flared up in moments—when he checked his phone and saw another headline, when a notification popped up that should’ve been about his next match but wasn’t. But instead of shutting down completely, he turned to you.

One night, after another long day, you found him sitting outside on the balcony, staring up at nothing. You leaned against the doorway, watching him for a moment before stepping forward.

"You good?"

"Yeah." His voice was low, distant. "Just thinking."

You slid onto the lounge chair beside him, pulling your legs up. "Anything specific?"

He exhaled through his nose, a faint smirk playing at his lips. "Nothing I want to say out loud."

"So dramatic."

"You chose to be here."

You nudged his knee with your foot. "I did."

He didn’t respond right away, just looked at you, the weight of all that lied between you in his gaze. You held it, waiting, letting him take whatever time he needed. And then, finally, he spoke.

"I don’t like not having control," he admitted, voice quieter now. "Not over my training, not over what people think. And especially not over what happens next."

You nodded, understanding. "But you do have control over one thing."

"Yeah?"

You smiled, shifting so your shoulder bumped against his. "Whether you let this consume you or not."

He looked at you again, something softer in his expression. "You always do that."

"Do what?"

"Say exactly what I need to hear."

You shrugged. "It’s a gift."

His lips twitched, and he shook his head. He meant to reply with something teasing, but what came out was true and firm. "Stay."

The word was simple, but it held all that he felt for you. You had been planning to, of course. But hearing him say it—hearing him ask—settled something deep in your chest.

You leaned your head back against the chair, gazing up at the night sky. "I'm not going anywhere."

And for the first time in weeks, Jannik finally felt himself believe that everything might just be okay.

---

Some time before May 5th, 2025

The countdown had dwindled down to days.

Jannik had never been the type to fixate on time, but now, every minute stretched, every hour filled with the anticipation of something just barely out of reach. The ban was ending, the silence lifting, and soon, he would be back where he belonged—on the court, in the rhythm of competition, stepping into the world he had been locked out of for what felt like an eternity.

But the excitement came with worries, too.

He had spent so long keeping himself moving, telling himself the brief pause in his career was just another phase, another setback to push through. Now that it was nearly over, he wasn’t sure what to do with the nervous energy thrumming beneath his skin. His body was ready. His mind, however, wavered.

So, again, he turned to you. Like he had these past three months. Like he always did.

You were sitting cross-legged on the couch, laptop balanced on your knees, idly typing away at something he was sure he'd hear about soon. You had made yourself at home in his space long ago, moving through it with the kind of ease that made it feel less like a house and more like something alive—something warm.

He wasn’t sure when exactly that happened, though he knew the seeds were always there, and he wasn’t in any rush to stop it.

“You’re staring,” you murmured, not looking up from your screen.

Jannik huffed, sinking deeper into the cushions beside you. “I’m thinking.”

“That’s dangerous.”

He nudged your knee with his own, rolling his eyes when you simply smirked at your screen. A few more seconds of quiet stretched between you before he finally exhaled, rubbing his hands over his face.

“I don’t know what it’s going to feel like,” he admitted, voice quieter than usual. “Going back.”

You finally looked up at that, closing your laptop without hesitation and shifting to face him fully. “It’s going to feel exactly the way it always has.”

Jannik let out a slow breath, staring at his hands before looking back at you. “What if it doesn’t?”

“That's okay, too.”

He didn’t reply right away, but the way he studied you—quiet, searching, as if trying to absorb the certainty in your voice—spoke louder than words. You reached out, slipping your fingers through his, grounding him in the moment.

“You’ve done this a thousand times,” you reminded him. “Nothing about who you are has changed in these three months.”

He nodded slowly, squeezing your hand once before letting go, but the weight in his chest felt a little lighter. He didn’t say thank you, but he didn’t need to. You just knew.

You always did.

And soon, the world would remember too.

---

Until then xx

[sex-storytime]

My Boyfriend

I love my boyfriend. I know that is kind of a strange thing to say, or at least it should be an obvious thing to say. There are many different reasons why I love him, but right at the moment I love him because of his dichotomy. I love him because he is so comfortable having multiple facets to his personality. Because he is willing to take chances, and has made me more willing to take chances as well. Because together, we are more than the sum of our parts.

OK, enough of the mushy stuff. The real reason that I am feeling so much love for him right now, and more than just a bit of sexual attraction, would be the fact that he is lying in our bed, fast asleep. Now, to most women, having your man in bed asleep when you come home may not be the most erotic sight in the world. But you don't know my man. You don't know how just watching him sleep for a few minutes gets my pussy juice flowing. I can't help it. There is just something about watching him sleep; oblivious to me that is such a turn on. Maybe it is the voyeurism aspect of it?

I went out with the girls tonight. My man works two jobs right now to help pay off some debts from his past, so even though I work full time as a beat writer for the big paper here in town, I still don't see a lot of him. There are nights that I spend alone on the couch with a warm blanket and a good movie waiting for him to come home. When he does finally walk through the door, I am all sexed up from thinking about him all evening, and he is tired from working a 16-hour day. Even though he is exhausted, he is still a typical male. :) I can just mention casually as he sits down that I had been thinking about him all evening and lightly touching my pussy through my shorts as I watched the movie. Any mention of touching myself will instantly get him interested. Then after I casually mention that my pussy might still be wet, and why doesn't he check for me, well then, that is usually all it takes.

When he pulls down my shorts and sees the wet spot on the crotch of my panties, his cock will immediately get hard, and even though he may have just put in a long day at work, he is still able to give me a wonderful fucking before it is time to head to bed. Usually we don't make it off the couch, he just bends down and nibbles on my clit through my panties for a minute while he strokes his cock through his jeans. I usually have to push him away and remind him that foreplay is always appreciated, but I was wet before he walked in the door, and he just has to slide his cock inside of me for both of us to be happy. Again, being a typical man, he doesn't argue, just unzips his jeans and pulls out that wonderful meat of his. I will slide my panties off and spread my legs in invitation, waiting for that wonderful feeling of his dick inside of me. And I always get my wish. Usually he comes inside of me, which is fine for an end of the day fuck. We can save the facials and pearl necklaces for the middle of the day when I plan to get him off more than once.

So I digress. I was talking about why I love my boyfriend right at this moment. I said that I went out with the girls tonight. He had to work both jobs today, and being a Friday, I knew that he would not be home until around midnight. So I decided at the beginning of the week that I would get some of the girls together tonight so that we could go out. Everyone else in the group was fine with leaving their significant others home for the evening, so we were able to have a blast. Dressing up for each other in our best club clothes; having a wonderful dinner while teasing the poor waiter mercilessly. He must have had to go in the bathroom and jack off afterwards as much as he was looking at our tits down the top of our shirts. Then on to one of our favorite bars afterwards where we could people watch and talk in peace, which for us means lots of bitching and bragging about our mates that we left home that evening. Janice thinks her husband has an unhealthy fascination with his sister. Nancy broke up with her boyfriend last month to start dating another woman who works in the same building she does, so of course we had a ton of questions for her, the first Official Lesbian in our group. And I still don't believe Heather when she claimed that her man was 7 inches long when soft. She had about six shots at that point, so she probably would have said anything to get attention.

So now here I am back home after a night of debauchery. Nancy dropped me off because I had too much liquid fun to drive, and already offered to take me back to get my CRX in the morning. I make sure and take off my sandals before I walk into the house. They make all sorts of noise on the hardwood floors, and I don't want my man awake just yet. I am horny enough that I would love to just barge in and shove his cock down my throat, but another part of me wants to be a little subtler. I think in my inebriated state I would like that better.

His truck was in the driveway, but none of the lights were on, so I knew he had already gone to bed. He has to be back at work in the morning, so I am sure he got clean and went right to sleep. And it appears that he did just that

So I am standing in the doorway of the bedroom looking at my man asleep. I can tell that he has only been down for a little while because the bathroom still smells like bath soap. It is a warm night, so he has dispensed with the covers already, which are now lying on the floor next to the bed. A little bit of light is coming through the blinds, just enough for my eyes to adjust to the darkness and see him in all his glory. His hair is spread out on the pillow behind him, (God I love to run my fingers through that hair!) and because he is lying on his side, I can see how long it is getting. He has been trying to grow it back out for a while, and just recently has gotten long enough to pull back in a ponytail. Or long enough for me to wrap my fingers in and pull his head down when I am desperate for a kiss or three.

But the part of the picture that is the most intriguing for me is what he is wearing. Normally he sleeps in the nude, but tonight it looks like a different story. He is wearing a pair of nylon bikini panties that I bought for him about a month ago. That is the reason that I haven't gone any further into the bedroom. I am just looking at his hip and his ass packed into a pair of panties that I bought for him. Now, before you go jumping to conclusions, this was not my particular fetish to begin with. A few months after we started dating, he started acting really weird one night, and then finally reached under his bed and pulled out a box full of panties. I am not the snooping type, so I never had any idea that it was there. Apparently it was a serious fetish for him, which would explain the six different pairs of panties that he had bought me already at that point. Not only did he like seeing me in panties, but he also liked to wear panties on occasion under his regular clothes. Not in a cross-dresser sense, since he is way too big to be a convincing woman (6'3'', 240 muscular pounds.) More of like a hetero guy sense who thought that if panties could be pretty on women, they could also be pretty on him.

I keep getting distracted. So I am standing in the doorway of the bedroom looking at my man asleep on the bed wearing a pair of white nylon bikinis that I bought him. I also bought myself a matching pair at the same time, and surprised him one evening with both pairs of them. He definitely showed his appreciation that night! So over time, our games have evolved to the point where if I discover him in a pair of panties it usually means that he wants to be strapped. Which kind of surprises me right now. It also excites the hell out of me, but surprises at the same time. My brain is turning over a million times a second thinking about this, but my pussy is only telling me one thing. I was horny before I even left the house, and now I am almost desperate to get off. But why would he want me to take him up the ass when he is exhausted?

Who cares? The thought of going into our toy box, pulling out one of my dildos, and strapping it on to use on him is just killing me. I can feel my nipples getting harder by the second, so I place my sandals down on the dresser in order to use both hands on my tits. I pull my shirt up and pinch my nipples through my bra while I think of lubing up my fingers and sliding them one at a time into his ass. The alcohol is making my head spin a little bit, but I know that finger fucking his ass in preparation for my cock is a major turn on for both of us. I love to hear him moan when I slide that first finger into his ass. It makes my pussy clench every time we do it. Which isn't a whole lot of times, which makes the idea even more exciting now.

I can feel my panties begin to stick to my pussy, so I have to take the time to undo my jeans and pull them down to my knees. It strikes me as I ironic that I am wearing a cotton string bikini that he bought me - we are each wearing gift panties from the other person. My fingers slide directly into my pussy. It is amazing how horny I get when I drink. I pull my other hand away from my tits and use it to flick my clit while I manipulate my hole at the same time. It is so hard to stay quiet while I am doing this, but I don't want him awake. At least not yet.

My brain turns over images of how this scenario could play out. I see myself crawling onto the bed with my strap on already in place, and just feeding that plastic cock to his mouth. I love to pinch my nipples while he is blowing my cock. Or maybe sliding onto the bed and putting the head of my cock against his asshole through the panties while I touch his cock and nibble on the back of his neck. Or maybe even crawl onto the bed and then start to use my tongue on his balls and asshole through his pretty panties. I know that he just finished with a shower, so everything down there is nice and clean, and ready for my tongue. I don't think I have ever heard him moan as gutturally as when I licked his asshole for the first time. It surprised the hell out of him, which was exactly what I wanted at the time. The only problem I see is that I love to suck his cock so much that I might not stop in time. I might start with his ass and balls, and then turn him over so that I can suck the head of his cock into my mouth through the panties. He loves for me to tease him through his panties. But eventually I would have to pull them down far enough for his cock to get out so that I could do a proper job of sucking him off. And I am not sure that I would be able to stop. I would just continue to suck him while I caressed his balls through the nylon. I would also have to turn around to that he could at least use his fingers on my pussy while his dick was in my mouth.

I don't know if I can take much more of this. My pussy is so wet; I am starting to make squishing noises with my hands. I feel like I am ready to get off any second, and my brain hasn't even gotten to the main event yet. I guess that doesn't really matter. Every time that I have fucked him up the ass, I have started coming as soon as I slid into him, and came about every 30 seconds after that until I watch his come spurt out of his cock all over both of us. I like having him on his back so that I can watch him jerk his cock off while I slam into his ass. The look on his face when he is just about ready to go over the edge is priceless. I can feel his ass squeeze my cock harder, his whole body tenses, and then everything goes supernova. Watching him come always gets me off. Always. It's a good thing that we only do this every once in a while. If I asked him to let me fuck him up the ass every day, I think he would be worn out and worthless in a month. It is wonderful to come that hard every once in a while, but every day would kill him.

I can't take this any more. I have to get off. Even though I am slumped against the doorframe with my breasts and pussy in full view frigging myself, he is still fast asleep. Which is the way that I want it. Even though he has extended the invitation to me by wearing those panties to bed, this has become my own private moment. This is my time to just look at him sleeping and get myself off, imagining all of the wonderful things that we do to keep our sex life interesting. My orgasm doesn't hit me like a hammer; it's more like rolling over me like a very large surf wave - all enveloping, but still feeling safe and secure. I have to stuff my shirt into my mouth in order to stifle the scream that is threatening to rip out of my body. As I quietly slump to the floor, the fire works begin to go off in front of my eyes. I guess with my concentrated effort to keep quiet and not wake him up, I was holding my breath. Slumped in the corner, coming down off a very satisfying orgasm, I have to remind my body to breath for a while until it begins to come naturally again.

Through my whole mental adventure just now, my boyfriend has not moved an inch. He must have been very tired, because usually he would have at least stirred when he heard me walk in. I know that he wants me to be in the mood to play - the panties he is wearing tell me so - but I think I will let him sleep tonight. I will just grab a shower to get the smoke smell out of my hair, and then join him in bed. Maybe when he wakes up in the morning and finds me wearing the same pair of panties that he is, along with the matching camisole that I bought for myself, he will forgive me for not waking him tonight. I hope.

[asterafroditis]

𐔌 . ⋮ missin' you lots .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Epel Felmier x gn! reader

𓏵 588 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 3rd Person POV, no pronouns used, fluff, unestablished relationship with reader

been feeling a bit unwell lately, but I was able to finally proofread this! feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

The first letter arrives only a few days after Epel leaves for break. It’s written on simple parchment, the ink a little smudged in places, like he rushed to fold it up before it fully dried. You recognize his messy scrawl immediately.

Hey.

I dunno if this is weird or not, but I figured I’d write ya. My Gran said it’s good manners to send letters to folks ya care ‘bout, and, well… I guess that means you. Don’t go readin’ too much into it or nothin’!

Anyway, home’s been the same. Cold as ever, but at least I get to eat all the apples I want. I helped out at the orchard today—feels good doin’ somethin’ useful instead of worryin’ ‘bout schoolwork all the time.

Betcha the others are givin’ ya trouble without me there, huh? Don’t let ‘em push ya ‘round too much.

…Welp, guess that’s all. See ya when I’m back.

A few days later, another letter arrives, and then another. They come at random times, sometimes two in one week, sometimes a gap of several days. The frequency tells you more than he ever says outright—he’s thinking about you often, even if he won’t admit it.

His letters are always filled with little details about his life back home. Stories about working in the orchard, getting roped into town chores, and his constant struggle between wanting to enjoy break and wanting to get back to Night Raven College. He tries to play it cool, but his words betray him.

You ever tried apple butter before?

My Gran made some fresh, and it’s real good. I was thinkin’ maybe I’d bring ya a jar… if ya want. Not sayin’ I made it special for ya or nothin’, just figured ya might like it. No big deal.

I raced some of the boys from town today.

I won, obviously. Ain’t lost my edge yet. I bet I could even take that smug housewarden of mine in a race if he ever stopped actin’ all high ‘n mighty for five minutes.

...Kinda miss havin’ someone ‘round to cheer me on, though.

And then, there’s the one that nearly makes your heart stop.

I saw somethin’ today that reminded me of ya.

There was this field near the orchard, real quiet and peaceful. The sun was settin’, and the sky was all soft oranges and pinks. I dunno why, but it made me think of ya.

Kinda stupid, huh? I ain’t poetic or nothin’, but… I guess I just wanted to tell ya.

The next letter is messier than usual, like he wrote it in a hurry.

Forget I said all that in the last letter.

I was just ramblin’. Dunno why I even—just, uh, ignore it.

Anyway, I’ll be back soon. Try not to get in trouble before then, alright?

But when you finally see him again at Night Raven College, the first thing he does—before he even drops his bags, before he even greets anyone else—is shove a small jar into your hands.

"...Here. Apple butter. Like I promised."

You smile, fingers brushing against the ribbon tied around the lid. "You really did bring me some."

Epel turns red and crosses his arms, looking away. "’Course I did. Ain’t the type to go back on my word." Then, quieter, "’Specially not when it comes to you."

Yeah. You’re definitely keeping those letters forever.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

How would you write Natalie?

Every season seems to reimagine Nathalie's character into something totally different, so there are a lot of options to pick from while staying true to canon. I think season three's Nathalie was probably her best look in terms of her role in the narrative, but I'd nix her season three motivation (love of Gabriel) and replace it with the retconned motivation from season five (love of Emilie).

This new version of Nathalie will clearly know everything and be happily helping right from day one. While you could have this be because of romantic love for Emilie, my preference is to keep things platonic. I do this for two reasons.

The first one is simplicity. If your focus is on the teens and not the villains, then you generally want to keep the villains straightforward and easy to understand because they're not going to get a ton of screen time. I'd only go some sort of love triangle or polyamorous setup if Gabriel and Nathalie are a big focus of the plot as that's not the sort of thing you can explain in a few lines. To this day, I'm confused by what canon was doing with Gabriel and Nathalie in season three. Gabriel's motivation is supposed to be his wife, but season three made it seem like he had romantic feelings for Nathalie. It was a really weird choice that undermined his character unless we're supposed to think Gabriel, Nathalie, and Emilie were some sort of triad.

The second reason is that I want canon to be a team show that equally values romantic love and platonic love on the hero side. If we go that route, then the villains should showcase the dark sides of both romantic and platonic love. Gabriel is our source of corrupted, selfish romantic love. Nathalie is our source of corrupted, selfish platonic love. I'd only keep her motivation romantic if you nix the team and keep canon focused on the love square.

The other change I'd make is focused on the peacock. I've already talked about the fact that the sentimonster power is broken as hell, so we're scrapping that. The peacock is getting a new power. What it is isn't actually all that important. What matters is what it means for Nathalie's role. The episode Felix established that Nathalie is a trained fighter, so instead of her sending out sentimonsters, Nathalie is now going into the field as another fighter. She's there to support the akumas and raise the stakes. The peacock will still be broken, so this is still something that doesn't happen right away. It's a mid-game stake raise done when Nathalie realizes that akumas aren't enough.

This is actually the reason I like to keep Kagami around. She's been established to practice multiple combat sports, so I'd give her something more than sword skills and have her be brought in to counter Nathalie and to teach the other heroes how to actually fight now that they're up against a trained fighter. I just love the idea of Kagami's genuine joy when she realizes that her fellow heroes are basically bulletproof and she can go full out on them. Ladynoir bonding over their mutual fear of their new brutal trainer is a fantastic way to build up their relationship. It's one of the may ways to build out the team without diluting their relationship.

This also gives Kagami a unique role in the team, something that is desperately needed. Every member of the team should be there for a reason, ideally one that goes beyond their powers. It even takes her bossiness and makes it a strength! Canon made her pushing Adrien around a purely negative trait added to show that she's not Adrien's True Love and I'm not a fan of that. Bossy girls get enough flack in the real world without supposed girl power shows adding to that nonsense. At the very least, Kagami's bossiness should be a strength and a weakness. It should not be a pure weakness that seems to magically go away when Felix shows up.

[strtravels]

The feelings had sneaked up on him slowly, but fiercely. At first, he hadn’t realised it. Just friends, he had told himself. It was nice to be friends with someone you worked so closely with, and it made work a lot easier, when you could spend time together, without feeling exhausted by the pure existence of the other. Sitting in Kate’s office, with a cup of coffee and a package of biscuits between them, had the exact opposite effect on him. He found it refreshing, and it had always given him strength to keep working a few more extra hours, because his desk was barely visible underneath the seemingly endless paperwork that came with his job. – AND THEN HE HAD REALISED. In the worst possible moment, he had realised that he wasn’t thinking of Kate as a friend, but that there was another special place in her heart for her, that he had once thought would never be occupied again. He loved her and felt the pain, as he thought he had lost her.

His eyes wandered to her – close as he was, he could see that the colour really had returned to her cheeks and the spark was back in her eyes. He no longer had to feel like he would lose her, a second time. But he – well, he had never had her either, right? It wasn’t a question of possessions, because he would hate to think of Kate or any woman as something one had in the sense that they were just an object one had managed to put into one’s collection, but it was… He never would be with her in the way, that they could share a life and more than they just had at UNIT. Getting used to the thought wasn’t as easy as he had hoped, and he had to admit that the idea of leaving his job had come into his head once or twice as he had heard about positions in Geneva opening. Was he a fool if he ran away, or was he one, if he stayed?

Pushing the thought aside, he gave Kate another small smile; softness mirroring her own. “I’m sure Gordon did his best. – Did you leave them in your office, perhaps? If you don’t mind, I’ll have a look when I get back to HQ. I’d grab some of the files left there for you to sign, too, so you can have a little more distraction from daytime TV, before they let you out. It’s good to here, you’re already doing better. You…” He stopped abruptly and then shook his head again. “… I have to admit I was scared… we’d lose you, Kate.” He couldn’t tell if he has admitted it before; the tiredness was clinging to his bones, too, but it didn’t hurt to say again. There was just another smile gifted to her, before he turned back to the file to save himself from saying something embarrassing, such as slipping and saying HE had been afraid of losing her or that HE didn’t know what HE would be doing without her.

He swallowed against his throat feeling suddenly very dry and nodded. Back to being professional. There was no time to allow himself to lose his focus, when there were more important things they had to talk about. The militia. The scapegoat, staring at them from the picture in the file.

“ – Yes, Vikram insists on pursuing this lead, because – I really hate to say it – but it’s the only lead we have at the moment. We might have a chance to get to the one pulling the strings, by observing Mister Garman. Or we might be wasting precious time and should rather bring him in, to see if he has been brainwashed or if he’s carrying any technology on his person, that might lead us to whoever is behind it. Which also might risk alarming those.” A small sigh. “I’m afraid that’s a discussion you’ll have to make. – So much for letting you rest and giving you peace and quiet, I’m sorry.”

If there's anything you want or need .... you. Just you. Sometimes, she felt like she was drowning in it, the need for it, them. It was as if something had latched it's hand around her foot and was pulling her into the depths of the ocean. Too much, always too much....and yet other times she felt like it wasn't nearly enough either. Like she was parched because of it. It scared her. She had never considered herself a particularly sentimental person. In truth, she'd accepted long ago that sort of thing wasn't her style.

Lots of people went their whole lives perfectly content with an ordinary life, and ordinary romances. Lots of people weren't capable of feeling the depth and weight of something so ostentatious as a hopeless romance. Long yearning glances and great sweeping gestures. Kate wasn't a romantic in that sense, in fact she scoffed at that kind of ridiculousness....but that didn't mean she didn't want....something. All she asked was that it shouldn't interfere with her neatly compartmentalised life. It shouldn't intrude on her life at all. Shouldn't be this great big thing. But that was the trouble with love. It didn't care that it made a mess of her life....and wasn't her life already messy?

She watched him move closer, out of the corner of her eye, biting down on her second custard cream with a very pronounced crunch that echoed in the quiet room. For a moment more, she contemplated the hopelessness of their predicament, before she realised that even that was an intrusion. One that was distracting her from a very real threat to UNIT.

Edward was speaking again. She lent a curious ear to what he was saying, her gaze returning to the file he had handed her moments before. Ah, just as she had thought. It couldn't be Garman. He had the bravado but none of the follow through. That made him the perfect scapegoat now that she thought about it. The rebel back bencher, always in the tabloids.

A smile plucked at her lips as Ed finished,shooting a quick glance to her side. Damn him. Even when it was all business he managed to get under her skin. ❝ Don't be. it would have been a strain to read all of that....Gordon can't seem to find my reading glasses. I could've sworn I'd left it on the kitchen counter. ❞ She shook her head, the smile softening.

There would be no sense in worrying him, the pain had subsided overnight anyway. She could hardly feel it, so long as she sat in one place. ❝ I'm fine Ed. They tell me I'll be getting out soon, if you can believe that.....now tell me more about Artie Garman. Is Vikram planning to pursue this? ❞

[anthromimicry]