#but you know what man? seems like a you problem.

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Yakuza - Valentine's Special

Romance is in the air and a certain yakuza is keen to teach you all about Valentine's traditions in Japan. Word Count: 4.2k Male Yandere x Fem Reader Mini Sequel to Yandere! Yakuza

As a hostess, you've been looking forward to Valentine's Day. Guests are notorious for spending big and tipping even bigger when romance is in the air.

One problem though. Your yakuza boyfriend does not approve.

"You don't have to work on Valentine's. My Family owns the club. I should get a say."

You ignore his complaining and the arms wrapped around your waist. You're focused on your makeup and no handsome, dangerous yakuza is going to distract you.

He changes tactics. "Onegaiya de? [Please?] Pretty please?"

You sigh and reach up to run your fingers through his hair. "Of course I do. But I need money. If you've forgotten, my brother still owes you. And besides, the house mother told me to come in today."

He frowns. "Naze? [Why?]"

"I'm very good at my job, that's why."

You manage to finish both your lashes and your lipstick before he speaks up again.

"Kurabu ni issho ni ikimasu. [I'm coming with you to the club.]"

You aren't surprised. It seems like he spends all his free time as your customer. As though being in a relationship isn't enough. As though he wants to have you both during and after work.

You turn and plant a kiss on his cheek. You leave behind a lipstick mark that he's in no hurry to wipe off. "If you want to spend all your money on me, I'm definitely not going to complain."

He grins in that lazy way of his and loops his arms fully around your waist. "Anata wa watashi no kanojodesu [you're my girl]. Who else would I spend my cash on?"

He drives you to work with one hand on your thigh. It gives you butterflies - the warmth of his skin bleeding through the fabric of your dress, the way he sometimes squeezes the meat of your leg like he subconsciously wants to remind himself that you're still there.

When he opens the car door for you, he brushes his lips past your ear. "Got a real nice surprise for you later."

You stop and pretend to fix your heels so you can look up at him through your lashes. "Is it the same surprise as last time? Because I loved that one."

Big, scary guy that he is, you think you can still see him swallow and freeze when you look up at him like that. He takes you hand and steadies you but the eyes that trace over your body are hooded, unreadable. "Not what I had in mind this time, no."

He inhales sharply when you step past him and 'accidentally' brush your hand over his belt.

"Too bad," you say, "I love that thing you do with your tongue."

It takes him a second to catch up with you. When he does, he wraps his arm around your waist and hisses in your ear.

"Anta, ijiwaruya na. [You unbearable tease]."

You can't help but smile. Personally, you'd describe yourself as an unbearable, romantic tease. It being Valentine's and all.

You're honestly looking forward to spending your shift with him. Even though he's started calling himself your kareshi, he still doesn't talk about himself much. You're not offended by it. There are a thousand little ways you've pieced together his past. The way he likes his sake hot and the way he turns his nose up at high end sushi, the way he holds his cigarette when he smokes and the way he can flick a match on his thumb. It all tells you a bit more than he'd probably like you to know. And each date you go on, each shift that he spends entirely focused on you, is just another opportunity for you to untangle the mystery that is your yakuza.

Unfortunately, the boss has other plans. You don't even get a chance to sit down before one of the other enforcers pulls him aside. He frowns at whatever the man is saying and then quickly presses a kiss to your forehead.

"Gomen ya de, daisukinahito. Shigotoya nen. [Sorry love. Gotta work]."

He's out the door before you can even object. The house mother narrows in on your table and less than a minute later she has a client seated across from you. She's built a habit of trying to cram as many customers into your schedule as possible when your boyfriend isn't around to steal you away. You can almost admire her dedication.

The first client of the night is a salaryman already happily flushed with drink. He tips you well, buys you several rounds of expensive drinks and gives you a drunken kiss on the cheek before he leaves. A very typical Valentine's date.

You get through a few more without any issues. Mostly businessmen not willingly to go home to an empty apartment. Your wallet gets noticeably fatter after each one. It's long past midnight when things finally go sour.

You're touching up your lipstick when the yakuza walk through the door. You can tell what they are at first glance. And worse, you know these aren't the usual guys.

You expect trouble. You aren't sure when you developed an instinct for yakuza business, but you know that the newcomers most definitely aren't part of the Family.

You try and watch them as subtly as you can. One of the regular enforcers goes up to meet them and - surprisingly - leads them to the back of the club.

The group passes right next to you. You keep your eyes on your compact and lipstick like you've never seen anything quite so interesting as YSL Loveshine. At the last second you look up, and straight into the eyes of a bleached blonde gangster with a mean smile. He must have been looking at you already, because he shoots you a playboy wink.

On instinct, you bow your head. Even if they weren't your Family, it wasn't a good idea to be caught lacking in respect.

When they're finally gone, you sigh in relief. Talk about scary. Those guys looked like their favourite pastime was baseball; the faces and knee cap variety.

You're about to get up and take your break when something makes you look over your shoulder. The blonde yakuza is leaning against the wall just outside the staff-only door. And looking straight at you.

Oh, please not today. You already have one yakuza in your bed and almost constantly blowing up you phone. You want absolutely nothing to do with Mr Tall, Blonde and Evil.

No such luck. He says something to the enforcer next to him and beelines towards you. Eyes locked on yours.

He slides in next to you - not across where a client would normally sit. You shift over to make room for him and wonder if there's something in the water that makes you particularly noticeable to men with a nicotine and tattoo addiction.

"Omae, jitto mi teruyan ka. Na n ya, kiniitta n kai, kawaī ko. [I noticed you staring. Like what you see, pretty girl?]"

His voice is raspier than your boyfriend's. And meaner too.

You can just...pretend to not speak Japanese. But one look at the blond's sharp, lazy smile tells you he'll know you for a liar the second you open your mouth.

"Omaeni mo onaji ko to kiitē wa, ikemen-san. [I could ask you the same thing, pretty boy.]"

He laughs, "She's got an attitude! Not scared of a big, scary yakuza?"

"Are you supposed to be telling me that about yourself?" You lean your chin on your palm and tilt your head. "What if I'm a cop?"

"Then you can put me in handcuffs right now." He let's his eyes roam down your body. "I'll happily do whatever you want, officer."

Okay. Pervert yakuza number two added to your collection. Could you get out of this somehow? A client is a client but you don't want to be next to him any longer than necessary.

"Don't you want a girl who can speak Japanese? I'm still not very good."

"What I want? We won't really be talking if we do what I want."

He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and lights one with an easy flick of his lighter. He inhales deeply and let's the smoke out of his nose, like a dragon.

"You got a boyfriend?"

That really does seem to be the first question these guys ask you. What happened to 'how are you?' and 'here's a fat stack of cash, do you want it?'

"Yes." You shrug, like this is just a casual conversation with another client and not a rival with a gun under his suit jacket. "He's part of the Family."

"Wakatta wa. [I see]." He offers you a pull of his cigarette. You almost decline, but you look into his eyes - a dark hazel - and realise what a bad idea that would be.

He holds your gaze as he presses the cigarette against your lips. You pull on it as lightly as you can, the tip flaring a bright orange.

It burns your throat and you turn away from him to cough out the smoke. God, that stuff is awful. Why the hell is your man always lighting one if this is what they taste like?

When you turn back to him, the yakuza is studying the cigarette. Your lipstick left a stain on the filter. Slowly, he brings it to his lips and covers the place where your own lips were. He pulls in deeply and tilts his head back, eyes closed.

"Sweeter than normal," he breathes.

Nope. Nope. Nope. It's flattering really, but you aren't an idiot. You don't want your boyfriend's rival sitting so close to you, you don't want him looking at you with eyes like liquid honey and you most definitely don't want him calling you sweet.

If you could telepathically summon your boyfriend, you would. Unfortunately, he's busy with whatever it is they took him off to do, and you're stuck making conversation with a man who's arm keeps inching tighter and tighter around your shoulders.

You try to stand up and excuse yourself, but he wraps a palm around your thigh and pulls you back down without even trying.

"I need to pee," you tell him. He grins, cigarette casting his features in shadow.

"Perfect. I'm really thirsty."

Alright then. Ultimate host club perv discovered. It's almost a relief. You were worried your boyfriend would continue to hold that unenviable title.

You're about to say something - probably along the lines of it would go down even better with a vodka chaser - when your boyfriend finally arrives. You can tell it's him by the way he let's the door almost slam shut behind him. (You've tried working on that but every time you bring it up, he just says that you're so cute when you're bossy and won't you please take that tone with him later tonight?)

The blonde must have followed your line of sight, because his grip gets just a little tighter on you. "That your boyfriend?"

He's already heading toward your table and his frown spells trouble.

"Yep." You wonder if the blonde would listen to you if you tried to warn him away. You doubt it.

Your yakuza's hair is messy and his sleeves are still rolled to his elbows. He must have come straight from whatever job he got called away for.

He stops right in front of you, his arms crossed.

"Times up," he says simply. "Her shift is over."

The blonde takes another pull from his cigarette. "This your girl?"

Your boyfriend tenses, "Un. Kanojo wa watashi no monodesu. [Yeah. She's mine]."

You can almost feel the room getting colder. Your boyfriend flicks his eyes at the other yakuza standing at the back of the club.

"What are you doing here?"

"Boss had business with your side of things. Said I could throw back. Sample the goods." Blondie runs his palm up your thigh. "I'd have risked coming over ages ago, if I knew you had such cute pieces."

Your boyfriend narrows his eyes. "Times. Up. She's got another date waiting."

The blonde yakuza makes a show of looking at his wristwatch. "Looks like I've still got five more minutes."

"Your watch is late." Every word is bitten off and curt. You've seen him serious before, but never like this. Is this what he's like when he's working?

It's easy to forget his job when he's sprawled in your bed with his head on your chest, muttering about letting him sleep for five more minutes. It's easy to forget that he's a gangster who breaks faces for a living. That he's dangerous.

After tonight, you don't think you'll ever forget that fact. It's terrifying to be across from him, even if his glare isn't directed at you.

The moment stretches - taut, awfully tense. Finally, the blonde breaks.

"Tch. I've got shit to do anyway."

He stands up - and just when you're about to sigh in relief - kisses you right on the mouth. You jerk backwards, more surprised than anything else.

He straightens and runs his fingers over his lips. "Even sweeter than I thought."

You scramble out of the booth and grab your boyfriend's arm before he can do anything stupid. The muscles under your palms are already coiled tight and you're terrified to see what might happen if that strength is unleashed.

You bow in a quick, half hearted way. "O jikan o itadaki arigatōgozaimasu. [Thank you for your time]."

And then you're dragging your man out of the club before he can muster any objections.

It's only when the cold February wind is kissing your cheeks that you dare to look over at him. He's looking back at the club, eyes narrowed.

"How long?" he asks quietly.

"Barely even ten minutes," you half lie. "Really. He didn't do anything until you showed up, I promise."

You tug at his hand. "It's late. Let's go home, please?"

He finally looks at you, eyes flat and face blank. That scares you even worse than if he was frothing at the mouth and swearing.

"Alright," he says mechanically, "Let's go home."

Usually you take the train to work or he drives you. So when he starts walking, you don't immediately realise the streets are all wrong. His car is nowhere to be seen.

Even though Spring isn't that far off, this late at night the city is still icy. You wrap your arms around yourself and it doesn't take him long to notice.

"Koko. Kore o kite kudasai. [Here. Wear this]." He pulls off his suit jacket and drapes it across your shoulders. It smells like him - cologne and cigarettes. You aren't sure when, but at some point that scent became the one you associated with safety, with home.

It's quiet. You can't exactly ask him what work he did while he was gone and you most definitely aren't going to mention the club again.

He's the one who finally breaks the silence. "Purezento o moraimashita. [I got you a present]."

He did mention that earlier.

"Can I guess what it is?"

That earns you a half smile."Mochiron. [Sure]."

"Chocolate."

"No. Not this time."

"Hmm... Flowers?"

"They make you sneeze."

True. But what else would he have bought you for Valentine's?

"A puppy?"

He doesn't immediately reply. Eventually, "I really didn't think about that one. Do you...want a puppy?"

You first instinct is to say yes. Who wouldn't want a puppy? Despite having him, your brother, and your friends from the club, Japan is still a lonely place for you. A puppy would remind you of home.

But it would also make Japan your new home. In a way you aren't sure you want. In your mind, it still feels like you'll leave soon, be gone next week or next month, when this debt issue is settled. Even your boyfriend feels temporary. This isn't your country.

"No," you say eventually, "Not yet."

He must be thinking along the same lines as you because at your reply, his smile thins and he looks away from you.

"Nande ya, ano ko ni inu demo kattaro ka. Muriyari ore to ora setaru wa. [Shoulda got her a damn puppy. Force her to stay with me]."

You don't understand Japanese well enough to understand him when he changes his dialect. He manages a smile.

"Not a puppy either. Do you give up?"

You hate losing. You pull his jacket tighter around yourself. "...Yeah I give up."

He slows to a stop."Mewotojite. [Close your eyes]."

He takes your hand in his and lays something in your palm. You open your eyes to see a diamond necklace on a bed on midnight blue velvet. And it's definitely diamond - even in the neon soaked streets of the Red Light District, it sparkles. You gasp.

You're almost scared to touch it. It looks beyond expensive. Like something you pass in a store window and tell yourself maybe someday.

"You like it?"

You look up at him, eyes wide. "It's incredible. I've never... I've never owned something this beautiful."

He looks beyond smug. He plucks it out of the box and in one smooth move has it around your throat. His fingers brush the nape of your neck as he fastens the clip.

If you were on you own, you'd never dare to wear it out on the street. But only a colossal idiot would try and grab it off your neck when there was an armed yakuza right next to you. You shouldn't feel safer in the company of a criminal, but you do. God help you, you do.

He presses a kiss against your temple."Watashi no gārufurendo ni totte saikō no mono dake.[Only the best for my girl]."

It scares you a little - how much he's willing to spend on you. How are you supposed to repay a gift like this?

"Ie ni kaerimashou.[Let's go home]," he coos in your ear.

You laugh and loop your arm through his. "Want me to show you exactly how much I love my gift?"

"Yes." His voice is low and almost strained. "God yes."

It's only when you're halfway down the street that you remember you have something for him too.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" you spin away from him and dig through your handbag. "Ta-da! A hostess at work was telling me that it's usually the girls who give gifts on Valentine's."

You hand over the chocolate you bought him. It's a thick slab with Turkish delight in the centre. You've stuck a plethora of pink and red hearts to the box, each one with a sappy little quote in the centre.

You feel a little silly giving a gift like this to a yakuza of all people. But you also want to do something for your boyfriend, even if it is sickeningly romantic.

You picked up on him liking Turkish delight when your brother bought you a box, and it was mysteriously empty when you got home that day. Your yakuza claimed he didn't touch it, but he tasted suspiciously like rose candy when you kissed him.

He takes it from you carefully. "For me?"

You stand on your toes and loop your arms around his neck.

"Will you be my Valentine?"

He's quiet for a moment or two, looking at you like he just can't understand you. Finally, he pulls you into him and buries his face in your neck. He takes a deep breath, but when he speaks his voice is just a bit unsteady.

"Of course I'll be yours. Ore wa zutto omae no mon'ya de. [I'll always be yours.]"

A man with a rap sheet as long as a CVS receipt, and somehow he's yours.

You pull him closer against you. "Thank you. For taking care of me. For helping me out when you had no reason to."

He hums quietly against your neck. "Nan demo surude, honma ni nan demo. [I'll do anything for you. Anything]."

He pulls away and something in his face tells you he's just had an idea. He peels the hearts off the box and carefully folds them into his pocket. He breaks off a piece of chocolate and holds it up to your mouth.

You're immediately suspicious of the smirk on his face, but you oblige and let him prop the chocolate between your lips. He leaves a piece sticking out of your mouth and before you can bite it off, he leans forward and does it for you. His hand slips around the nape of your neck to keep you still.

His lips barely brush yours.

He pulls away looking extremely satisfied. You've kissed him so many times already but your heart doesn't care. You can hear your blood rushing through your ears.

"Sweet," he runs his thumb across your bottom lip and then presses it against his tongue. "Just how I like it."

Damn him for a devil and a half. It's so totally unfair how giddy and nervous he makes you feel.

He nods at the building behind you. "Good thing we're already home."

"Home?" Is this his apartment? He never brings you to his apartment.

He leads you to the elevator and to your surprise has to use a key card to access the highest floor. The buildings in this part of town are cramped for space but when the elevator dings open, it does so in a broad corridor lined with heavy doors. He must be earning much more than you realised, to have a place like this.

He pauses on the threshold.

"Gotta carry you in. It's tradition."

"Only if we're newlyweds."

"Not true," He blatantly lies, hands drifting down your back. "Brings you luck for the rest of the year."

Before you can object, he sweeps his arm under your knees and scoops you up bridal style.

"Risuku wa toritakunai de. Un wa zenbu hoshī wa. [Not taking any chances. I want all the luck I can get]."

You don't get to see much of his loft-style apartment before he drops you on his bed. One knee already pressing into the mattress next to your waist.

He drops his head down to kiss the column of your throat.

"You'll be wearing nothing except your necklace when I'm done with you," he promises, voice already dropping to a slurred, needy growl.

Oh my. That's a new one. And you always took him for the lacy lingerie type.

You tug at his shirt but with one twist of his hand, he catches both your wrists. "No. You first."

"Impatient aren't we?"

His hands are already skimming down your back and unzipping your dress.

"Oh you have no idea how patient I'm being."

His lips dip past your collarbones and then lower still. You arch against his chest, breathless.

At the last second he pulls away. You practically whine.

"Move in with me."

You blink. "What?" Is he really asking you this while you're in your bra and panties? And when there are much better things to do with his mouth?

"You heard me. Maiban beddoni ite hoshī. [I want you in my bed everynight]."

You frown. Wouldn't it be dangerous? More dangerous than working in a yakuza club and sharing his bed already was?

His grip on you tightens. He isn't smiling anymore. "You're my girl. You should stay with me. Not your brother. And sure as hell not on your own."

"I-"

He slides down your body until his head is between your thighs. "Good. I'll get someone to move your things tomorrow."

"Wait, I didn't say -" He does something with his tongue that makes you gasp and arch your back.

"No more objections?" he mocks. You're too breathless to answer.

"Ēyan. Kikitakatta kotoya wa. [Good. Just what I want to hear]."

He's awake long before sunrise. You're still curled under his sheets, lovebites littered across your neck.

He didn't give you a chance to notice them last night, but there's a bouquet of roses waiting for you on the nightstand.

He leans in the balcony door, cigarette smoke curling between his teeth. Just watching you.

His girl. His to touch. His to have. His to hold and keep.

Do you have any idea how lucky you are that it was him you ran into that night? If it was anyone else sent to collect your brother's debt, they'd have just left you to drown under the mountain of interest. Let it get so bad that you couldn't possibly pay your way out and then offer you a job at a soapland. Hell, that was his plan too when he first laid eyes on you. Pretty thing like you would have made a fortune as a yūjo.

But then you went and made him fall for you. It's selfish of him to want you. He knows it's dangerous to have you on his arm. That blonde bastard from last night was proof enough. He knows, and still...

You can't expect a criminal to be selfless. You can't show him something precious and expect him to let it go.

"My girl." He exhales a cloud of smoke and leans his head back. "Gonna make you my wife someday. You just don't know it yet."

[hansoleil]

★ ˙ ̟ ─── . “chris”.

— chan × reader. — 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: smut. — 𝘄. 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2217. — 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: afab reader, unprotected sex, creampie, dry humping, daddy kink, degradation & inappropriate language. — 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: i love me an obsessed ex-boyfie [🍽]

𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔. you can't get over chris.

The studio door unlocked with an electronic noise. You didn't make a fuss about entering — it wasn't your first time there, and it probably wouldn't be your last.

"Took you long enough.", he mumbled without bothering to turn around.

"There was too much traffic," you threw your bag on the couch behind him, sitting there right away. The sound of the keyboard echoed in the room for a few more minutes, as if it was inside your head. There was no room for shame, you'd been in this position more times than you'd like to admit.

The chair finally turned around, letting you see the man for the first time that week. Okay. Maybe there was room to feel ashamed. You followed his eyes scanning your body from head to toe, lingering on your legs that were barely covered by the short dress you were wearing — it used to be his favorite, you didn't expect a different reaction.

"So? What have I done to deserve the honor of your presence?", the sweet tone dripped with sarcasm, as if the cynical smile wasn't already a great indicator.

"Cut it, Christopher.", you weren't in the mood to entertain his jokes today. His shameless laughter made you question whether being there was really a good idea, but unfortunately, you needed him.

"Oh, you mad, princess? No need to stress. I'll fix your issue right now." he pressed his tongue against his cheek, smiling mischievously — he was always a tease. He spread his legs even wider, settling himself in the chair. Chan looked at you as if he expected something from you, smiling when he noticed your shyness. "Are you gonna just sit there? We both know why you're here." conceited, he said as if it was obvious (and it really was). You stood up, feeling even more embarrassed, but didn't exactly know why — Chris knew how to make you shy, even after so long. "Take off your panties while you're at it." You gave the man an offended look, as if he had insulted you. "What? You wanna get fucked, don't you?" the man let out a chuckle. You reluctantly took off your panties, there's no arguing with facts, and sat on his lap right after.

Your body and mind felt like two different entities that didn't have the same goal. There was a voice in your head telling you how wrong that was, but you could barely hear it. At the end of the day, it was Christopher. And, somehow, he was still yours. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with it. Not with you in his lap.

Grinding against him like a kitten, your nose pressed to his jawline, breathing in his scent. Chris always had a "manly" scent, you couldn't really explain what it was, but it turned you on — and that was the biggest problem when it came to the man: everything about him turned you on and you feared you'd never be able to let him go.

"Why are you so needy, princess? Your little boyfriend can't handle you?", he asked mockingly. His skilled hands lifted your dress so he could knead the soft skin of your ass — he was obsessed with that part of you, squeezing and playing with it whenever he could.

"He's not my boyfriend, Channie. I only went out with him a few times," you justified the fact for the thousandth time in god knows how long. There was no point, you knew Chris would still bring this up in the future.

"So you should stop giving hope to the poor guy. He must think he has a chance with you," he looked at you smugly. Chris was convinced that he was the only man for you — the fact that you had returned to his lap once again only confirmed the theory.

"I like him though...", it was a lie. You said it just to mess with the man's ego, because even if he knew the truth, he would still feel a little threatened.

"Oh, do you?", his voice full of disbelief. "So you're calling him when you want to fuck? Tell me.'", one of his hands grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him. "What's the point of breaking up with me if you can't get off my dick, hm?", his eyes fixed on yours made your body shiver.

Christopher's pretty lips were all you could pay attention to, trying to get closer, as if they were calling your name. He knew how obsessed you were with his lips — no wonder why you kissed him every five minutes when you were still together. Having that in my mind, you were sure of how merciless his next actions were. Your movements were suddenly stopped, the man's hand tangled in your hair, keeping you in place.

"No.", the warning came coldly, but not enough to hide how pleased he seemed with your disappointed expression. "There's no point in making that face either. "No feelings" remember?", he reminded you of the rule you made sure of repeating every time you asked to meet him. "You're the one who wanted it to be like this.", it was painful for him and he wanted it to be for you too. Despite missing your lips as badly as you did, he would deny it, because maybe that would force you to take him back — you both knew he was trying to wear you down, but you were too stubborn.

"Chris, you said that-"

"I said I was going to fuck you, I never said anything about kissing you. You're not my girlfriend, remember that too?", irritated, he interrupted you. It was stressful having to continue with this dynamic just because that's how you wanted it to be. Chris was aware of your reasons, but what was the point of not taking him back if you always ended up at the same place every time? Christopher wasn't able to understand. He had already made a thousand promises in order to change himself, to be better for you... but none of them seemed to convince you. On the other hand, he also wanted to have the courage to get over you and end things for good. However, nothing seemed to overcome how fucking crazy he was about you.

You nodded in defeat, the sadness in your expressions almost making Channie give in. Almost. But he knew just how to fix your disappointed face. The man hurriedly pulled down the straps of your dress, letting the fabric rest below your breasts. Wasting no time, he sucked on them, letting the saliva drip on your skin. Even bitting on them just to feel you pull his hair.

He pulled you by the waist, positioning your body right on top of his cock — the thin fabric of his pants letting you feel almost all of it. He left a slap on your thigh, silently demanding that you start moving — his busy mouth was only able to emit an almost annoyed hum. You grinded down carefully, speeding up as soon as you realized that the position was perfect to stimulate your clit. You could feel him throbbing under you and that was too tempting.

You struggled to get him out of his pants, wanting to feel it closer. Sitting right on top of it when you finally managed to do it, now grinding the wet length against your panties — the movement hitting just right on your swollen clit. You moaned softly, mentally thanking the soundproof walls of the studio.

"Channie.", you knew you could cum like that, but you didn't want to. He finally stopped sucking your tits.

"What do you want now, princess? I'll be good today, I'll even let you choose.", his fingers opening your folds more, making you feel his cock with more intensity. "Want my tongue inside your little pussy?", he rubbed his nose against yours as if he was going to kiss you — it was pure teasing. You shook your head, face frowning, it was pretty obvious what you wanted. "Oh, so you want to get fucked already, sweetheart? Are you that needy?", if you were being honest, that was the only thing on your mind — you didn't even think you needed to get stretched out first. He nodded, your innocent face making Channie smile nastily. "Get on all fours then, princess. I'll give it to you just the way you like it."

[...]

Your nails almost pierced the sofa's fabric, it wasn't your fault though, you needed to take the sensation out on something. You felt him so deep, filling you to the brim, making a mess out of your little hole. In moments like these, you lose all your composure. Swore you could go as far as shamelessly admitting you were fucking addicted to his cock — and you would probably feel pathetic after the high came down, but Chris had the ability to make you act like a bitch in heat. The horniness always spoke louder than you ever could, forcing your body against his, trying to fuck yourself harder. But a sudden slap on your ass made you halt your attempts.

"Can you fucking stay still?." he sounded irritated, your walls tightened almost immediately — a detail that didn't go unnoticed by him. "You know better than move when I'm fucking you. Thought I already taught you that, princess.", his hand tangled in your hair again. He made pressure, forcing you face against the couch. Thrusts getting slower, it was all on purpose — he wanted to punish you little.

"Channie-"

"Shhhhh. Like that, see? Stay still.", he whispered, burying himself deep inside and grinding into your cervix. Chris smiled mischievously when he saw your legs trembling, he loved how dumb you got for cock. You were drenched, slick running down the inside of your thighs. It was good, but it wasn't enough. You wanted to be fucked for real, you needed Chris to break you — the way he always did.

"Daddy, please...", you pleaded with the sweetest tone you could muster. Even with your face muffled against the couch, you knew he could hear it. The nickname wasn't used for nothing, you knew very well what it did to Chris — it was one of the man's biggest guilty pleasures, something he only let slip out when he was almost out of his mind.

Your memory full of all the times he had asked you to "let daddy fill your little pussy" when he was right about to cum. There was no better time to take advantage of it — the length spasming inside you only confirming the fact. You heard the man mumble something you couldn't identify, his hand letting go of your hair and gripping your waist tightly. You knew you had won him over. The thrusts increased the pace.

"Fucking slut.", an intoxicated smile decorated his features. Oh, you were so sure you won him over. His calloused hands forced you against his hips as if you were a toy, you whimpered, unable to deal with the change in pace. You felt Chris slap you a few times, he seemed not to be measuring his strength, hitting you without mercy.

"Channie!" you complained, but it was just pretend — you both knew.

"So I'm not "daddy" anymore? Hm? If you want to act like a whore, you gotta learn how to take it.", he sounded groggy. You throbbed, getting wetter — if it was possible. He brought one of his hands to between your legs, desperately playing with your clit. "Daddy's little slut gonna cum? Yeah? You're squeezing me so fucking tight, baby.", your body writhed, unable to handle it.

You were barely able to grasp when you tipped over the edge, your eyes squeezed shut, releasing a few tears in the process. The man didn't stop thrusting. He used your sensitive body, almost as if he couldn't hear the painful way you whimpered beneath him. It was delicious and torturous at the same time.

"Gonna cum inside you, love. Ah! Fuck, l-like that...", he moaned in a daze, not even aware of what he was saying — a clear sign that he was right about to cum. "I fucking love you... you're mine, love. R-right? Mine.", his body trembling, the orgasm taking away any and all signs of sanity for a few seconds. Chris' soft moans made you squeeze tighter, messing with him even more, filling you up until it leaked.

It took a while for your sensitive bodies to calm down.

Chris was now resting on top of your body, holding his own weight to not crush you against the sofa. He stood up suddenly, his presence disappearing for quite some time. Mind still hazy, you felt him turn your body around, opening your legs to clean the mess he made. You were exhausted, usually falling weak like this whenever you two had sex — Channie was the perfect sleeping pill, he always put you to sleep.

A soft blanket was placed on top of your body and your eyes closed almost automatically. You felt a long and soothing kiss on your lips, body lighting up, you couldn't hold back a smile. You missed this so much... you would even feel a little sad if you weren't so tired.

"Good night, love.”

# — © 2025 hansoleil ᯓ★ masterlist.

[thetadispatcher]

Nines studied the man a moment, even the lack of change in the other's expression was usable information for him in figuring out Bishop's motive. He wasn't shocked when he came to the conclusion the man was trying to get him to react for his own amusement, it seemed to be something a lot of humans tried to do.

Sure, some actually had good intentions behind it, but he found mainly he had to deal with the ones who made it their goal to see if they could piss him off. Unfortunately for Gavin, Nines enjoyed how his lack of reaction made the man rage so easily, it made basically having to babysit a grown man worth it.

"I know how to tell if a sibling murdered the other or not, possible motives, and how to get information out of them. Not how to act like one as that is not useful to solving a case." He had no need to understand sibling relationships beyond what was necessary to solve a case.

"Of course, our batteries can last way longer then a human's life span. And they may grow tired of the issue before then." Hugh responded with a nod, he had a feeling the problem would likely be forgotten quickly as there were more important issues surrounding android rights to deal with. And wasting time on a bunch of military units that weren't causing issues would be ridiculous.

Kelvin arrived after a few minutes, catching SIxty's attention as the other unit started to help him pack the boxes without acknowledging him. Sixty frowned a bit, showing he really didn't much care for Kelvin likely due to how the android seemed to ignore his existence to focus on his given task.

Sixty would rather talk to the other units, and with Kelvin he couldn't do that or get much of any feedback from him, something that annoyed him. But he never got physically upset with the other android as he understood it wasn't something Kelvin had any control over.

Strasky glanced at the new android, noting his odd clothes and the tactical vest that had a name tag attached to the front. He stopped himself from greeting the android as he noticed the blue cracks around his ear canal, which he felt meant he likely wouldn't be able to hear him.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Rook." Ellis said with a smile and a nod, glancing at Dan as the PL600 walked away to go speak with some of the construction units. He knew Dan could tell they'd do fine without him standing around as they were talking about a shared interest.

"Part of the Jet Grind Radio series. Yep, I've heard of it." He confirmed with a nod. "Hideki Naganuma does good music, very good. He did a song for Lethal League Blaze too, nothin' for the original Lethal League game." He noted, sure a game about hitting a ball back and forth probably wasn't exciting to some, but at least it had a good sound track to listen to.

"I haven't played Jet Set Radio yet, but it is on my list." Ellis slid the jack he was resting on under the nearby vehicle to start jacking it up, feeling he should work and talk at the same time.

"Right now, Pete an' I are doin' Hollow Knight together. For a game about bugs it's got a very good story, an' very interestin' boss fights." He felt Peter's poor explanation of the game might've made it far more interesting to him then it might normally be, but he was okay with that.

That brief show of emotion was met with the same look as before, as Bishop made sure to guard himself at the same time. That was subtle, he had to admit that. Perhaps Cyberlife had managed to create something worth the while.

"I suppose that's a limited sample. Although I would expect someone designed to do detective work would be provided with a deeper understanding of this sort of behavior."

Just because he personally chose not to act like a human being most of the time, it didn't mean he didn't understand how they acted. Then again, that might have just been another jab.

He looked back to his cards, "As they do. You can at least trust in the debate taking so long to get to a point that you might outlive the people involved."

That was what he did anyway.

"Ah, that works." Rook pulled out her phone, "Did you catch that, Willow?"

"Of course." Willow was already on the lookout. A rushing android should be hard to miss.

"Sorry about that. It's better to keep our guards up with Bishop around."

Then again they hadn't heard from the agent in a while. Rook followed Dan all the way to the garage. She didn't know what to expect, but it looked like the construction units looked friendly enough.

"Well, you should probably mention that hole in the wall you made." That seemed like something that should concern these androids.

While she was expecting to spot a familiar face, she could have never guessed who it actually was.

"Yeah, I'm new around here. I'm Rook, nice to meet you!" she replied with a smile, "Okay, that's good to know. I haven't played that game but I like Jet Set Radio. Do you know that one?"

[yok00k]

pensándote

pairing: yandere!bf!jk x reader

genre: angst, smut

summary: your boyfriend is getting more and more possessive and it's starting to affect your relationship. however, he's willing to change for the better. or you thought so.

warnings: MATURE- shower sex(rough), videotaping, jk hits it from the back, oc called jk 'daddy', ass smacking, cheeks were getting clapped, mentioned lots of sex positions, oc got slutted out, jk is lowkey/highkey toxic, sick, and unhealthy, toxic relationship, attachment issues, argument, jk is a stalker w ill behavior/action, [still in denial], open ending[there might be a next part, depending on how rough life could be], not proof read bc writing this is a silly little hobby

word count: 1,611

a/n: ho i’m back and better than ever!!! note that english is not my first language and I write for funsies>..< (this ff is inspired by rauw's pensandote) — to those who knows a lot of reggaeton bangers plz hmu for recs thx

-Llevo to' el día pensándote

“baby wait up” he calmly pleaded, trying to catch up to you. still, you continue to ignore him.

It was about to be 3 a.m. when you and you boyfriend arrived to your apartment from a girls’ night. you and your homegirls planned to have a night out to have let some loose and have fun, lots of drinks and men hitting on you being involved of course. living the city night life has been the part of your lifestyle. however it doesn’t play a huge part of your life anymore. barely anymore since you’ve established a romantic relationship with jeongguk– your suitor for six months. 

you and jeongguk had the same psychology class last year. oftentimes in that class, you’re either too tired from work or still have a hangover from the party the night before. same parties he goes to just so he can see a glimpse of you from afar, trying his best to see the best view of the entire party while trying to manage being lowkey. 

fortunately, jeongguk, who’s sitting next to you in class and also can’t help but to shift his undivided attention to how you’re struggling in some works in class. as a straight A-student and a gentleman, he frequently lends you his notes and offers you help. why? because for some  strange reason, he cares for you. 

well maybe the care is turning into an obsession. but jeongguk keeps telling himself that he’s being harmless. he simply wants to know.  he’s seen you always go out with your close friends, never with any man. on the days you’re not partying, you pick up extra shifts at a nearby coffee shop. how did he know? luck. just happened to stumble upon the shop one day. he swears it’s all coincidence. 

or at least he hopes so. 

you started to see him so often. at your work, parties, gym, or at the grocery store. again and again that you began to think that this might be destiny. each time you see him, he’s always by himself. minding his own business (or make an effort to seem like it). and it made you a little curious. how come this man doesn’t have any hoe or friends around? you frankly thought ‘maybe just his lifestyle’. one day he finally gets out of his comfort zone and asks you if you would be interested to get to know him. obviously, you’d like to know who he truly is. right?

fast forward after courting you for six months, here you are. coming home from a party with him following behind you. 

you would think that he’s going to stop. it’s unexpected and extreme for what he’s about to do next. 

and there he is, both knees on the ground. his large palms reaching for your cold hands. kneeling before you like a desperate man he is.  He knew exactly what he'd done. “please, let’s fix this”

he used to be fun. less controlling. less obsessive. less possessive. 

“oh now you wanna acknowledge the problem?” you scoffed, finding his sudden behavior ridiculous. “fix what problem? you constantly getting overly possessive and manipulative or you just randomly showing up at the party while me and my friends are in the middle of having fun? for fuck sake Jeongguk, let me fucking breathe for once.” 

you’re beyond frustrated. the upcoming finals have been stressing the shit out of you and all you need is some space to relieve stress. 

“baby, you know I’m just making sure that you’re saf–” he starts off with the excuse he always says, but you’re too quick to call him out. “following me to make sure I’m safe? you’re suffocating me.”

he has no response. he knows it’s true. he’s aware of his excessive actions. no, more like impulses. a thing he can’t control. an itch.  jeongguk can’t seem to fight these urges when he knows that there’s lots of men out there that actively hit on you. and he’s terrified, scared that they’ll steal you from his possession as if you’re his favorite toy to ever acquire. 

“I think we should just end this. it’s becoming toxic.” you stuttered under your breath, gasping a handful of your hair as you shifted your gaze on the side. ‘he’s becoming toxic’ is what you really want to say. 

“I.. I will stop. I will change. let me prove to you that I love you and I only want what’s best for you” he cries, tears slowly rolling on his porcelain face. 

“do you still have trust in me?” 

you wanted to shake your head, say no. 

tragically, your answer is yes. but the real question is will he change for the better? 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

jeongguk is a man of his words and kept his promise.  it had been a couple months after that night and you began to notice the changes in his actions. a huge change. 

your boyfriend stops controlling you in a variety of ways. every time you let him know that you’ve got somewhere to go, all he asks for is your assurance that you’re safe and sound. as long as you’re having the best time, he’ll fully support you to whatever it is. 

some nights that you have to study and do homework, he’d restrain himself  from spamming your inbox. he understood that you have priorities and you’ll get back to him as soon as you can. and you did.

lastly, he recently became more consistent on going to the gym. it makes you extremely happy that he’s investing more time to better himself. physically and mentally. redirecting his focus onto something that’s actually more healthy for him.

 or at least that’s what you think he’s doing.

so far, so good. you feel secure that everything is working well. your relationship is doing good. 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

—"Tú desnuda, yo dándote"

“k-koo, right there baby” you begged as he continued to drill his thick cock into you from the back. slow and deep. and oh, raw.  “don’t stop, please.” the lewd sound of your ass clapping against his pelvis echoes in the steamy bathroom. all being captured by your cell phone held by his shaky left hand.

 video taping moments like this helps jeongguk cope with his unhealthy behaviors. whenever he feels a tiny bit of jealousy running through his veins, all he has to do is watch these videos to remind himself of what he has. 

you, in whatever nastiest positions he puts you in: doggy, backshots, against the wall, cowgirl, missionary, etc. this r-rated file collection you’ve got on your phone reminds him of the chokehold he’s got you in. yes, it’s all saved on your phone, but it’s not like he doesn’t have access through your apps and social accounts, let alone your camera roll. you’re all his. no one else’s. his. solely his. furthermore, he’ll make sure that he can guarantee himself so. 

perhaps you don’t need to smoke in order to feel like you’re in heaven right now. going for the 3rd round, your boyfriend still can’t get enough of you. 

supposedly was a quick shower right after the gym session you had with him turned into a long and enjoyable one. 

“yeah? you love getting fuck like this, huh?” his cockiness is on top of the roof, he looks down to watch his veiny shaft disappear inside your pussy just for it to come out and back. he’s got the bestest view. not even a phone camera with flash on can justify that. he then props the camera on top of the toilet, leaning against the wall as it still catches both of your filthy actions. 

seeing how much you enjoy this position– bent down in the nearest sink, one hand gripping onto his wrist while the other clutches on the ceramic white sink. the whimpers coming from your skilful mouth can alone make him bust a nut. 

when he receives no reply, the hand that helps you to stay in place snakes its way to your hair, collecting a fistful before tugging it back.  

“answer, slut” he snapped, demanding an answer from you whilst he proceeds to thrusts in and out. with your eyes rolled back, you’re barely processing what he wants from you. unable to even utter a single proper syllable from how ecstatic he’s making you feel. Indeed, you love being treated like a slut. 

in and out. in and out. in and–

smack 

 a sudden sharp pang on your ass cheek, causing you to moan loudly.  “c’mon my love, you’re still with me. right?” he asks, increasing his pace faster. rougher. 

“hmm y-yea, love the way you feeel” you desperately murmured, still clouded by the glorious dick he’s giving you. 

“m-more,” a single word from you is all that your man needs to hear to continue drilling onto you. rough yet with love. 

“almost there,  daddy” your breath hitches, still struggling to speak.  on the other hand, your words made the man pounding into you even crazier than he already is. he began to notice the signs that you’re about to reach your peak as your walls desperately clenched around him. 

he abruptly comes to a stop. pulls out completely from you, resulting in you to release a whine. 

jeongguk manhandles your fragile body, turning your body to face him. he pats the side of your thigh, insisting you to jump and wrap your  legs around his waist.

“want you to look me in the eyes when you come.” he orders, slowly penetrating into you once again, while being face-to-face with you at the same time. 

 just like his destructive actions filled with obsession, he’s not stopping anytime soon,

is he?

<want to read more? : my m.list>

[melanchoire]

g!p drunk karina idk if i asked this alr i forgot or maybe not

this is the first time you ask this anon!!

cw: alcohol, breeding, creampie, riding.

from the beginning you knew that accepting the invitation to the program on lee youngji’s youtube channel was a bad idea when you knew that you’d have to go with karina

she had already attended that show in 2023, but that episode was so chaotic. karina was the only idol who touched her plate of food during the video, and yet, not even when her mouth was full of food did she shut up or stop being so loud and noisy 😮‍💨 and when youngji gave her a compliment and she replied “stop lying. you say that to all the female idols.” you didn’t know whether to call it having bad temper or an unbearable attitude

and so it was! that day, it seemed like karina and youngji were competing to see who could playfully flirt with you, giving you sudden compliments and most of them were very unnecessary or stupid honestly

youngji giving you more alcohol than she should 😭 none of the idols who attended got drunk, rather tipsy or something looser, but you and karina? according to youngji’s words, it was a single bottle of soju, but you swear that every time the bottle was about to run out, the moment you looked away from it and back at the drink, it magically appeared full again 🤨 but she said you were probably just being a lightweight with a bad memory and your brain was playing tricks on you

and coming home was a complete horror 💀 both you, but especially karina, were too drunk to be able to use your phones and order a taxi or call the manager 😭 youngji having to take care of that on her own, pretending to be oblivious to the reason why you two seemed so affected by alcohol when supposedly all three of you ingested the same amounts of alcohol, when she was always focusing on talking more to avoid drinking too much and letting you be the ones who drink the most drinks

having to help karina get into the taxi because she was too drunk that she couldn’t get into the car and almost hit her forehead because apparently she forgot that to get into a car you have to bend down a little and lower your head

the way home being complete silence 😶‍ you feel the driver’s gaze on you at all times, his eyes meeting yours through the rearview mirror was something impossible to ignore 🤐 that old man probably thought you were two idiots who went out with their friends and drank until they got drunk…

karina leaned against the car door, looking through the window with an expression that made it abundantly clear that a part of her was no longer here… but what dominated your thoughts the most was you praying inside that she doesn’t feel nauseous or throw up in the taxi car 😣 it would be too much embarrassment for your own good

upon arriving at her apartment building, you pay the driver and get out of the car with her in record time, you were longing to get home and lie down in your bed, your body longing for that much–loved rest that the next morning would take its toll on you with a terrible hangover

helping karina walk to the elevator by putting your arm around her torso, but luckily, at least she wasn’t pushing her weight against your side because you weren’t strong enough to carry her

but she changes completely when she gets to the door of her apartment?!?!? you innocently thought that maybe the effects of the alcohol were slowly wearing off... how naive of you!

you sit on the couch with your phone in hand, ready to order another taxi so that this time you can be the one to head home

“what are you doing?” you didn’t hear karina’s footsteps when she approached you, much less did you feel when she sat on the couch next to you too close

“uhm, trying to hail a cab home.” “you’re not going anywhere.”

you look at her with a frown, not understanding what the problem is with wanting to go home after a long and tiring day

“it‘s not safe for you to go home in this state. i mean, you’re a little drunk and it wouldn’t be very polite of me to leave you alone in this state. besides, the driver might try to take advantage of it.”

her words would have been sweeter and showed her concern for you if it weren’t for the fact that her hand is resting on your thigh and dangerously close to your inner thigh, sliding up and down as her head rests on your shoulder with her face almost hidden in the crook of your neck

and you would say something at the sudden and very close touch if it weren't for the fact that she doesn’t let you react and suddenly kisses you

you would object to this but you would be lying if you said you hadn’t wanted for a long time to be this close to your dear leader... but please! she’s the whole combo. that pretty face with pronounced and sharp features that looks good even without makeup. that body… at first, it seemed a little absurd when fans were so obsessed with the term “body goals” or always talking about the artists’ bodies, but god, when you started going to the gym or practicing and rehearsing choreographies for comebacks or performances at awards ceremonies with karina, your mouth watered every time karina wore tight shirts or something that accentuated her chest 👀 and when she wore leggings or sweatpants? it was more than a difficult task for you not to have your eyes glued to the notorious outline of her dick 😣 you felt like a pervert having your gaze glued to your leader’s crotch every time you saw the tent in her pants, almost immediately taking your eyes off her and hoping that if anyone noticed they would think you were just staring at a blank spot or just not focusing your gaze

you don’t remember exactly when you went from just kissing karina on the couch in her apartment to being on her lap riding her cock... but you weren’t complaining!

based on her blurry eyes and lazy grin you can’t exactly tell what she’s concentrating on right now… maybe she was paying attention to the vulnerable look on your face, noticing the frown and grimace you were trying to hide due to you having some difficulty getting used to the size of your leader ☹️ or maybe she was admiring the way your hips moved against hers and how your pussy was having some trouble taking her length completely because look at her! she’s definitely big and just by looking at her face you know it 😉 and the way your tits were bouncing under your shirt? that was something that had caught karina’s gaze and had taken her full attention, if it were up to her, she wouldn’t have hesitated twice to tear the fabric from your skin and let your bare breasts jiggle in front of her face or even bury her face between them and entertain her mouth for a while… but karina’s hands were too busy resting on your thighs and massaging your skin, occasionally rising to sit on your hip bones and guide your movements, or even go down to your ass and give your cheeks a couple of slaps until they have bright red finger marks and then massage the skin to make sure you’re not so sore afterwards because she’s not that mean!

she’s sooo cocky about it. “having a hard time up there? c’mon baby, i know you can take it. do it for unnie.” and she digs her fingers into your hips as she moves her own hips up to meet yours and thrust into you 😵‍💫

and she absolutely loves it when your orgasm starts to get closer and you lose control completely, going from having your hands on her shoulders to wrapping your arms around her neck and pressing your chest against hers as you lose complete control as you ride her 🥴

and karina is not mean or selfish at all! massaging your clit with two of her fingers in a rhythm that drove you crazy, whispering taunts mixed with compliments in your ear and looking at you with glossy eyes and a smug smile… she really enjoyed it when you came on her cock at the same time as she filled your womb with her seed! 🥰 keeping her cock inside your pussy to make sure she keeps it all inside you until your walls absorb it completely and not even the smallest drop dares to escape

your limp body resting on top of karina’s because riding her took all the energy out of your body and the alcohol was starting to take its toll on you and you were starting to feel dizzy 💔

luckily, karina unnie is always here to take care of her members, especially when it comes to her favorite member ❤️ running a hand through your hair, brushing away the loose strands that stuck to your forehead from the thin layer of sweat covering your body, giving you a kiss on the crown of your head and massaging your back

but karina was in a much worse state than you, even if you don’t believe it! it was enough to leave you lying on her bed for her body to fall on the mattress as if she had no life

and well, the next day is a different story. waking up with karina hugging you from behind, her chest pressed against your back and murmuring a ‘good morning.’ in a deep and raspy voice 😵‍💫 she offers you to shower with her because according to her words it’s late and you have less than an hour to get ready and go to the company, and well, for one or another reason you two end up having a quickie in the shower, karina pressing your chest against the cold tiles of the wall and fucking you from behind with her hands having an almost tearing grip on your waist and growling in your ear 🤤

arriving at practice with an unbearable hangover and pain in your hips that you try to hide but it’s difficult when you have to do a movement that requires too much effort in that area… the members know that you did nothing but sit and drink with youngji yesterday, but none of them dare to comment on what their unnies do in their free time together

[revelboo]

Oh mighty, darling Revel, can we possibly get some more Kup when you have the chance??? I am hopelessly in love with that old man and I need more people indoctrinated into loving him, so he gets more content 🤣

Sure!

Don’t You Pt 2

Kup x Reader

• Aware of the young bots only somewhat paying attention as Springer goes over the mock plan, Kup works his cygar from one corner of his mouth to the other. Staring down the youngsters when they look back at where you’d settled yourself wrapped in a blanket on his thigh. Recharging or whatever it is humans do after you’d crashed from all the fear. Resting a servo on you, he still doesn’t know what to make of your claims that you’d just appeared on this world. And not sure what to do with you.

• Even if the war is over, there are always threats. Decepticons, Quintessons, Pit, their war hasn’t exactly made them many friends across the universe, tending to spill onto other worlds and cause devastating collateral damage. But because there’s no immediate threat, the new recruits don’t want to listen. Cutting up and far too green, not realizing that there’s always some threat looming on the horizon. That the Wreckers hold the line, quietly resolving issues before they’re even known. Before they can become problems. Looking down when one of your legs slides against him, eyes opening and afraid for a moment before you seem to remember and shudder, he nudges you with a servo. “You good, kid?”

• You’re hardly a kid, but it doesn’t seem worth arguing with the giant. Sitting up slowly, you study the others. “Yeah,” you lie. Listening to the green one growling in their weird language at the ones who’d been tormenting you before your current protector had shown up. Because none of this is good and you’re far from it yourself. Realizing you might be in shock, because you should be freaking out. Instead of just strangely resigned.

• Can’t stop mulling over you. It’s a funny thing. One little human out here alone. No supplies or gear. No chance at surviving if he hadn’t found you. “You’re a terrible liar, aren’t you,” he mutters and you just blink up at him before offering him a rueful smile. Chewing on his cygar, he vents. Until he figures out where you’d really come from, he’s going to have to keep you with him. Those brats will torment you if he doesn’t watch over you and you certainly can’t stay on this world. Knows he’s not cut out for this, doesn’t have the patience. Thought about handing you over to Springer, kid’s got a good spark, but that had felt like abandoning you when you’re clinging to him for safety.

• “Kind of still hoping this is just a weirdly awful dream,” you admit and he laughs, the sound a gruff bark of noise. And he reaches to tap you a bit too roughly on top of your head. Stomach growling, you look up at him. “You don’t have food, do you?” What would giant alien robots eat? Gasoline? Diesel? Whatever it is, you’re sure you’re not going to be able to eat it. A worry that strengthens when his weird metal cigar droops as his mouth opens then shuts and he solemnly says what you suspect is an alien swear word.

Previous

[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.”

[spencessocks]

through the silence

summary: bucky struggles with his inner demons and fear of hurting you, keeping you at a distance with his whiskey and self-doubt.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3k

warnings: angsty sad bucky with a little bit of a drinking problem, happy ending

you fiddled with the lock, hands full with bags from the grocery store. the door swung open, he‘s sitting on the couch, seemingly zoning out before turning his head to you as he sees you walk inside, his gaze grumpy as usual.

"hi, buck." you said with a sigh.

after his pardon, you'd thought that it would all be a fresh start. he had been home for months, but the weight of the past never left him. his court-mandated therapy had maybe helped somewhat, but whiskey was what helped dull the edges, numbing the guilt and the nightmares.

the serum running through his veins made it hard for him to ever truly be drunk, but it wasn't for a lack of trying.

he nods silently as a greeting before taking another sip from his whiskey bottle, his eyes narrowing into a curious look as he gives you a once-over. he watches you from the couch for a moment, his eyes following you as you entered the kitchen. he couldn’t help but glance at the grocery bag you had set down.

“..whatcha got there?“

your eyes met his as you looked up at him.

"if you want more whiskey, you're out of luck." you quipped.

bucky let out a soft huff of annoyance at your blunt comment. he leaned back on the couch, his gaze shifting to the television instead.

“was just trying to make conversation, that's all.“

you let out a small 'mhm'. you couldn't help it. it seemed like every exchange you shared nowadays was some passive-aggressive back-and-forth, a dance between anger and frustration. you sighed, pulling out the groceries and setting them on the counter, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach. it was getting harder to reach him, to find the man beneath the silence and whiskey haze.

it wasn't always like this, you remembered when he first came home—how he tried, at least for a little while. he went to therapy, tried to keep a routine, even let himself smile every now and then. but that didn’t last. the weight of it all was too much, and he started retreating, piece by piece, until all that was left was this—Bucky Barnes, slumped on the couch, a bottle in hand, eyes empty.

it all had happened gradually. you had, in some ways, gotten used to this life. some days were harder than others, but you had largely given up trying to get through to him.

you wanted to help him—you really did—but the truth was, you didn’t know how. you had tried everything: patience, encouragement, giving him space, then not giving him space. nothing worked. every time you reached out, it felt like grasping at smoke, like trying to hold onto someone who had already decided to let go.

and maybe that was the worst part—you didn’t know if he even wanted your help. if he wanted to get better. if he wanted you around at all.

you were struggling too, though you never said it out loud. the weight of it all—watching him disappear into himself, the nights spent lying awake, wishing for things to be different and yearning for the past. it was exhausting.

so you stopped saying much of anything.

every conversation led to nowhere. empty words, half-hearted replies, moments that used to mean something, now stretched thin with tension. you missed him—even if he was right there.

but you stayed despite it all. you pathetically clung on to the moments you shared that weren't drenched in silence or awkwardness. like the nights when, despite everything, he still pulled you close.

there were times, in the quiet of the dark, when he would reach for you, almost instinctively. his arm would wrap around your waist, his fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt like he was afraid you’d slip away. he never said much, but you felt it—the way his breathing evened out when you traced circles on his back, the way his body relaxed against yours, like you were the only thing grounding him.

every nightmare he had, you were right there by his side. it was just routine now. you knew the exact things to say and do to bring him the comfort he so badly needed.

some mornings, if you were lucky, you’d wake up with his head buried in the crook of your neck, his hair tickling your skin, his hold just a little tighter, like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. and then there were the rare days when he’d find you in the kitchen, his arms sneaking around your waist, pressing a sleepy kiss to your shoulder, mumbling something about how beautiful you were.

those moments kept you tethered to him, to the hope that maybe, somewhere beneath the weight he carried, the bucky you loved was still there.

bucky’s eyes were back to the television, but it was clear he wasn’t really watching it. the silence between you hung heavy, filled with all the things neither of you knew how to say. you turned around, packing away the groceries, and you could feel the weight of his stare on your back.

bucky let out a sigh, his voice low as he spoke again. “you know, it’s been a while since you’ve even tried to talk to me.”

you froze, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter, feeling a sudden tightness in your chest. you wanted to say something, to turn around and face him. but you couldn't. did he really think that things were fine?

you were worn down emotionally. it had been a while since you had tried to talk about things, and you felt pressure rising in your chest. you didn't know if you wanted to shout or cry. you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. you could feel it building inside you, the way it twisted your insides, the frustration that threatened to spill over. you didn’t want to snap at him, didn’t want this to end in a round of hurt feelings, but you were so tired, so damn tired of pretending that everything was okay when it wasn’t.

"i don’t know how, bucky," you said, your voice bearly above a whisper. "i don’t know how much longer i can keep doing this."

you couldn't face him in this moment. you didn't want to see the look on his face. a moment of silence passed between you, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the air.

a soft thud echoed through the room, the bottle of whiskey now on the coffee table. you heard footsteps approching the kitchen island.

"what are you saying?" he exclaimed, his voice cautious.

your heart felt heavy, weighed down by the truth you could no longer keep to yourself. you still couldn’t face him. you couldn't bring yourself to meet his eyes, afraid that if you did, the dam inside you would break. you weren’t sure if you were ready for that, or if you could even handle it. you weren't good at things like this.

“i don’t know, that i'm tired,” you whispered, your hands gripping the counter harder.

“i’m not just tired, bucky. i’m... i’m exhausted. mentally, emotionally... you can’t keep pushing me away like this and expect me to stay strong. i’m trying—i really am—but i don’t know how much longer i can keep pretending like i'm okay when i'm not."

your head hung low as you tried to maintain your composure. you slowly turned around to face him, your hands trembling slightly.

you could see his posture stiffen, the way his eyes shifted, guilty and conflicted. he opened his mouth to say something, but the words escaped him. you averted your gaze, unable to keep your eyes on his.

"i don’t want to leave. i don’t want to walk away from you, but i can’t keep losing myself in this—in us. i can’t keep putting on a brave face when every part of me feels like i'm drowning. i just don’t know how to keep going like this.” you had put it all out there, wiping a tear that you hadn’t realized had fallen.

you wanted to feel like you weren’t alone in this, like he would hear you and see you, but you weren’t sure if he would. you weren’t sure if anything would ever change. and that was the most painful, terrifying part—the possibility that time wouldn't heal this.

you tried not to think about it. losing him. the love you felt for him, you knew that would never go away—you'd live the rest of your life wishing things had been different.

finally, his voice broke through the quiet, rough and hesitant. “i didn’t mean for it to be like this," he said, his words slow, almost unsure. "i didn’t mean to make you feel like you’re... alone in this. i know I’ve been pushing you away.”

"but i don’t know how to fix it. i don’t know how to be... the guy you need me to be, not when I can barely stand myself.” he sighed, rubbing the back of his head.

your breath hitched in your throat, suprised at the vulnerability he was suddenly presenting you.

“i just—i'm scared, okay? scared that i'll make it worse, that i’ll drag you down with me.”

there was an ache in his words, a deep and raw honesty that you hadn’t heard in so long.

you stood still for a moment, letting his words settle in the space between you. his honesty hit you hard, more than you expected, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t just angry or frustrated. you felt a sadness—because you knew he didn’t want to be like this. you just couldn’t seem to find a way out of the mess you both were tangled in.

you finally met his eyes. your heart twisted at the vulnerability there, the way he seemed to shrink under the weight of it all. god, how did you get here?

“i…” you paused, swallowing the lump in your throat, fighting the wave of emotion that threatened to break through. “i’m scared too.”

“i’m scared that i'm losing you. sometimes i feel like i already have. i tried so hard, and i couldn't reach you. and i don’t know how to keep going like this, with this distance between us.”

you wiped your hand across your eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay, despite some of them having already escaped. “i don’t know how to help you when you won’t let me in, when you push me away like i'm... like i’m just a part of the mess you’re trying to escape.” your voice cracked at the end of your sentence, you looked away—taking a deep breath to compose yourself.

“but I’m not going anywhere, bucky. i’m here, and i'm trying to understand, even when it feels impossible. i just… i need you to meet me halfway. i can’t fix this alone.”

Bucky’s gaze softened, his eyes locked onto yours with a mixture of blame and something deeper—something almost like relief. relief that even after everything, you still were extending him an olive branch.

he wandered around to the other side of the kitchen island seperating you, now at your side.

your hands were softly clutching the edge of the counter, searching for comfort.

bucky stood there for a moment, just close enough that you could feel the heat of his presence, but far enough that the space between you still felt heavy. the quiet in the room stretched on, thick with unspoken words, as if he was gathering the courage to say something. then, without warning, he reached out, his hand brushing against yours, tentative, like he wasn’t sure whether you would pull away.

you didn’t.

he sighed, an abysmal, worn-out sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep within him.

“i'm sorry,” he murmured, his voice low, barely above a whisper. “i didn’t mean to push you away. i didn’t mean to make you feel like you’re not enough.” he paused, his thumb brushing lightly over your hand, the movement barely perceptible. “i’ve got these thoughts, these... memories that i can’t get rid of. they don’t stop. and sometimes, i’m afraid that one day, they’ll take over, and i’ll lose control. i know i was deprogrammed, i know he's gone, but the fear—it's still there. deep down, it’s still there."

he paused, swallowing hard, the weight of his admission sinking in. “i keep thinking that one day, i’m gonna snap, and i’ll hurt you. you’re the best thing that’s happened to me, i feel so undeserving of you. you’re everything I’ve ever wanted, everything good in this messed up world, and i... i don’t know how to be the man you deserve. i don’t know how to be the person you see when you look at me."

you breathed his name softly, "bucky..." your voice unsure, a mix of compassion and concern threading through each syllable.

he shook his head, running his free hand over his face as if trying to erase the doubts he couldn’t shake. "i’ve done horrible things. things i’ll never be able to make up for, no matter how hard I try. you know that. even now, i feel like i’m still that same broken soldier, still capable of hurting the people i love. you don’t deserve someone like me."

his words came out with such quiet devastation that it made your chest tighten even further. you could see how much he was struggling with the weight of his past, how it felt like a shadow he couldn’t escape, no matter how much time had passed.

"i look at you, and i see all the love and kindness you’ve given me, and i just—i feel like I’m not enough, like i’ll never be enough."

you felt an overwhelming mix of empathy and frustration swirling inside you. you loved him so much, more than he could ever know, and yet here he was, convinced that he wasn’t worthy of you. it hurt, but what hurt even more was that he couldn’t see it—that you had chosen him, not just once, but every single day. through every struggle, every painful argument, you had stayed.

"you don’t get to do that. you don’t get to act like you know what’s best for me, like my feelings don’t matter. i love you, bucky. i chose you. not because you’re perfect, not because i expect you to be someone you’re not, but because i see you. you. and i want you, just as you are."

you turned your body towards him, your eyes now staring up at him intently.

"you keep saying you’re scared of hurting me, but don’t you see? this—pushing me away, shutting me out like i'm not capable of helping you carry your burdens—that hurts more than anything else ever could." you exhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. "i don’t need you to be perfect. i just need you to let me in."

you gripped his hand tightly in yours. bucky’s breath hitched as he stared down at you, his adam’s apple bobbing with the force of the emotions he was trying to hold back. his fingers twitched in your grip, and for a second, you thought he might pull away.

his chest rose and fell with a shaky breath, his blue eyes flickering back and forth into your intense stare. he was searching—maybe for reassurance, maybe for proof that you really meant every word. “i don’t know what to do.” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper, his eyes leaving yours as he stared off into the kitchen.

"let me in. that's your only choice if you want me to stay." you said, practically a demand.

bucky swallowed hard before his gaze finally met yours again. there was hesitation there, fear still lingering in the depths of his tired eyes, but there was something else, too—something softer, something that looked a little like hope.

he exhaled, shaky and uncertain, but then he gave a small nod. “okay,” he murmured. “i'll try.”

relief flooded through you, and you reached for his hand again, giving it a firm squeeze. “that’s all I need,” you said gently. “just try.”

bucky looked down at your joined hands for a moment, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your skin before he let out a quiet, almost self-deprecating chuckle. “guess that means i should probably start by putting down the damn bottle, huh?”

a small smile tugged at your lips despite the heavy conversation. “wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

without another word, bucky turned, walking back toward the couch where his nearly empty whiskey bottle sat on the coffee table. he hesitated only briefly before reaching for it, lifting it just enough to stare at the amber liquid inside. then, with a deep breath, he stood up straighter and walked toward the kitchen sink.

you watched as he uncapped it, his fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle before tilting it over the drain. the scent of whiskey filled the air as the liquid splashed against the metal, swirling away until nothing was left.

bucky set the empty bottle down with a quiet clink, then looked back at you. his expression was unreadable for a moment before he nodded, hands on his hips, as if trying to convince himself of his own decision. “there. that’s a start, right?”

you stepped closer, pressing your forehead softly against his shoulder, your fingers curling gently around his waist. “yeah,” you whispered. “that’s a start.”

he lifted his arms and wrapped them around you, pulling you into his chest. it wasn’t desperate or suffocating—it was sweet, careful. you melted into him.

he buried his face against your hair, his breath warm against your skin. “thank you, doll.” he murmured, so soft you barely heard it.

you squeezed him a little tighter, your fingers pressing into his back. “always.”

[jammyjen26]

Valentines Day.

February 14th.

The day of love, one could say.

Simon doesn’t forwardly show his attention, he doesn’t say it, but his actions show how much he cares and loves you.

You weren’t expecting much for valentines day, in fact you weren’t expecting anything.

However, after all your friends send pictures in the group chat about what their boyfriends, fiancés and even husbands did. You envy them.

Of course, you know Simon loves you. The man is whipped, he’s at your beck and call. Would even kneel before you is asked to.

But that doesn’t mean that you wish for rose petals leading you to the bed, a bunch of gifts on the bed in a hotel, and an intimate night with your boyfriend.

You sigh helplessly and turn off your phone, you glance at hime as he scrolls on his phone. You sigh even louder to get his attention.

he glances at you, looking you up and down. “What’s wrong with you, love?”

“Oh nothing, just thinking and daydreaming. Happy valentines day, Simon.” you smile and kiss his cheek, batting your eyelashes.

“Happy valentines day to you too.” He wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer, you were hoping he’d get the hint.

The day goes by like usual, breakfast, grocery shopping, him working out, nap time, and then lunch.

By the time the clock turns 6pm, you’re bored. You want to go out.

“Love, get dressed.” He says abruptly.

“Huh? Why?” You ask confused although excited, expectant.

“I’m taking you out for dinner. You’ve been sulking all day, lovie.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

You get up and peck his lips, squealing. As you turn around and make your way to the bedroom.

You shower and take your time getting ready, making sure your dress looks right, your hair, your makeup, your shoes, accessories, and everything else.

He of course drowns you in compliments, rough hands touching your hips, making you spin for him to get a better look.

The dinner was amazing, steak and mashed potatoes, although Simon seems a little jittery than usual.

After dinner, you get in the car. However he isn’t going in the direction of your guy’s apartment.

“Simon? Where are you taking us?” You’re confused obviously.

“Got a surprise for you, dove.” He grumbles out, hand squeezing your thigh.

You’re clearly ecstatic considering the big grin on your face. He turns into this probably 100 floor hotel, underground parking lot and then leads you inside.

Your legs are shaking as the elevator goes up higher and higher, 20, 30, 40,…60! Ding.

He leads you to a room, pulling out a keycard. The room is dark, he turns on the lights. There’s rose petals on the ground.

“No way…Simon..” Your voice is already cracking. You follow the petals, leading you into this large bedroom. There’s gifts covering the whole bed.

You stop and just sob, grateful and feeling loved. However, you turn around and there he is. On one knee.

“I’m not much of a talker. I have walls around me, I’m not perfect. I’ve killed people, I’ve done horrible things, and yet. You somehow look at me like I’m the world, you understand me, take care of me, and love me. When I’m wrong, although I raise my voice, you stay calm and sit me down. You make me talk through things instead of running away from the problem and the world. I don’t know how to explain my feelings for you. But I hope this is enough for you to see how much I love you.” With a shaky breath, he continues. “Will you marry me?”

Your hands cover your mouth, sobbing, you grab onto him and nod. “Yes, yes..fuck yes.” He slides the ring onto your shaky finger. It’s perfect.

It’s gold with a big diamond but not too big.

Today is the best day ever and it marks a new step in your relationship.

You best believe he made you cream on the damn flower petals on the bed not even ten minutes after the proposal.

(This is late cause I was procrastinating!😍)

[kabr0ztrousers]

Your werewolf hubby's knot won't seem to go down no matter what you do, so now it's up to the monster doctor to walk you through different ideas in his office... Perhaps he breaks a few rules and joins in halfway through. Don't worry, he's a doctor and he knows what's best. ;)

Kabr0z Writes Episode 48: Medical Attention

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

I also decided to revisit Professor Blaidd from the Debt trilogy

CWs: Medical malpractice (kinda); double penetration; knotting; creampie; dubcon, but not from the person you're expecting;

A/N: This one may wind up more comedy than pornography... We'll see how it shakes out, I guess!

######################################

Try it, they said. You'll have fun, they said. Well, you tried it, and you just wished when you bought that packet of little blue pills you'd read the label more carefully. Maybe then you'd have spotted where it said "not intended for lupines" before getting your brains fucked out and winding up tied together.

You don't mind it, per se, but you're naked, leaking, and have been stuck holding onto the front of your lover for the last hour. Every time you move he whimpers as you push his sensitive cock around in you, god knows what'll happen if you sneeze.

A knock at the door. Owain's here. He was the best man at your wedding, the devious arsehole who ensured your husband spent the subsequent morning taped to a streetlamp, and by remarkable good fortune happened to be a licensed physician specialising in lupine care.

"Well, Mr. Blaidd" you gestured to the door "Company's here"

Your lover smiled, "I suppose, Mrs. Blaidd, we'd better answer the door." He stood up, wincing as your weight pushed his knot another inch into you "Normally I'd be masked in this situation" he muttered under his breath. You stifled a laugh, but your belly still shook a little, making him grab the wall and growl.

He backed up to the closed door and you turned the handle with an outstretched foot so if it wasn't your friend, all they'd see is your husband's back rather than a full show of his cock lodged in you. Thankfully, it was Owain there, the wiry grey wolfman laughing at your predicament

"Rhys you old dog, got a predicament have we?"

He slapped your husband on the back, jostling you both. You gasped a little as the cock buried in you twitched again and a little fluid leaked out of you.

"Yes, you bastard, we've been stuck like this for an hour" Blaidd growled softly as he shook his friend's hand before leading him in to the sitting room, still disturbed from your earlier lovemaking.

"So, how long have you been..." Owain mimed an erect penis

"About two hours?"

You laughed "About one and a half"

"Ok, so the danger zone for a lupine starts around six, so as long as he's out and deflated by then, you're golden"

You looked at your husband. He looked at you. You both looked at Owain.

"We'd like a little sooner?"

Owain laughed, visibly searching his memory "Easiest way would be to make a little cut and... Drain the organ"

Blaidd went pale

"But that's a last-resort. We could always try... Hmm. Worth a shot" Owain got up and left the room, returning a moment later holding one hand in another before holding it to Blaidd's muzzle.

Blaidd sniffed, then gasped, then sneezed hard. The cock stuck in you was forced upwards, you gasped as a little more fluid leaked from it, joining the half-gallon it felt like you were carrying already.

Owain looked at you both, stroking his chin "You know, normally I'm treating the opposite problem... I bet I know what would work, but it's not altogether... Ethical..?"

You looked at each other again, then back at the other wolf in the room

"You want to fuck me up the ass?"

The two wolves stared at you. Then at each other. "He's been eyeing me since he walked in, have you not noticed?"

Blaidd coughed, reaching behind his head in the way he does when he's not willing to admit something. Owain was desperately trying to avoid eye contact, but the growing bulge in his pants told you everything you needed to know

You sighed at your husband "It's not the first time we've shared, is it?" Then, to Owain "There's lube under your seat"

The doctor didn't need telling twice. Stripping his lower half and grabbing the bottle from under the armchair he was on. He's already hard, slathering the cool lube on his cock and your hole only made him more excited. Already panting into your ear, he lined himself up, precum bubbling onto your ass.

He pushed in, your tight hole stretching for him. It didn't hurt, you're well prepared and slick, but the sensation of two cocks in you at once made you gasp.

He isn't shy any more. Thrusting and grasping at your hips. You can feel his cock rubbing against the thick knot already in you, making Blaidd gasp and groan as the sensitive organ is frotted against.

You moan and your cunt clenches, the two thick cocks driving into you bringing you off. Your fingers brush your clit, hurling you over the edge as your heart races. Blaidd groans as your cunt milks him to another aching orgasm inside you, right as Owain knots your asshole.

You're locked in. Your husband on one side, his best friend on the other, and both of them sealed into your holes, emptying their balls into you.

You're no less stuck than you were before, but the two big wolves are so furry, so soft, you reckon it's probably fine.

###################################

Yeah, this was more farcical than titillating, but hey, overstimming your werewolf husband while his performance-enhanced knot is stuck in you by getting anal from his best friend is one hell of a plot.

Either way, tomorrow's episode is another TF extravaganza, with even more questionable medical ethics

[bunnyinthecherries]

𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀𝓷

𝘐𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘓𝘶𝘪𝘨𝘪 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦.

And to be changed. Luigi knows this very well, for he has studied life in excruciating detail. He’s mastered the art of thinking about life. But what about living it? That’s more challenging. Especially for a smart man who knows he’ll never be satisfied, no matter how much knowledge he consumes. He thrives on wellness books, devouring every quote that resonates deep in his soul.

Nothing has ever been so deep in his soul like her. She pays no mind to his books and quotes. She knows how to live and being smart is not a burden. To be loved is to be known, he chants. And to be changed, she completes him. He never understood it. They’re quite different, after all. A dance of contradictions.

Luigi is a minimalist. He takes pride in owning only what he needs. Enough food, enough clothing, enough books to help him cope. Then, she says, again: to be loved is to be changed, Lui. Like your Adidas hoodie. Like your books. He frowns for a second. Then he gets it, looking down at his clothes - a little stain he never got off, a little hole at the left side. He sits, really feeling the clothes on his arm and chest, like his mindfulness book talked about. And he feels how the hoodie is different. It’s tighter now, he’s never noticed it until this very moment.

And the book on his hand has creased, marking his favorite pages, telling a story beyond words: how he holds his books, where he’s taken that book. That’s why I love collecting things, she says, with a smile. Can you collect a smile, he thinks. She’s the opposite of him. Her house is full, like a museum. Until then, he’d feel overwhelmed. To be loved is to be known: he knows his stuff, he knows himself, his routine, what he likes, what he needs. Her apartment is full to the brim, books scattered on the floor.

She seems careless. He built her shelves but, in days, they were full. How could she buy and like so much stuff, he didn’t know. She had every record, every essential oil, every ring. The shelves he perfectly calculated were now dusty and a little rusty too.

Luigi was a perfectionist. A burnt toast was a day ruined, a reason to stay in bed. She overflows her cup of coffee, staining the carpet. A disaster in his eyes. A new funny story in hers. He tells her how he dreams of, one day, being able to live only off of a backpack or, even better, a can. She says she could never leave behind her best friend’s painting, her mother’s pearl necklace, or the pretty wrapper of the gum she always bought at the café next to her job that is now closed. They’re all her stories.

To be loved is to be changed: the café closes, the carpet is stained, the shelf is crooked, his Adidas hoodie has a hole on it. He’d never noticed the hole before and usually, when he does, he obsesses over it: a flaw, a new problem to fix. But the stain remains in her carpet. Clean it, he suggests. It reminds me of that breakfast we shared, she replies.

To be loved is to be known. When he comes over, she does tidy up a bit. Makes space in her kitchen table for him to work on. When she was a kid, she used to carry a box with her. She filled it with flowers, grass, pretty rocks and chocolate wrappers. She does it too now, with her bag. He catches himself lingering on her, watching as she picks item after item. Trash, he’d call it. That crumbled bagel bag would not last a minute on his hand before being tossed to the nearest bin. She keeps it, folds it nicely, like a treasure. A memory. He’s starting to understand. Her. And why life is so worth living. To be loved is to be know, to know, to change and to be changed.

From then on, he did the same. Every leaf worthy of her collection, every train ticket, wine bottle wrapper, clothing tag, anything. He’d keep it in his back pocket and then bring her. She would want to know every detail, where he was when he got it, why it stood out to him. He would think about that question: why does trash suddenly interest me? Because I’ve changed, he’d answer himself. It’s not trash anymore. They’re gifts for her. What interests him is her smile after he gives it to her.

Her birthday is coming up. He loves planning, it’s his thing. She needs help with a bug on her electronics, forgot to buy her favorite cookies, needs a ride, she calls him. He fixes and he plans. Her birthdays are usually a stressful time of year. He wants it perfect, to make sure she knows how he’s happy she was made and born. He almost wants to switch places with her, get in her body somehow and make sure nothing upsets her. Not on her birthday, at least.

Luigi’s friends would tell you he’s frugal. He would not buy a cream that could help soothe his pain, or the nicer granola, the brand new perfume. But for her birthday, he picked up the expensive jasmine oil he knew calmed her down. He scoured every single vintage shop. Trinket after trinket. A vintage locket, ready to be filled with a flower, a pretty rock or a picture of them - he hoped. One of those 1930’s makeup compacts she always showed him. He could almost hear her voice saying how things were so much more thoughtful back then. He had to agree.

Then, a tiny porcelain bird, chipped at the beak. To be loved is to be changed. That birdie must have been very loved by many people before. It was the perfect addiction to his presents. The bird was her favorite. You really know me, she’d say to him. I’d like to fit you in a backpack, he would reply. Or in a can! She would smile and think how nice it would be to fit Luigi in her treasure box from when she was a kid.

𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰, 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘣. 𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘪𝘵! 𝘋𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴. 🐇

[halsteadlover]

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝

*Pics not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Derek Morgan x Fem!Reader.

• Requested: no.

• Summary: just Derek not being jealous.

• Warnings: curse words, brief mention of drinking.

• Word count: 2870.

• A/N: I honestly don’t know what is this lmao I tried to write something after so much time but I don’t like it one bit tbh and y’all know me I’m too lazy to rewrite a fix so here it is lol bye love you all ❤️

One thing about Derek Morgan, he had never been a jealous man.

He had always been sure of himself, he had never envied anyone or anything, especially when it came to women.

But this was until he had met you. You managed to turn his world upside down, changed his way of thinking and seeing things and for the first time in his life he understood what it felt like to be jealous.

The relationship between you and Derek was a bit complicated. You worked together in the FBI, both being BAU agents. Working together didn’t stop you from getting closer, it didn’t stop Derek from constantly and shamelessly flirting with you, spending time together and building an increasingly close relationship.

Derek couldn’t lie, at the beginning he was just physically attracted to you, even if ‘attraction’ couldn’t summarize how feral he was for you. But, as time went by, you both got to know each other better, more deeply, and little by little he found himself attracted not only by your body but also by your soul, by your way of doing things, your character and he found himself wanting to spend more time with you.

Your relationship became deeper and deeper, until you slept together, which of course happened over and over again.

Derek didn’t know how to behave with you, he wasn’t used to having relationships with women that didn’t go beyond physical attraction and finding himself having feelings for a woman confused him.

Was it love?

He didn’t know, he never experienced it.

And this had created more than a few problems in your relationship.

You had started to distance yourself from him until you almost stopped talking to him, unless it was something related to work. You had always complained how it was just ‘sex’ and that you wanted more, you wanted a partner, a real relationship, you wanted to experience the love you had always dreamed about. But Derek seemed having trouble understanding this so he didn’t stop you when you stopped talking to him, even if he was suffering.

Derek had noticed it, of course, and he hated it.

He noticed everything about you, even if he had no right to.

He had noticed him too. The new arrival.

Agent Tim Novak, the newest member of the BAU. Young, good-looking, and unfortunately for Derek, way too interested in you.

Derek hated him. He despised him. So damn much.

He hated that grin on his face, the way he looked at you, the way he ran his eyes down your body with lust and desire. He hated it because Derek looked at you like that too.

It had all started out subtle.

Agent Novak would come in in the morning, a boyish grin on his face, two cups of coffee in his hands, and he would lean on the edge of your desk while he offered you one. Or during meetings he’d waste no time in sitting next to you, on the jet while you flew to a city for a new case, always bringing you stupid things to get your attention.

That bastard was always there, always in the way.

The worst part?

You seemed you didn’t mind.

To outsiders it might’ve seemed like the new agent was just a caring friend but not to Derek.

He hated that motherfucker.

Morgan had told himself over and over again that he didn’t care.

Derek Morgan wasn’t a jealous man.

He never had been and never would be.

There was no problem. He didn’t care how you laughed at the rookie’s jokes, how he seemed to have no sense of personal space, how he was always next to you, how he took every opportunity to touch you, even in a subtle way.

Derek’s blood didn’t boil when he saw Novak’s hand on the small of your back, for example, how he’d lean closer to you to whisper something in your ear.

He didn’t care.

He was fine, completely and perfectly fine.

“You’ll break the bottle if you keep squeezing it like that,” Rossi’s voice came like a buzz in Derek’s ears. That night, almost the entire team had gone to a club to celebrate the success of a case, you were with JJ and Penelope and, of course, Novak wasted no time in approaching and hitting on you.

“What are you talking about?” Derek replied, looking away from you before taking a sip of his beer, but then immediately returning his gaze to you and Novak.

He was pissed off.

But why? It was none of his business.

“You know what I’m talking about, Morgan,” Rossi laughed, amused by Derek’s obvious discomfort. “You look like you’re about to explode.”

“I’m fine,” Morgan replied angrily, taking another generous sip of beer. He almost had an aneurysm when he saw you laugh at something Novak said and put a hand on his arm.

And no, he wasn’t jealous.

“You want to tell me what’s going on between you two? You went from being all over each other every second of the day to looking at each other from afar like lost puppies and only talking to each other for work.”

“There’s nothing going on between us.”

“Oh come on, remember who you’re talking to, I have more ex-wives than money in the bank, I think I know something or two.”

Derek chuckled despite his anger but the smile died on his lips when his eyes met yours for a moment.

He tried to ignore how he felt like he had been punched in the stomach, how his heart started to beat so quickly he thought he was having a heart attack.

The rest of the group was talking but your attention was on him, on Derek.

You were the first to look away when JJ caught your attention again.

Derek sighed deeply, staring at his hands so he wouldn’t look at you anymore. But he couldn’t, it was as if a magnetic force was pulling him towards you.

“You can’t look at each other like that and say there’s nothing between you two,” Rossi urged.

“Rossi, I don’t want to talk about it, please.”

“Okay, okay, whatever,” he held up his hands in surrender, realizing that pushing would never get Derek to open up.

At some point JJ and Garcia walked away, leaving you and Agent Novak alone. He, as usual, didn’t seem to understand the meaning of personal space and would lean in and touch you at every opportunity. It wasn’t anything vulgar, nothing annoying, but Derek was losing his mind.

“If looks could kill, I think Novak would be dead on the floor,” Reid commented, earning a glare from Morgan.

“I’m not looking at anyone.”

“Oh yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that. You look like you’re about to get up and beat the shit out of him.”

Fuck yeah, he wanted to do that.

But he wouldn’t.

He’d act like a grown-up. He was a man, an adult.

But those sentences dissolved as soon as they were formulated when he saw Novak come closer to whisper something in your ear, his hand on your back.

He didn’t know if he had been hallucinating or angry, but Derek swore for a moment he saw your gaze on him and a small smirk on your lips.

It was imperceptible, but it was there.

That was when he understood. You were making him jealous on purpose.

And that was the final blow.

Derek stood up from the table, leaving his beer there and approaching you and Novak with a murderous look on his face.

“Morgan…” Novak greeted him smiling, oblivious to the resentment Derek felt towards him.

“That’s Agent Morgan to you,” Derek interrupted immediately, interposing himself between you and Novak. “I’ll give you two seconds to get out of here and if I see you near her again I’ll make your life hell, do you understand?”

The younger man turned white as a sheet. “I’m not trying…”

Derek interrupted him again. “Go. Now.”

Novak didn’t need to be told twice and just left, without even saying goodbye to the rest of the team.

“What the hell was that?!” You asked in shock, looking at Derek with a murderous look. He didn’t say anything, he just grabbed your hand and dragged you out of the place, after placing a fifty dollar bill on the counter. His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out the hum of the city as he stormed out.

“Morgan! What the hell is wrong with you? Let me go!” You struggled, to no avail as Derek’s grip on yours was very firm.

He turned so fast you almost stumbled back. His eyes, dark with something wild and unhinged, pinned you in place.

“No. There’s no fucking way I’m going to let you go,” he snapped, his blood boiling in anger as he continued to replay the image of Novak’s slimy hands on you. “I’m not letting you go anymore, I made this mistake once and I won’t do it again. You’re coming with me now.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me what the hell is wrong with you! What’s your problem?! You don’t get to act all caveman on me now!”

“What’s my problem? You! You’re my fucking problem! You’re driving me crazy and I’ll be damned if I’ll let another motherfucker put his hands on you.”

Your expression softened and a smirk played across your lips. “Oh my, my, is Agent Derek Morgan jealous?”

He answered without hesitation. “Yes I am. I’m jealous of every piece of shit that is near you because it has to be me. I’m the one who’s supposed to touch you, make you laugh, smile, open the door for you, pull back the chair so you can sit down or bring you coffee in the morning, only me. And I’m jealous of every fucker who gets to do that instead of me.” He took a deep breath while his eyes were fixed on yours. His usual confidence was still there, but there was something else now—something raw, unfiltered.

“You’re right, you deserve the best the world can give you, you deserve more than just sex but I’ll be the one giving you the world, not Novak or any other man. I’ll give you everything you deserve and I don’t give a damn if you think otherwise, I’ll show you’re everything I desire and everything I’ve always wanted,” he continued, now like a raging river. Your smile had faded, giving way to a neutral but shocked expression. But Derek knew you. He could see the glint in your eyes, he could feel the way you squeezed his fingers.

“I can’t take it anymore. I can’t stand seeing that son of a bitch or anyone else near you, touching you. I can’t,” he blurted out, feeling every cell in his body on fire. “I…-” he trailed off again, taking a deep breath.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t realize this sooner, but I can’t stay away from you anymore. I can’t pretend nothing happened between us. I can’t wake up every morning and act like I don’t miss you so much it’s driving me insane—that I don’t hate opening my eyes and not seeing you next to me. That I don’t miss the way your hand brushes against mine in the elevator, or the way you smile at me—in a way that takes my breath away every damn time.”

You opened your mouth to speak, visibly shocked by his words, but he didn’t let you.

“And don’t you dare speak now because you knew. You knew I was here burning and aching for you, you knew I wanted to break every single one of his bones every time he came near you.” He closed the distance between you until you had to slightly tilt your head back to look him in the eyes.

His heart was pounding, the air was cold but he felt like he was going to explode. Derek was talking but he had no idea what he was saying, he had no idea if it even made sense.

“You think I don’t give a damn? You think I haven’t spent every single day these past few weeks pining for you, cursing myself for letting you go so easily? I know, damn it— I know.” His voice cracked, raw and desperate. “But I’m fucking terrified. I… I’ve never had a real relationship before, hell not even a healthy one. I know I’m a piece of shit, but I’ve never cared what anyone thought—never cared how they might react. But you…” He let out a shaky breath.

“You messed me up, so bad baby. You got in my head, and now I don’t know how to deal with it… I just… I feel so overwhelmed by what I feel for you it’s literally driving me insane. I don’t know how to act, what the hell to say, how to be what you need me to be.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides. “Everything I do is for you. You own me. You control me—my mood, my thoughts, my whole goddamn world. And it terrifies me.”

His breathing was ragged now, his fists clenching and unclenching like he was trying to physically hold himself together.

“Because I’ve always hated being dependent on someone else and, I know it’s not an excuse, that’s why I just let you go when you left. You were right, I was afraid,” he continued, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you. Hell, I want you like I’ve never wanted anyone or anything in the world, so bad it’s killing me.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, lips parted, but still—he didn’t let you speak.

“I don’t know how to do it, but I know I want to be with you, I want you and I’ll be damned if I’ll ever let you go again.” He let out another breath. “I’ll try, I promise. I’ll do anything to prove you I’m worthy, I’ll give you everything you want and desire, I’ll worship the ground you walk on, I’ll make it my mission to make you happy just… Just please… Please, baby… Give me a chance, I’ll be so good for you.”

Silence crashed down around you, heavy and suffocating. His confession hung in the air, thick with something that felt dangerously close to heartbreak.

For the first time, Derek looked away, exhaling sharply, running a hand over his face like he was trying to physically wipe the emotion from it.

“Say something,” he finally muttered, voice hoarse.

But what could you say in that situation?

You didn’t speak, not even a word.

But you grabbed his face and crushed your lips to his, pouring all the feelings you had for that man.

You sighed and that simple and almost inaudible sound was enough to unleash a wave of shivers that ran through his entire body, making his knees weak.

A guttural groan echoed from his throat and he felt the weight lift from his chest, making him finally breathe again. His arms wasted no time in encircling your waist, holding you with so much strength it seemed like he was afraid to let you go, the fear you’d disappear paralyzing him.

His lips moved against yours with hunger and desperation, almost as if trying to make up for all the wasted time, that time he just looked at you from afar but was too scared to even talk to you. Hell, that single kiss wouldn’t have been enough to vent even a crumb of the visceral desire you both felt for each other.

“God I missed you so fucking much.” He breathed in the split second you pulled away, his mouth still practically on yours. He didn’t give you time to argue, for the umpteenth time that night, because he kissed you again, taking your breath away completely.

“I missed you so much too, you idiot,” you replied in a whisper, making him smile against your lips. “God what are you doing to me, Derek.”

His hands continued to shake as he gripped you, still in disbelief this was actually happening. He pulled away from you enough to catch his breath but close enough to rest his forehead on yours.

It was only then he realized you were still outside and not alone.

You moved your hands down his chest and he had no doubt you could feel how fast and frantic his heart was beating. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs caressing your skin, brushing your hair aside.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered into a kiss. “I’m so sorry.” He kissed you again. “I’m never letting you go again.”

You smiled and he almost collapsed. He couldn’t believe that you were actually smiling at him, that the smile that had turned his life upside down was finally directed at him again.

“Let’s just go home.” You whispered, and before he could say another word, you kissed him again—slower this time, softer, but just as devastating. “But don’t think you’ll get away from this so easily.”

He smiled, feeling so light and happy like he hasn’t been in such a long time. “I’m here forever baby, do whatever you want to do with me.”

And Derek, for the first time in his life, finally let himself have what he always and really wanted.

General tag list: @hngbrooks, @alexxavicry, @halstead-severide-fan, @mrspeacem1nusone, @allivs, @omniaimy, @cursedashes, @kmc1989, @firetruckstuckley, @23victoria, @buckybarnessweetheart, @fanaticlove16, @ajordan2020, @multi-fandom-lover7667, @emryb, @luftmenzch, @klovesreading, @anamiad00msday

Derek Morgan tag list: @thatcrimeshowchick, @khxna, @aurora-maria, @hiireadstuff, @3amcloudss, @multifandomlover01, @lilithhs-world, @person-005, @storiesofsvu

Click here to be added to the tag list

Main Masterlist

Derek Morgan Masterlist

Support me on Ko-Fi ☕️

Side blog -> @halsteadloverslibrary

Ask link 💭

[dreaminofdixon]

I mentioned that they met in kind of a…hostile way. :) little bit longer here, but it gets the point across!!

————-

The door opened slowly and I saw the gun before I saw anything else.

I put both hands on my weapon and held it tightly.

When I was learning about guns, my instructor once told me ‘Squeeze the gun as tightly as you can, that’s how you control it. I’ve never seen anyone break a gun, but if you’re the first I will gladly replace it.’

I wasn’t. I’d never broken a gun. Except for that one time I tried to clean my 9mm and wasn’t able to get the slide back on. I felt like an idiot, like I’d broken the friggin gun and it took me weeks to figure out how to free the slide and several additional YouTube videos to learn how to actually put it back on the right way.

Spoiler alert: if there’s a grip safety, you can’t squeeze the grip when putting the slide back on.

I pointed the gun at the man who entered the room. He hadn’t yet seen me.

“Get out,” I said in as menacing a voice as I could manage.

His blue eyes shot in my direction and he swung his large revolver to point at me at the same time. He was wearing a Sheriff’s uniform. How ironic. A man in law enforcement who, very likely, could not be trusted.

“We don’t want any trouble,” he told me.

Liar.

“Are you alone?”

“Get. Out.”

He holstered his gun and held his hands up in surrender.

“We aren’t gonna hurt you.”

Is it possible to feel feral? Because I felt feral. Like I was backed into a corner and like I was going to have to pull some crazy shit to fight my way to freedom. I was ready though, so bring it on.

“Are you alone,” he asked again.

“Last chance,” I told him, taking aim, “get out.”

Two other men came in, one armed with a crossbow and the other with…a red backpack.

What the hell?

I tilted my head to the side and looked at the shorter Asian kid. He looked like he was maybe in his early 20s. The dirty baseball cap really did nothing to make him seem any older than that. And though he appeared to be harmless - appearances are often deceiving.

The other guy looked like a redneck and was pointing his crossbow, with a very sharp metal arrowhead, at me.

Shivers went up and down my spine at the thought of being impaled by the weapon. New fear successfully unlocked.

“Put it down, Daryl,” the first man said.

“Not ‘til she does.”

The deep, raspy voice that came from the redneck spoke to something deep inside me.

“Then I guess we have a problem,” I told him. “Because that isn’t gonna happen. So you might as well turn around and get the hell out of here like I told you to.”

“Daryl.”

The redneck, apparently named Daryl, looked back at the other man before lowering his weapon and narrowing his eyes at me. Like I was the problem. Ha!

“We have a group,” the police man started, “with women and children. If you’re alone, we’d be happy to have you.”

“I’m sure you would.” I leaned down to pick up my bag, throwing it over my shoulder whilst keeping the gun and my eyes trained on him. “Look, let’s just forget this happened.” I used the gun to motion them away from the door before returning the aim to his forehead. “I’ll leave and you guys can…do whatever you’re gonna do.”

“Let ‘er go, Rick.” That gravelly drawl…oof.

Get a hold of yourself, girl.

“Wait…I know you,” the Asian kid said.

“What?”

“Yeah, the 40 West 12th building, right?”

What the hell?

I pointed the gun in his direction and he held up his hands immediately.

“I’ve delivered to you before,” he clarified. “Pizza, mostly, but I also do grocery delivery here and there.” He shrugged his shoulders, “Well, did, anyway.” He looked from one man to the other. “She tips really well, hard to forget that.”

I lowered the gun slowly.

“How long did your building last?”

I couldn’t decide what was going on here. Was this some sort of trick? To be fair, I did usually tip on the high end…but, could he have just guessed? Was I obligated to him since he delivered food to me? Was he obligated to me?

“Um…I think…it’s been a couple of weeks now,” I answered hesitantly.

“You’ve been alone,” the kid asked. He saw the look I gave him and realized his mistake. “Sorry, I’m Glenn. This is Rick and that’s Daryl.” He stepped forward just slightly. “Look, we were alone, too, until we found each other. Now we have a group. Rick’s a sheriff and his partner, Shane, is in the group too. Rick’s wife, Lori, and his kid, Carl. Daryl and his brother. We have a couple of other families with us, too. We’ve got a camp not far outside town…”

“Whoa, stop tellin’ her ‘bout our setup,” Daryl cut him off and lifted his crossbow again, only slightly this time. “We dunno if she can be trusted. Could be on ‘er way back t’ people that could…”

I rolled my eyes at him, “do I look like I have a group waiting for me? Really? What kind of idiot would I be to wander off alone if I had a freaking group?”

His eyes locked on mine, the glare enough to make me want to look away. I wouldn’t, though. I had to stand my ground and make sure he knew I wasn’t gonna be someone who he could walk all over.

“Like I said, you’re more than welcome to come back with us. Our setup isn’t anything special,” he explained, “but we’ve got safety in numbers.”

“Ya sure that’s a good idea?”

Daryl was very clearly not someone who trusted people. Couldn’t blame him, honestly. The sheriff looked over at him and nodded.

“Safety in numbers, like I said.” His attention fell back on me. “It’s getting late. We’re gonna finish clearing this building and then…”

“There’s nothing else here.” I lowered my gun but kept my guard up. “I’ve been through everything. Seems like all the dead are up on the top two floors. The rest of the building has been pretty well cleaned out. I found a couple of first aid kits but there’s not really anything else that’s worth the danger.”

“Any food or…”

“Nothing substantial.” I bit the inside of my cheek, an anxious habit I’d had since I was young. And every single dentist I’d ever been to had made it a point to comment on the fact that the insides of my cheeks were chewed up.

Oh, thanks for pointing that out, I had no idea.

“I mean, I found some typical office snack kinda things. Candy bars. Granola bars. Instant coffee.”

“Well, that saves us some time.” Rick nodded.

“So, do you guys like…have…an actual house or something?”

_________

I’m kinda jumping around a little bit? Should I just share the whole story or keep sharing little snips? I’m not sure. I feel like snips are my favorite little pieces. 🤷🏼‍♀️

Anyway….thanks for checking it out and reading!!

[samwontshare]

I haven’t seen BNW yet so I can only comment on the Sambucky scene since yall recorded that and put it everywhere. 😅

I really like the character growth here.

It started for Sam in TFATWS - we see him working alone on the boat’s engine. At the end, he allows Bucky to help him. He didn’t invite Bucky- Sam Wilson asking for help? Outside of running a smooth op? Hah! - but Bucky invited himself over and was welcomed by Sam. But even this moment was silent. Sam only confided in Sarah in TFATWS, and even that seemed difficult for him.

So I am happy to see that for some reason running for Congress Bucky probably drops absolutely everything the moment he sees the news because 1) his man looks hot and he has to tell him that immediately and 2) Joaquin took a hit and he knows he has to be with them. I like that we see Bucky proactively showing up for Sam, which was a problem Bucky had in TFATWS. And this brings me joy as a Bucky fan, because this is TFA Bucky. This is Bucky Barnes, who loves his people fully and openly and would die for them in a heartbeat. Bucky is a mother hen at heart, and this is a return to that. Anyone who wants to see Bucky healing should be happy here.

Sam telling whoever entered the room to politely fuck off gave me his Civil War ‘tude with T’Challa. I appreciate “so over the bullshit” Sam. And Sam, my beloved, just looks so reluctantly relieved Bucky is there. Like he’s trying not to smile that his man showed up for him. And Sam TALKS ABOUT HIS INSECURITIES. He has self doubt and he talks about it! He lets Bucky give him a pep talk. We were all pulling our hair out in TFATWS because they seemed allergic to showing us Sam’s internal world.

And kudos to Bucky for seeing that it has nothing to do with wanting superpowers, it’s about Sam’s desire to protect others, especially his partner. This moment is such a callback to Riley, an event that shook Sam so badly he left the service. It’s nice to see Sam not shouldering grief alone. I can’t wait to see Sam and Joaquin talk about what happened bc that’s where I think there will be some more full circle character development for Sam. (Sorry I am blabbing about this without the full context.)

Bucky expressing curiosity about Sam’s doubt and encouraging him to continue when you could see Sam was hesitating to be vulnerable was a really nice touch. Sam is given the space without judgment to process. “Say what you need to say.” Okay, sir, you know that talk continues in the bedroom.

I just want to see Sam getting that emotional TLC all the time. That little head nod when Bucky tells him he loves him? Precious.

You love to see it.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Earth Shaker

People call them "Contracts" but few, if any, ever read the fine print.

Maybe it's because of all the media from my first life; the horror stories and tales of deals gone wrong. Yet it seems like I alone, remain cautious. Careful. It feels like I alone, even understand the concept of "a deal with the devil". Though granted... not by that exact wording.

There are no devils here. IS no Christian Heaven or Hell. (As far as I can tell.)

But... but oh, there is so much more. And all of it is dangerous.

There are demons, yes, but they are creature made of malicious Energies. So too, exsist spirits. Minor and major Gods. It is a full and complete fantasy set up. They whole package. A wonderland of world building. And? A horror story to live in.

Those self same demons? Eat people. Attack travelers. Trains. And those Spirits? Fight for dominance in some sort of ever shifting court intrigue, using mortals as power sources and pawns. Are just as, if not more, destructive then the demons!

But, oh. What of the Gods?

What OF them? Do you think they care?

Beneath the glamorous adventures and magical veneer of the Story, this world was a rotten thing. Barely holding together. Yet... yet it was all I had, now. And that terrified me. Because I could not protect... anyone. Could I? Not.. not a single soul.

In the Story, the Protagonist (bless his empty little head) went to a magical academy. Met friends and foes. There was a love story and eventually? He saved the day. Huzzah. Good for him. But... here was the problem. The one which haunted me so.

That Love story? The "girl" he fell in love with? A nice, if proper, young lady from a house far above his station. But, oh! It was a turn of the century magical fantasy! He became famous! Wealthy! Saved her life with his incredible power! Of course her family approved in the end.

I did not want to BE his love story.

He was... a nice young man. Really! But... but it was like talking to, well, a high school student. Which he effectively was. And I? Had already been in college. Damn near graduating! (Not that I was bitter. No. Of course not. Perish the thought!) Only to then? Reincarnate and go on to live over a decade more.

I was at least twice his age.

The day I'd look at him as a romantic prospect? Is the day I'd gouge my own eyes out. That is a CHILD. My whole class is full of children. It's... exhausting. Ha! "Mature one", indeed. "Class mom", indeed! If only they knew.

But now? Now‽ The school wanted us to make Contracts! For a fucking GRADE! It was horrifying. Ill conceived and frankly? A GREAT way to push kids to over reach themselves. Try and Contract with a more powerful Being then they could handle. Get burned up or used.

"Mandatory". Ha! Mandatory my ass. I should refuse. If I was sane, I was refuse. But the problem was?

The school was fronting the Contact materials and safety arrays.

It was the safest chance I'd ever get. Fuck. Damn it.

So I read. I read and I read. Research til my eyes cross. Practice writing until my hands cramp. Splurge on the highest grade calligraphy instruments and inks I can afford. And with my allowance? And years of saving up? I'm literally buying alongside royals.

But it's the CONTRACT that takes the most time. I have to research law. Act under the assumption that I will be faced with some sort of malicious genie. It... gods, it can only end poorly. I know this. Yet? Here I stand.

Doing it anyway.

(I am a fool... aren't I?)

Unlike my fellow students, I don't do a vague Call All. While yes, the odds are higher for a response (due to it being basically an APB), you will have no control over what responds. Better to call for something specific and fail, in my mind. Then at least? You can plan ahead.

Besides, with the sheer quality of the materials I'm using? Someone will answer. They won't be able to resist. It's like leaving a box of diamonds on the sidewalk.

It takes all day, slowly, carefully writing out the hundreds of thousands of sigils and qualifiers. The "if X then Y, except when Z unless AB" of it all. I magically drain myself twice. Have to eat trail mix on the floor then nap in the corner. I rented the hall for the week, but... once begun? Only an IDIOT would open the safety arrays to leave.

Great way for foreign influences to completely fuck up your spell work. Either try to harvest the building Energies or, more likely, sabotage the Contract for a friend or ally, so they get more then they should. Fuckers.

After nearly two days? It's done. Still, I wait. Even as the air nearly burns with power. The scent of Green so over powering it's like someone dumped a cologne aisle on the floor. Wood and moss and old growth. Deep dark, pitch black earth. Petrichor. All humming, Humming, HUMMING like a bow string pulled back as far as it can. Straining, shaking, desperately ready to release the tension and STRIKE.

But I am no fool.

I wait for my energy to refill. Wait for a nap and some food to clear my mind. For all my papers to be nicely in order. I have called upon you, not the other way around. You can wait. (Because, frankly? I haven't even called you yet!)

Contract ready, I step into place. And each step, as it lands, is like the falling of trees and the baying of hounds. Thunderous in the sudden silence. Crashing as they fall. It is not me, whoever does this, the heraldry is both dramatic and not something I've ever even practiced. The scent of Green is thick enough now to choke. I'm genuinely surprised that the scent alone has not inspired plant growth.

My meticulous work surges to life, like it was a beast, only barely holding itself a bay. Like it can no longer. Roots and vines, made of then thousand shades of green-Gold-GREEN light shoot forward and up. Restrictive and choking. I am consumed in seconds.

I have to remind myself not to panic. To keep my feet still. As long as I don't move? I am safe. It is all for show. Like a cat, arching it's back. They can't truely hurt me. Bruise? Yes. But true, actual injury? No. It would hurt THEM too.

"Well, now, what have we here?" Mused a voice beyond comprehension.

It was eons of growth, beneath aliens skies. The cries of animals long lost and longer dead. Things that weren't and have never been, but could have. Growth, growth, GROWTH. Hunting and savagery and Death. Trees so tall the eclipse the heavens. Roots so deep they consume the world. Each leaf a tapestry. Decay. Growth from the rotting.

My... my ears were bleeding.

The vines-roots writhed in agony and pleasure under the weight of those few words. And... and that wasn't right. S-something was wrong. Very, very wrong. A spirit wasn't supposed to be that... that powerful.

I could FEEL the Safety arrays all but screaming under the weight they were trying to hold. Like toothpicks trying to hold up a mountain range. W-what? What was happening? I picked an earth spirit! Statistically, the calmest and mildest out of all available options! So... so why...‽

"Not going to bargain, kid? Plead for power and wealth?" The next sentence was no less agony then the first. Like being slammed by a wall of power. "Or are you here to make demands? Hmmm? I'm curious, honestly, to see where this one goes. It's been a while, after all."

The world had a pink tint. I... I tasted iron. Ha ha... oh god. Shit. I fucked up. I knew I should never have agreed to this stupid fucking-!

Wet dribbled down my face. A wheezing gurgle rattled my lungs. My heart was racing... but... but I could get enough air. I tried to suck in more. But the wet gurgle only got louder, as pink tinted foam worked it's way up my throat. Filled my lungs. I couldn't breathe. Something wet trickled from my ears. I Couldn't Breathe!

"Ah. I forgot about that. Fragile little creatures, aren't you?"

Unhurried steps casually strolled closer. Iron flavored foam clogged my air ways, as muscles spasmed, and creeping tendrils of darkness began to work their way closer, around the edges of my dying eyes. The world was muffled yet I could hear him perfectly. My sense were burning out, yet he imprinted himself beyond that. What had I summoned? Oh god... what had I done? W-what had I-‽

A calloused, treebark colored hand (the shade ever shifting, just ever so slightly) passed through the vines. Rather, the vines parted for it. Sun warm. Glowing as though containing that sunlight itself. Big. It... it was a strong, gardeners hand. A hunter's. Yet at the same time... unmistakable for anyone but that of a powerful man's.

Casual in it's impropriety. Sliding through my hair to grip the top of my head like it was simply his due. His skin... buzzed against me. Was almost too hot. Like standing near a live wire. And...? Then...

Then everything was gone.

My lungs free and clear. My eyes sharper then they'd ever been. Hearing so crisp, the silence of the room around us was nearly vertigo inducing. It was like my body had been reset to factory settings. Upgraded. I shuddered, eyes clenching shut. Because even with the pain gone? The horror was still there. The memory of the taste still lingered in my mouth.

"There we go, good girl. All fixed." There was a condescending lilt to his voice. His hand didn't move. Just tightened lightly and dragged, forcing me to tilt my head up, if I didn't want my hair pulled. Making me look him in the eyes. They were shifting, lazily, between hawk and wolf gold even as I watched. "Now, you were trying to be clever, yes? Had your little plan and every thing. Come on, let's hear it. I'm curious to see where this scheme goes. You always think your so creative, after all. So bold and new."

I wanted to send him back.

Now.

Fuck this. Fuck, grades. To hell with "mandatory". I'd drop out if I had too. Gods damn it, I'd go be puppy boy Protagonist's Love Interest if I had too! This was insane. I... I fucked up so bad. Earth spirits don't glow. Light spirits glow! For obvious reasons. But you know who does‽ Who FUCKING DOES‽‽ Gods.

"Ah, ah~." He chided, all but curling over me as he loomed.

There was laughter threatening to escape his control, hidden in his voice. Mocking amusement in the deliberate non-smile that kept him from baring his teeth in a grin.

"Don't go running now. Not when you've already invited me in." Phrasing. Horrifying phrasing! "You wouldn't want to be rude would you? There are Rules, after all. And you know better. Don't you, little thing?"

I wanted to laugh hysterically. Cry a bit. Fuck. God DAMN IT. FUCK! He's right. Of course he is! He mocking me with it! Shit. Oh god. Fuck, damn it! O-okay... I... I can... I just-!

Fear? Truely is the mind killer. For long moments, I could not move. Could barely bring myself to breathe. My mind, a horrible static. But... like slowly forcing yourself to unclench a white knuckled grip. One finger at a time. I... I made myself focus. Tried to bring my arm up. Miraculously, the vines let me. I held the Contract I had written out.

"Oh? And what's this then? Deman-?"

I could feel the pages leave my hand. Hear the rustle as they were flipped. The ringing silence, as he registered what it was he held. But my eyes were closed. I... I didn't want to see the end coming. Maybe I was a coward for that. But damn it, gods damn it, I was scared!

Ļ̵͎̬̙̲̈̽a̶̡̻͕̐̿̆͜ȕ̵̡̠͕̹̌̎̊̔g̷̡̟̞͓̬̿h̴̦̻̼͌́̚t̶͍̑e̴̹̓̚͠r̶̹̳̺̀̿͊̓

Crashing of horns against horns, the bray of dying beasts. Cracking growing and the fall of mighty trees. Mycelium surging through deep dark soil. Ripping flesh. Hunting cries. Green and grow. GREEN AND DEATH. Green Green Green Green Green Gree-!

"Audacious little pet! Aren't you? Oh, you do think your clever!" Amusement sang like venom and traps yet to be sprung. Dying, dying, DYING-! "Oh dear. Again? My poor thing. Hold still. This 'spiritual partner' will make it all better, hmm?"

The hand was back. Cradling my lolling face. W-when had I? G..Gone limp? I can't feel my legs. Can't feel... can't feel.... c-cant f...feel...

GREEN.

I gasp in air, like a drowning man final breaking the surface. My face is sticky. Blood? Tears? Gore? I am terrified to know. Don't have the strength to lift my own head. My magic is being all but ripped out of me. Faster and faster. Like it's being drained into a bottomless pit.

Something beyond sunlight, beyond growth, is reaching back. The very Concept of nature made manifest. What did I summon? What creature? What GOD?! Did I SUMMON?! Please. Forgive me. I.. I didn't mean too! I swear! Please! P-please!

"You know? It's been far too long, since I've had an excuse. I needed a good vacation. And to think," A second hand comes up to cradle my face, with a terribly deceptive gentleness. Tilting my head this way and that, as though to inspect me. "It comes with a free pet. Oh you're going to be so very amusing, I can already tell."

"But don't worry, pet." He nearly crooned. Clearly warming up to his own idea. "I take care of my things."

"And I can just tell. I am going to adore you."

[amalthea-13]

Got my nightcore blasting in one ear and still mad about Mastermind so I'mma just info dump here. If you are a Blitz Stan or Defender please understand I do love Blitz, he's honestly one of my favorite characters and Stolitz is my comfort ship. However, disliking things he does doesn't mean I don't like him. I can feel frustrated or struggle with things he does. A complex character makes you feel complex things so it just is a testament to the writers on this show doing a good job with their cast and writing them perfectly. So before going on a rant defending Blitz, just hear me out.

I'll be honest I did not like how quickly Blitz turned lovey-dovey after the trial. The shit hit me like a fuckin chancla to the head and gave me whiplash. The reason I have this issue with Mastermind is purely because it felt so- unfair. Stolas has been struggling to feel validated and seen by Blitz for SO long. I mean that man gave him an Asmodean Crystal, fought to treat him with respect by changing many of his behaviors from S1 to S2, no longer teasing him or calling him pet names. He goes to hell and back multiple times, nearly being killed by Striker and couldn't even get a solid text back from Blitz.

However, the MINUTE he lays his life down, loses his daughter, and gives up any sense of a decent reputation suddenly Blitz gives a fuck. Losing his home, his powers, his family, EVERYTHING, and suddenly Blitz cares about what Stolas wants or needs. It genuinely makes me wanna rattle him around and yell:

"YOU COULD HAVE BEEN HEALTHY AND NICE TO HIM BUT YOU WAIT TILL HES CHRONICALLY DEPRESSED!?"

Like fuck me dude, but he never cared for Stolas before. He consistently dismisses his humanity by cognitively distancing himself from Stolas by just boiling every part of him down to his wealth, stripping him of any and all humanity he remains to have.

Suddenly when Stolas is a husk of his former self and his depression can no longer be hidden by magic or pills, suddenly Blitz cares. I just- I don't know if it's'cause of my own personal trauma, but I hate when people wait till you are at your lowest to give a fuck.

How much more did Stolas have to give for him to care? Or did it have to be his own life? My issue with this part is it perpetuates that Blitz can ONLY humanize those he hurts if they are sad and miserable like him. That the only time you can be loved or seen by him is when you are sad and pathetic, beneath himself. I really hope ya'll are picking up what I'm putting down because I am BEGGING ya'll to stick with me.

Blitz still has his family, his life, his friends, but Stolas has none of those things and SUDDENLY Blitz is further interested in him. Now that he has some pseudo-surperiority- he finds him attractive? He's interested? He wants a deeper relationship?

You can't tell me that doesn't feel so- so backwards right?

Like yeah, wait till the sweet owl man looks like THIS. Oh, yeah, ain't that just fuckin attractive? He's miserable and tried to OFF himself, but no, no that's healthy. It's fine, Amalthea, it's fine that this is the SUDDEN moment Blitz cares. That suddenly he gives a fuck. /sarc

Don't get me started on the fact that before he got to know Stolas he was COMPLETELY fine wrecking a perfectly good (from the exterior) home without considering Octavia, despite being a fucking father himself.

Blitz waits till Stolas is miserable to actually show him an OUNCE of humanity or love or reciprocity.

Yet everyone excuses ALL of his behaviors and problems on his trauma and the pain he has been through, but those same people will call Stolas a deadbeat and terrible person just because he is an awful flirt and a literal DV victim recovering from being COMPLETELY repressed due to the fact that the system that gives him his wealth has worked against him to the point he has no autonomy.

No one seems to ever get why I'm so angry and it's just because- these two have so much potential to work, but at every corner Blitz will make the shittiest decisions and the fandom writes it off as trauma or hurt or whatever, but god forbid Stolas mess up IN SEASON 1 he has to pay for it in Season 2 and be burned at the stake yet while burning at the damn stake the only person he wants to care or worry for him ONLY cares when he is actually set on fucking fire, not bothering to douse the flames or care when he wasn't about to get burned.

I love Blitz, I really, really do, but Mastermind reframed so many of his behaviors for me and made me step back purely because I realized he REALLY does not care unless he can have a false sense of superiority to someone.

I initially said both Stolas and Blitz were at fault for the Full Moon episode, but rewatching the argument I fully blame and fault Blitz for the arguement. Sure Stolas wasn't perfect, but instead of I dunno yelling at the owl man, why don't you- I dunno ASK HIM FOR A MOMENT???

People act like Blitz is some 16 yo teenager, but no thats an ALMOST 40 YEAR OLD MAN WHO CHOOSES TO POORLY COMMUNICATE. He literally could have been uncomfortable and said; "Stolas, this is a lot to process... can I have some time to think? I just- this is a lot."

Stolas wouldn't have forced him to stay! He was willingly letting him go! Blitz complains about the class differences between them but when he tries to fix it suddenly it is a fucking problem?

"But Amalthea, Stolas was hanging his livelihood over his head. He was abusing his power."

See I'd validate that argument and agree with it- IF IT WASN'T ALSO STOLAS'S LIVELIHOOD THE FUCK???? That grimoire was just as important to Stolas as it was to Blitz, more so since it gave him his STATUS, but he WILLINGLY sacrificed all that for Blitz.

Stolas did his due diligence to protect BOTH of them, but yet there is STILL a problem?!

"Stolas made him believe it was just sex between them!!!"

You wanna try again? Do you REALLY want to believe Blitz is so oblivious to this man's advances?

Then explain why he knew Stolas would accept a date to Ozzies. O_O. If Stolas was really just some "ditzy blue blood" to Blitz why would he get dolled up and ready for a date with some measly imp? Why would a Goetic Prince go in public with an imp?

Unless Blitz was FUCKING aware he'd've accepted because he feels so deeply for Blitz. He's so desperately in love he'd do anything to be around him again. Blitz KNEW what he was doing. He KNEW Stolas felt this way, he just chose to be dense and overlook it until it benefited him.

Blitz's insecurities blind a lot of you to the fact he is a CALCULATED and SMART man. Sure, he is a dork who makes us laugh, but he's a CALCULATED dork.

Also I hate to bring up how these two sweetpeas met, but WHO BIT WHO? Who SLEPT WITH WHO WHILE DRUNK?

"But Stolas was flirting with him! He wanted Blitz to sleep with him!"

Yes and no. Initially when Stolas flirts and realizes Blitz wants to sleep with him, he immediately says NO and steps away!

See that kids, that's called a headshake, which means what? Let's all guess now?

NO! IT MEANS NO!

I hate to drive my point this far home, I REALLY do.

Another layer of this is ALL the advances are made my Blitz after Stolas says no.

"Amalthea it's hell! What are you on about morals and consent!?"

Literally because in this situation Blitz had the power. He had the ability to walk away, but started all of this just for his buisness and despite how it all started, Stolas supported him through it all.

It is also before Blitz knows about the abuse and knowing Stolas is a father, still chose to homewreck a family even after Stolas said no.

My point in all of this- anger and frustration is that Stolas has put up with so much of Blitz's BS and stupidity, but only now is Blitz concerned. Only now he gives a damn.

You break into a mans home, sleep with him, rob him, then ruin his life, but you only feel bad when he's lost everything? Sure, that's cool. That's awesome. That's totally fine. /sarc

... this arguement is always hard for me to make, because i just have to watch Stolas be traumatized over, and over, and over and he is always still so sweet and loving to a fucking prick of a man.

Rant over, Amalthea out.

However if you have questions, my ask box is open loves.🩷

Edit 1: While you all can comment, I strongly encourage utilizing my ask box. Moving on I understand ppl may disagree with me. That is okay you're a beautiful individual with your own thoughts and opinions which is fine by me. However please refrain from insulting my intelligence. You can always block me, doesn't hurt my feelings anyway.