#correct me if I’m wrong but it looks like a phone

[eclipixels]

Relentless

Kpop Idol x Reader

Content: You bother a K-pop idol, but he accidentally ends up falling for you

[6,605]

      You’re annoying.

      At least, that’s what he’s told you. Multiple times, actually.

      But do you care? Nope. Not even a little bit.

      Because why should you? When your ultimate bias is standing right in front of you at every fansign, every event, every concert, looking drop-dead gorgeous as always? And if you have to be just a tiny bit insufferable to get his attention, then so be it.

      “Did you miss me?” you chirp, grinning as you slide your album across the table.

      He sighs. Deeply. Like he’s summoning the patience of a thousand saints just to deal with you. “Didn’t I see you last week?”

      “Yup! And the week before that. And the week before that. And the week—”

      “I’m sensing a pattern,” he mutters, flipping open the page. His pen hovers over it for a second before he glances up. “Should I even bother signing? You probably have my autograph a hundred times already.”

      “Hundred and two, actually,” you correct, tapping your chin. “But who’s counting?”

      You’ve been on his radar for months now, your presence a constant thorn in his side. While other fans scream in adoration, you’re the one who relentlessly teases him. While others shower him with compliments, you’re the one who calls him out for looking like a sleep-deprived raccoon which, in your defense, he does.

      And at first, he hated it. He still does but he’s gotten more used to it now.

      “You know,” you say, leaning closer as he signs your album. “If you keep staring at me like that, people are gonna think you’re in love with me.”

      He chokes. Actually chokes. Coughing into his fist as his ears turn a suspicious shade of red.

      “You—” He glares at you, pointing an accusatory finger. “You’re so—”

      “Charming? Stunning? The love of your life?”

      “I was going to say infuriating,” he deadpans.

      “You got a giant pimple on your chin by the way.” You mess with him.

      “Wait what?” He panics, pulling out his phone camera to look only to see you had been lying. You laugh but he just glares at you.

      “I’m calling security.”

      “I’m leaving! I’m leaving!” You yelp before speed-walking away.

      It’s the same thing every time. You show up. You tease him. He gives you a death glare. He doesn’t hide his irritation or put on the ‘always appease the fans’ personality.

      And that is why you keep coming back. It’s gotten entertaining now, he kind of expects it everytime his group is having an event. It’s kind of fun seeing you and the disaster you bring. Even if he’d rather die than admit it.

      One day, you stop showing up.

      It takes him a while to notice.

      At first, he just thinks it’s a coincidence. Maybe you finally got bored of teasing him. Maybe you ran out of albums to get signed. Maybe you found some other idol to annoy instead of him.

      It shouldn’t bother him.

      And yet, it does.

      He doesn’t realize how much he’s grown used to your presence until it’s gone. No smug grins at fansigns. No playful insults thrown his way. No exasperating banter that secretly made his days a little less exhausting.

      The first week without you, he feels… relieved.

      The second week, he feels off.

      The third week, he starts searching for you in every crowd.

      And by the fourth week, he knows something is wrong.

      It’s not like he has a way to contact you, he doesn’t even know your full name. But, by some miracle, he finds you. It’s past midnight when he sees you again.

      He almost doesn’t recognize you at first. You’re curled up on the bench of a park near his apartment, arms wrapped around yourself as the rain pours down. Your usual playful confidence is gone, replaced with something small. Fragile.

      Something inside him twists at the sight.

      He doesn’t think. He just moves.

      “Hey.”

      You flinch at his voice, eyes wide as you look up. The dim streetlight barely illuminates your face, but it’s enough for him to see the tear tracks mixed with the rain.

      For the first time since he’s known you, you’re not smirking. You’re not teasing. You’re just—broken.

      “What… what are you doing here?” you whisper, voice hoarse.

      He frowns, ignoring the rain soaking through his hoodie as he crouches in front of you. “I could ask you the same thing.”

      You let out a weak, bitter laugh. “I could give you a hundred and two reasons.”

      Normally, he’d have a snarky reply ready. But right now? Right now, he just wants to know what’s wrong.

      His voice is softer than he means it to be. “Y/n, what happened?”

      You hesitate. For the first time, you actually hesitate. But then your shoulders shake, and suddenly, you’re unraveling right in front of him.

      “Everything just—everything went wrong, and I didn’t know where else to—” You whisper, voice cracking

      Your breath hitches, and before he can think twice about it, he’s already shrugging off his hoodie, draping it over you. His hand lingers on your shoulder, grounding you.

      “Come on,” he says, his voice quieter now. “Let’s get you out of the rain.”

      You blink at him, like you can’t quite believe this is happening. Like you were expecting him to brush you off. But he doesn’t. Because right now, you’re not the annoying fan who used to drive him insane.

      Right now, you’re just you. Another person just like him.

      You don’t argue. You just let him help you up. And as he leads you inside to his apartment, away from the cold, away from whatever is haunting you, he realizes something.

      He’s missed you.

      You’re dry now. Mostly. His apartment looks nice. You can’t believe how many times you’ve walked past the area oblivious to the fact your favorite kpop idol lives right there.

      Sitting on his couch, wrapped in a blanket that smells faintly of laundry detergent and something undeniably him, you grip the cup of tea he shoved into your hands the second you stepped inside. You’re still cold, though. Not from the rain, but from everything else.

      He’s sitting across from you, his shirt damp from the rain, arms crossed as he leans back. He hasn’t asked you to leave. Hasn’t told you you’re being annoying. Hasn’t even made a sarcastic comment.

      You let out a slow breath, staring at the steam rising from the tea. “You don’t have to be nice to me, you know.”

      He exhales sharply through his nose. “Trust me, I know.”

      That earns the faintest hint of a smile from you, but it disappears as quickly as it came. The silence stretches between you, thick and unfamiliar. Normally, you’d fill it with some dumb remark, poke at him just to see him roll his eyes.

      But tonight you don’t have the energy.

      “I don’t even know why you let me come here,” you admit. “It’s not like we’re actually friends.”

      His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue.

      You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “But I appreciate it since nothing in my life is going right.”

      He watches you, eyes unreadable. “Yeah?”

      You scoff, curling further into the blanket. “Yeah.”

      And then, before you can stop yourself, you start talking.

      You tell him about your job that sucks. About the bills that won’t stop piling up. About how it feels like the universe has some personal vendetta against you.

      And then, finally—

      “…And then I found out my boyfriend was cheating on me.”

      You don’t look at him when you say it. It’s less embarrassing that way. But he stills. You don’t notice at first, too busy staring at the swirling tea in your mug.

      “…Boyfriend?” His voice is sharper than you expect.

      You glance up, confused by the expression on his face.

      His brow furrows. “You have a boyfriend?”

      There’s something off about the way he says it. Something tense. Like he’s testing the words out, like they feel wrong in his mouth.

      You blink. “Had.”

      His eyes flick to yours. Just for a second. Enough for you to see relief flicker in them, but it’s gone before you can process it.

      “Huh.” He leans back, arms still crossed, gaze flicking to the side. “Didn’t know that.”

      You let out a bitter laugh. “Guess it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

      He doesn’t answer right away. And when he finally does, his voice is quieter.

      “No. Guess not.”

      Another silence. This one is heavier than before.

      You sip your tea, pretending not to notice the way his fingers tighten slightly on his arm. Pretending not to notice the way he hasn’t looked at you since you said ‘had’.

      And he? He pretends he doesn’t care. Even though, for some reason, he does. More than he wants to admit.

      “I should’ve known,” you mutter, voice dull. “He was always too smooth. Too good at talking his way out of things.”

      Across from you, he shifts, watching you carefully. “How’d you find out?”

      You snort. “Instagram.”

      His brows raise slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that.

      “I was so stupid,” you continue, laughing bitterly. “This whole time, I thought I was paranoid. I even told myself, no, you’re just overthinking it. But then, boom—he slips up. Some girl posts a story of them together at a hotel. Tags him in it. And just like that, it’s over.”

      You don’t even realize you’re gripping the blanket tighter until you feel the fabric bunch beneath your fingers.

      Silence.

      And then—

      “…He’s an idiot.”

      You blink, looking up.

      He’s staring at you now, expression unreadable, but his voice is firm. Steady.

      You let out a scoff. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

      His gaze flickers over your face. For a moment, he looks like he wants to say something else. But instead, he just leans forward, resting his arms on his knees.

      “You mad at him?”

      You think about it. Let the question settle in your chest.

      “…No.” You exhale. “I’m just mad at myself.”

      His brow furrows slightly. “Why?”

      “Because I let it happen.” You shake your head. “I should’ve seen the signs. I should’ve trusted my gut. I wasted so much time on him, and for what?”

      The words taste bitter in your mouth. But before you can dwell on it, he exhales, running a hand through his damp hair. “You’re not the only one who’s been through it, you know.”

      You blink. “What?”

      His jaw clenches, like he’s debating whether or not to say more. But then he sighs, shaking his head. “I’ve been there too. The whole ‘getting cheated on’ thing.”

      Your eyes widen. Someone cheated on him? Were they stupid? “Wait. You?”

      He nods once, gaze flicking to the side.

      You sit up straighter, fully invested now. “Who?”

      At that, he hesitates. His fingers tap lightly against the couch, a nervous habit you’ve never seen from him before.

      “You have to promise you won’t tell anyone.”

      You blink at him, taken aback by the sudden seriousness in his tone. “Do I need to sign an NDA?”

      “That’d probably be a good idea” he says, looking at you now, eyes sharp and unwavering, “But I don’t have any lying around so just promise not to blabber.”

      You pause. Then, with the most solemn expression you can muster, you raise a hand. “I solemnly swear that I, Y/n L/n, will take this secret to my grave.”

      Huh, so that was your full name. Then, after another long pause, he finally says it.

      “Myra.”

      Your brain short-circuits. “Wait. Kim Myra?”

      Kim Myra—the nation’s sweetheart, lead vocalist of Lulupop, one of the biggest girl groups in the industry? The same Kim Myra who made headlines last year for her K-drama debut?

      That Myra?

      “She cheated on you?” you say, still trying to process the information.

      He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Yup.”

      “With who?”

      Another pause. And then, with a sigh, he mutters, “Kevin.”

      Your jaw drops.

      Kevin Ngyuen the half Vietnamese and half Korean actor? Her flipping co-star in that ridiculously popular debut drama she starred in last year. The one everyone swore had “undeniable chemistry.” The one she denied being involved with a thousand times in interviews.

      “Holy shit,” you breathe. “Are you serious?”

      “Dead serious.” He leans back, rubbing his temples. “It was a whole thing. I found out during the drama’s press tour. They were sneaking around behind my back for months.”

      You stare at him, mind racing. “How did this not get out?”

      He gives you a flat look. “Come on. You really think companies let this stuff leak?”

      That gets your attention. You shift, turning to face him fully. “Okay, spill. How often does this actually happen? Because every time an idol gets exposed for dating, people act like it’s some rare phenomenon.”

      He scoffs. “Please. It happens all the time.”

      You gape at him. “All the time?”

      He nods, stretching his legs out. “Most idols date in secret. Sometimes it’s other idols, sometimes it’s actors, sometimes it’s staff. Hell, sometimes it’s fans.”

      Your eyes widen. “Fans?”

      He shrugs. “Yeah. Not often, but it happens.”

      Your mind is spinning. The media paints idols as these untouchable figures, too busy to date, too devoted to their careers. But here he is, casually confirming that half the industry is dating behind closed doors.

      “So let me get this straight,” you say, crossing your arms. “You’re telling me that while we, the peasants, are out here fighting over crumbs of interactions, you guys are out there secretly dating each other?”

      He smirks. “Pretty much.”

      You groan, flopping back against the couch. “I feel so betrayed.”

      He actually laughs at that—a real laugh, not the sarcastic ones he usually gives you. And for some reason, it makes something warm settle in your chest. You watch him carefully. For the first time, he looks… vulnerable. Not the cocky idol who always rolled his eyes at you. Not the guy who (rightfully) acts like you were the most annoying person in the world.

      Just a guy who got his heart broken, the same way you did.

      “…She’s an idiot,” you say eventually.

      He glances at you, lips twitching. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

      The rain has slowed to a faint drizzle, tapping softly against the window. You’re still curled up on his couch, still wrapped in his blanket, still reeling from the fact that you just got industry tea straight from the source.

      And yet, the weirdest part?

      You’re not freaking out.

      Like, logically, you should be. You’re in the apartment of a K-pop idol. But here you are, having a normal conversation with him like this is just… a thing that happens.

      He shifts, resting an arm against the back of the couch. Then, almost absentmindedly, he mutters, “You know… this is the first time I’ve let a stranger into my house.”

      You blink, caught off guard. “Huh?”

      He tilts his head slightly, watching you. “I’ve never talked to a fan like this before, let alone allow one into my place.”

      You let out a small laugh. “This is kind of crazy, isn’t it?”

      He raises an eyebrow. “What is?”

      “This.” You motion between the two of you. “I’m literally sitting in a celebrity’s house, and I’m not even freaking out. It’s like…” You trail off, thinking.

      “…Like?” he prompts.

      You shrug. “Like we’ve been friends or something for years.”

      His lips twitch. “Oh, a friend, huh?”

      You don’t miss the way his gaze sharpens, playful and teasing. Then, with a smirk, he leans forward just slightly. “You probably have, like, a gajillion pictures of my face in your camera roll.”

      Your face heats. “I—okay, first of all—”

      “Oh, I hit a nerve, didn’t I?” His smirk widens. “How many are we talking? A hundred? Two hundred?”

      You cross your arms. “I don’t have that many.”

      He hums, unconvinced. “You sure?”

      “Okay, maybe a few, but that’s normal—”

      “So you do like me.”

      You sputter. “Excuse me?”

      His eyes gleam with amusement, head tilting slightly. “You like me.”

      “I used to like you,” you correct quickly, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Past tense.”

      He snorts. “Right. Past tense.”

      “Yes.”

      There’s a beat of silence. Then—

      “Still doesn’t explain why you showed up to every fansign just to bother me.”

      You groan. “Oh my god, can you let it go?”

      He chuckles, clearly enjoying this way too much.

      You decide to change the subject before he can keep teasing you. “Anyway. Moving on. We’re getting off track.”

      He smirks but doesn’t argue.

      And somehow, just like that, the conversation flows into something easier. More natural.

      You talk about random things—childhood memories, weird pet peeves, stupid things you’ve both done. And the more you talk, the more you realize just how much you actually have in common.

      You both hate the taste of parsley. You both secretly love trashy reality TV. You both have a fear of roaches.

      “They’re just creepy, okay?” he mutters.

      You nod solemnly. “Agreed.”

      “That’s so exhausting,” you mutter as he rambles on about the complicated life of being a celebirty.

      “Welcome to the industry.”

      You tilt your head, watching him. “Do you ever regret it?”

      The question catches him off guard. His brows furrow slightly, and for a moment, he doesn’t answer.

      Then, after a beat, he exhales. “I don’t know. Some days, yeah. But I signed up for this, so…” He shrugs.

      You don’t know why, but the way he says it—so nonchalant, so matter-of-fact—makes your chest feel a little tight. Because for all the glamour, all the fame, all the screaming fans and flashing cameras… it must be lonely. And you’re starting to wonder if he’s lonelier than he lets on.

      You shift slightly, resting your head against the couch. “You know,” you say, staring at the ceiling, “I always thought being an idol was, like, the dream life.”

      He snorts. “Yeah? Still think that now?”

      You hum, considering. “I mean… parts of it, sure. The music, the performances. But all the other stuff? The restrictions, the constant scrutiny, the… fake smiles?” You glance at him. “I don’t think I’d last a day.”

      His lips quirk slightly. “Yeah. You’re too stubborn to follow company rules.”

      You gasp. “Excuse me?”

      “You heard me.” He smirks, shifting so he’s facing you fully. “They’d tell you to keep your head down, and you’d be out there starting fights with reporters.”

      You cross your arms. “I would not.”

      He raises an eyebrow.

      “…Okay, maybe I would,” you admit. “But that’s beside the point.”

      His chuckle is soft, barely there. But you hear it. And for some reason, it makes something warm settle in your chest.

      “You know,” he murmurs, breaking the silence, “you’re not what I expected.”

      You blink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      He tilts his head, studying you. “I don’t know. I just figured… I don’t even know what I figured. But it wasn’t this.”

      You raise an eyebrow. “Wasn’t what?”

      He exhales, shaking his head. “I don’t know. You’re just… normal.”

      You let out a dramatic gasp. “Wow. What a compliment.”

      He laughs, low and breathy. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”

      And yeah. Maybe you do.

      You stretch your arms above your head, letting out a yawn. “Whatever. You don’t even know me.”

      He scoffs. “Same could be said about you.”

      But that makes you sit up, an eyebrow raised. “No, see, I actually do know you.”

      He leans back against the couch, smirking. “Oh yeah?”

      You nod, shifting to face him. “For example—you grew up with a corgi.” You pause for effect. “Your favorite anime is fruit basket. You trained for five years before debuting. You love mint chocolate—”

      At that, he suddenly bursts out laughing.

      You blink. “What?”

      “Oh my god.” He covers his face with his hand, still laughing. “That is so wrong.”

      Your brows furrow. “Huh?”

      “My favorite anime is blood C” he says, “But that was too graphic for my label so I had to lie about it”

      “And I hate mint chocolate.” He shakes his head, still grinning. “My company made me lie about that too.”

      You gasp. “Are you serious?”

      He stretches his legs out, exhaling dramatically. “They assigned me this whole personality—‘the sweet, playful vocalist who loves cute things. They made me do so much aegyo during our rookie days. I swear, I was dying inside. Like geniunelly an angel lost its wings everytime they made me sing that fuck ass ottoke ottoke song.”

      At that, you lose it, laughing so hard your sides hurt.

      “Wow. So all those ‘cute’ moments in variety shows—”

      “Forced. Every single one.”

      You shake your head, still grinning. “Damn. Your whole life on camera is a lie.”

      “Pretty much.” He sighs, shaking his head.

      You tilt your head. “Yeah, okay. Who is the real you, then?”

      He leans back, thinking for a moment. Then, he starts listing.

      “I hate aegyo, if that wasn’t obvious by now. I suck at cooking, but I can make instant ramen taste amazing. I get restless if I sit in one place too long. I used to sneak out during trainee days just to take a breather because the dorms were hell.”

      You listen intently as he continues.

      “I love staying up late. I overthink a lot. I hate being told what to do. And—” He pauses, eyes flicking toward the ceiling in thought. “—oh. When I was a kid, I once cried for, like, three hours straight because my ice cream fell on the floor.”

      You burst out laughing. “Three hours?!”

      “It was tragic, okay?” He places a hand on his chest dramatically. “And I was five.”

      You shake your head, still laughing. “Wow. You were a menace.”

      “Still am,” he quips.

      You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest lingers.

      Then—his gaze shifts back to you, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

      “Okay, your turn.”

      You blink. “Huh?”

      He tilts his head. “I just told you who I really am. Now it’s your turn.” He smirks. “Because as far as I know, you’re just an obsessed fan with a messy life.”

      You huff, crossing your arms. “Wow. Rude.”

      “Am I wrong?”

      “…No, but still.”

      His smirk deepens. “So? Who are you, really?”

      You open your mouth, then close it. Because, honestly? You’re not sure how to answer that. And for the first time tonight… you think he can tell. You fidget with the edge of the blanket draped over you, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze.

      “Who am I, really?” you echo, stalling.

      He shrugs, tilting his head slightly. “Yeah. Since, y’know, I actually answered.”

      You roll your eyes. “Okay, okay. Geez.”

      But now that the question is out there, you don’t know where to start. Because who are you, really? You could go the surface-level route—basic facts, the kind of stuff you’d put in a ‘get to know me’ post. Or you could be real, like he was, peeling back the layers, saying the stuff you don’t usually admit. Your fingers tighten around the fabric of the blanket. He’s watching you, waiting. And for some reason, despite how ridiculous this entire situation is, you kind of want to answer honestly.

      So you exhale and start.

      “I’m the kind of person who laughs at their own jokes before even finishing them.” You scoff at yourself. “I stay up way too late and regret it every morning. I’m really bad at responding to texts, even though I always have my phone on me. And I—” You hesitate, but push forward. “—I overthink everything. Like, everything. I make up problems that don’t even exist sometimes, just so I have something to be stressed about.”

      You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, and I have a terrible habit of pretending I’m okay when I’m actually so not.”

      You glance at him, expecting—what? Judgment? Pity? You’re not sure.

      But he’s just watching you. Quietly. Like he’s actually listening.

      So you continue.

      “I get attached to people way too easily. It’s honestly embarrassing. And I hate it, because most of the time, they don’t even care that much about me in return.” You shrug, forcing a small smile. “Guess that’s my fault, though. I expect too much from people.”

      You don’t know why you’re saying all this. Maybe it’s because you’re tired, or maybe it’s because, for once, you don’t feel like you have to pretend.

      Either way, the words just keep coming.

      “I act all tough, but I take things way too personally. If someone I care about starts acting distant, I automatically assume I did something wrong.” You huff out a laugh. “I hate that about myself, honestly. But, y’know… can’t really turn my brain off.”

      You fall silent, staring at the fabric in your hands, feeling weirdly vulnerable.

      Then—

      “That,” he says, voice softer than before, “was not what I was expecting.”

      You scoff. “Yeah, well. Neither was tonight.”

      He chuckles. Then, after a beat—

      “You know what’s funny?”

      You glance at him. “What?”

      He leans back, arms crossed, smirking slightly. “For someone who annoys the hell out of me, you sound a lot like me.”

      You blink. “Wait. You overthink everything too?”

      “All the time.” He exhales through his nose. “It’s exhausting.”

      You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Well, damn. Maybe I do know you.”

      His gaze lingers on you for a second longer. Then—

      “Yeah.” His lips twitch. “Maybe you do.”

      You glance over at him, unsure how to break the silence, but he speaks first.

      “You can stay the night if you want.”

      You blink, caught off guard. “Huh?”

      His voice is low, relaxed, like he’s been thinking about it for a while. “I mean, it’s getting late, and you’ve been through enough tonight. You can stay in the guest room. No pressure.”

      Your heart races a little at the offer, and you instinctively open your mouth to decline. “Nah, it’s really fine. The weather’s—”

      Just as you’re about to finish, a sudden crack of thunder shakes the walls.

      You freeze, looking toward the window, and the hairs on your arms stand on end. You glance at him, confused. “That was… loud.”

      Before you can say anything else, the wind picks up, howling against the glass. The first hailstone hits the window with a sharp thunk, followed by another, and then another.

      You’re caught in the sudden chaos of weather. The storm that had seemed far off only moments ago now feels like it’s directly on top of you.

      He watches you, his eyes soft but firm. “Yeah. It’s now hailing outside. You’re not going anywhere.”

      You blink, feeling a rush of uncertainty. “But I—”

      “Stay,” he insists, his voice calm, reassuring. “You can’t go out in this. It’s not safe.”

      You swallow, the sudden realization hitting you that he’s right. The storm is now battering against the windows with intensity. The wind howls, the thunder rumbles louder, and the hail sounds almost like it’s trying to break through the glass.

      You hesitate. “But I don’t want to be a bother—”

      He cuts you off, eyes not leaving yours, his tone gentle but firm. “It’s fine. Really. It’s just one night.”

      You open your mouth to argue again, but the sheer thought of stepping out into the storm is enough to make you reconsider. The last thing you need right now is to get caught out there, drenched and cold.

      With a reluctant sigh, you nod. “Okay. Fine. I’ll stay. But only because the weather is insane.”

      He gives a small nod of satisfaction, his expression softening just a touch. He stands, stretching his legs. “I’ll show you the guest room. It’s just down the hall.”

      You follow him down the hallway, the quiet hum of the apartment now replaced with the distant rumble of thunder and the sharp tink-tink of hail.

      He leads you into a modestly furnished guest room, with a neatly made bed and soft, dim lighting that creates a warm, inviting atmosphere.

      “Make yourself at home,” he says, his voice more casual now. “I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything.”

      You glance back at him, feeling a little out of place but oddly comfortable. “Thanks.”

      He hesitates in the doorway for a moment, looking at you like he’s about to say something else, but then he just nods once and leaves.

      As you settle into the bed, the storm outside continues to rage, but inside, everything feels calmer, quieter. You close your eyes, trying to shake the feeling of being in his space, of being taken care of.

      The storm doesn’t let up. If anything, it gets worse. You can hear the wind howling through the cracks of the apartment, the heavy thunk of hailstones smacking against the windows.

      You should be sleeping. But you’re not.

      Instead, you’re lying on your side, staring at the ceiling, your mind racing too fast to settle.

      There’s a soft knock at the door.

      You sit up slightly. “Yeah?”

      The door creaks open, and he steps inside, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks… uneasy, like he’s debating whether or not he should even be here.

      “I, uh—” He hesitates. “Couldn’t sleep.”

      You exhale a small laugh. “Yeah, me neither.”

      He nods, lingering by the doorway before eventually sighing and stepping inside. “The storm’s kinda loud.”

      You smirk. “You scared or something?”

      He scoffs. “No.” Then, after a beat, “Just… restless.”

      You watch as he walks over, hesitating before sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s close, closer than before. The dim lighting casts soft shadows on his face, highlighting the way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers press against his knees like he’s holding himself back from something.

      The air shifts.

      Neither of you speak, but you can feel it, the weight of everything unsaid pressing into the space between you.

      You swallow. “What?”

      His gaze flickers to yours. “What?”

      “You’re looking at me like…” You trail off, suddenly self-conscious.

      He doesn’t answer right away. Just studies you, his lips parting slightly like he’s about to say something, but then—

      He kisses you.

      It happens so fast you barely process it. His lips press against yours. Firm, hesitant, like he’s not sure if he’s making a mistake but can’t stop himself.

      Your breath catches.

      It’s warm. It’s soft. It’s…

      Over too soon.

      He pulls back immediately, his eyes widening like he just broke every unspoken rule in existence.

      “Shit,” he breathes out, running a hand through his hair. “I—” He stands up abruptly, pacing. “That was, fuck. That was so unprofessional of me.”

      You blink, still trying to process what just happened. “Unprofessional?”

      He groans. “I mean you’re a fan. You were literally crying outside my apartment, like—this is just—” He groans again, dragging his hand down his face. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

      You just stare at him. “So… was it bad?”

      He freezes.

      Slowly, he turns to you, blinking like the thought never even occurred to him. “…What?”

      You raise an eyebrow. “The kiss. Was it bad?”

      He looks almost offended. “No. That’s not the point.”

      You tilt your head, lips twitching. “So it was good?”

      He glares at you. “Stop.”

      You can’t help it, you laugh.

      Because despite his whole internal crisis, despite the way he’s pacing like he just ruined his career or something, he kissed you first.

      And that means something.

      He sighs, exasperated, before finally looking at you again. His expression softens—just slightly. “I’m serious. That was…” He exhales. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

      You hum, still amused. “But it did.”

      The moment is thick with tension, something unspoken hanging between the two of you, stretching out like an invisible thread waiting to snap.

      “This.” His voice is edged with something unsteady as he gestures vaguely between the two of you, his fingers twitching like he wants to take the word back as soon as it leaves his lips. “I wasn’t supposed to—” His sentence cuts off abruptly, his jaw clenching hard as if he's physically stopping himself from saying more.

      You narrow your eyes, your gaze locking onto his, searching for whatever it is he’s trying so desperately to keep from you. “Wasn’t supposed to what?”

      His eyes flicker to yours for only a second, but it’s enough. Enough to send something sharp and unexpected shooting through you, making your breath hitch in your throat.

      “…Start liking you.”

      The words are so quiet, you almost think you imagined them. They are hesitant, fragile, as though speaking them aloud makes them more real than he’s ready for. Like he’s admitting something he never planned to, something he never thought he’d have to.

      Your stomach flips, and suddenly, for the first time since the kiss, you’re the one feeling thrown off balance.

      You blink at him, unsure if you even heard him correctly. “You—”

      “Forget it,” he mutters quickly, already shaking his head, a muscle ticking in his jaw like he regrets every syllable. “Just—”

      “No.” You sit up straighter, your voice firm. “You can’t just say that and expect me to forget it.”

      He exhales sharply, his gaze darting away from you. “I know. I just…” He groans under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair in clear frustration. “This is a mess.”

      You study him carefully, taking in every detail—the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers clench at his sides, the unmistakable war waging behind his eyes. He looks so genuinely conflicted, like he’s fighting against himself, and maybe he is.

      And then, because you can’t help yourself, because some part of you needs to hear him say it again, you murmur, “You liking me is a mess?”

      His head snaps back toward you, and for a brief moment, he looks utterly, completely exasperated. “Yes. Obviously. You’re a fan—”

      “Was a fan,” you interject smoothly, crossing your arms over your chest.

      He glares. “That doesn’t make this any better.”

      You smirk. “I think it does.”

      He exhales sharply, shaking his head in frustration. “You’re impossible.”

      You simply grin at him, but inside, your heart is pounding. Because it doesn’t matter how much he denies it, how much he tries to fight it—the truth is out now. He likes you. He wasn’t supposed to, he doesn’t want to, but he does. And now, neither of you knows what to do with it.

      Outside, the storm continues to rage, wind and rain slamming against the windows, but inside, you’re both just standing there, frozen in this moment, waiting for something—anything—to break the silence.

      You shift slightly on the bed, tilting your head at him. “So, let me get this straight.”

      He pinches the bridge of his nose, already looking pained. “Oh my God.”

      “You kissed me.”

      “Yes, I know.” His tone is flat, resigned.

      “And you like me.”

      He groans, running a hand down his face. “I literally just said that.”

      You smirk. “And somehow that’s the problem?”

      His hands drop to his sides, and he just stares at you, completely unamused. “Yes.”

      You swallow, forcing yourself to keep your voice casual. “Okay.”

      He blinks, his brows furrowing. “Okay?”

      You nod, leaning back on your hands, your expression unreadable. “Okay. So don’t like me, then.”

      His jaw tightens, his entire body going rigid. “I should go,” he says suddenly, voice stiff.

      He says he should go. But he doesn’t move. Instead, he just stands there, staring at you like you’re the most frustrating puzzle he’s ever had to solve. And maybe you are.

      You tilt your head slightly, a teasing edge to your voice. “Still here.”

      His jaw clenches harder. “I know.”

      Your smirk widens. “So much for I should go.”

      He groans, dragging a hand down his face before muttering, “You are the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

      You shrug, entirely unfazed. “Not the first time you’ve said that.”

      “I meant it every time.”

      The air between you shifts again, the tension mounting, thick and almost suffocating. You don’t know how you got here, how things escalated to this point, how you went from being someone he wanted nothing to do with—to whatever this is.

      He sighs, finally breaking eye contact, his shoulders tense. “This is a bad idea.”

      You hum in agreement. “Probably.”

      He turns back to you, eyes searching yours, his voice low. “Then why aren’t you stopping me?”

      You swallow, suddenly hyperaware of how close he’s gotten. You should stop him. You should say something to break the tension, to shift the mood before it spirals into something neither of you can take back.

      “Because you don’t want me to.” You whisper

      His breath catches. And just like that, whatever restraint he had left—snaps.

      Because the second his gaze drops to your lips again—

      You pull him back in. This time, it’s different. This time, it’s desperate.

      You barely have time to react before his hands are on you again—one curling into the back of your hair, the other gripping your waist, tugging you forward until there’s no space left between you. His lips crash against yours, and you can feel the restraint he’s been holding onto for so long break completely.

      You match his intensity, your fingers twisting into his shirt, pulling him closer, like you need to feel all of him. His hands tighten on you in response, and then suddenly, he’s moving, guiding you back until your legs hit the mattress.

      You fall back slightly, breath hitching as he follows, hovering over you, his weight pressing down in the most intoxicating way. His lips leave yours just long enough to trail down, grazing your jaw, your neck—hot, open-mouthed kisses that send shivers down your spine.

      “Shit,” you breathe, gripping his shoulders.

      He exhales sharply, like your voice alone is enough to make him lose whatever control he has left. His teeth graze your skin, and you shudder, your fingers tangling into his hair.

      You exhale a little laugh, breaking the silence. “I so have to sign an NDA now, don’t I?”

      He opens one eye, glancing at you, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “You gonna keep showing up to my events?”

      You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow. “Are you implying I’ve been stalking you this whole time?”

      He lets out a soft laugh, turning to face you fully. “No. But you did seem pretty persistent.”

      You grin, leaning back on your hands. “Guess I can’t argue with that.”

      He sighs, rolling onto his side to face you. “Then yeah. You’ll need an NDA.”

      You bite your lip, pretending to think about it, then nod slowly. “Fine, I’ll sign. But only if you promise to stop acting like I’m some crazy fan who’s not actually pretty cool.”

      He chuckles, his eyes twinkling with something you can’t quite place. “You’re definitely crazy, but I’ll admit, you’re kind of cool.”

      You roll your eyes, but there’s warmth in your chest. “Oh, thanks.”

      He shrugs, but the smile never leaves his face. “You’re welcome.”

      The storm outside has finally quieted, leaving only the occasional distant rumble as a reminder of how chaotic things once were. The space between you and him is still charged with everything you’ve just shared, but there’s a peaceful calm settling in. The kind that comes with knowing that, no matter how strange or messed up this situation is, there’s something real here. Something that sticks.

      You look over at him. He’s lying back on the pillow, his eyes closed, a faint smile on his lips, but there’s something different about the way he’s looking at you now—something softer.

[darlingdilf]

FUKUZAWA TEACHING KENJI HOW TO USE A PHONE THATS ADORABLE WHAT THE FUUUCK

[mysticlael]

My most famous thing ig Bat inco quotes

Roy: Sorry it took so long to bail you out of jail. Jason: No, it was my fault. I shouldn't have used my phone call to prank call the GCPD.

Dick: Ladies, gentlemen and Dami, I want to show you the greatest thing your eyes have ever beheld! Damian: A cat? Dick: No. Damian: A kitten? Dick: No! Damian: A kitten with a little hat on? Dick: NO! Damian: Consider me uninterested

Barbara: I’m not like other girls. I’m way, way worse.

Jason: Come on, B! How any times do I have to apologize? Bruce: Once! Jason: ...No.

Jason: *banging a pen on the table out of frustration* Roy, trying to focus on a project: Stop that. How would YOU feel if I banged you on the table? Jason: I— Jason: I don’t know the correct answer to that question.

Kon: I'm sorry. Please talk to me. Tim: Kon: Hello? World's most amazing person?? Sweet pea? Precious cinnamon roll that's too good for this world, too pure? Tim: 'Sorry' doesn't bring back my fucking M&Ms.

Tim: God has let me live another day and I'm going to make it everyone's problem.

Duke: Okay, who's turn is it to give the pep talk? Dick: It's Cass' turn. Cass: Don't die. Dick, wiping a tear away: Truly inspirational.

Jon: Fight me! Damian, standing behind him and holding a knife: *mouths* Do not.

*The squad's reaction to being told they're the chosen one* Bruce: I will not let you down. Steph: Sounds fun. Cass: K. Jason: No, I'm fucking not. Tim: Do I have to be? Dick: Please God, I am so tired.

Steph: I dare you- Dick: Jason is not allowed to accept dares anymore. Steph: Why not? Jason: "I have no regard for my own or others personal safety", as some would say.

Bruce: Tim, is that my mug you’re drinking out of? Tim: No, it’s mine. Bruce: It... looks just like the one I have... Tim: You don’t have one like this anymore.

Damian, eating a meal: I poisoned one of our glasses… but I forgot which one. Jason: The way this dinner is going, I pray to God that it’s mine.

Steph: I think we can be evil. As a treat. Cass: We? Steph: We. :)

Tim: I don’t even have time to tell you how wrong you are. Jason: Okay? Tim: … Tim: … Tim: Actually it’s gonna bug me if I don’t, so—

Dick: Litte Wing, it’s a shooting star, let’s make a wish! Robin!Jason: I wish for good grades. Dick: Nerd. Jason: Nevermind, I wish upon the shooting star to fall down at a 30° velocity aiming for Dick. :) Dick: Jason…

Jason: Clownery. Tomfoolery. Absolute fuckery, I am going to revoke your life privileges.

[atrirose]

⠀⠀( ⠀⠀치클 ⠀⠀) ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ GRWM ⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀⠀💭 ! ⠀⠀ enha

⠀⠀ s : GRWM to break up with my boyfriend oops ! ᆼᆽᆼ enha ! bf x f ! r .. tiktok 𝓈eries ⠀⠀⠀ㅜㅜ warning : kissing + FLUFF wc 1.2k ꒰ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ꒱ seiu : tt update after 300 yr

— HEESEUNG LEE

you sat on the bed with a phone sat up, recording you with heeseung in the background not paying attention, lost in his phone “get ready with me to break up with my boyfriend” heeseung’s eyebrows furrowed as he turned towards you, your back faced him, “what are you talking about?” he questioned “not now babe i’m trying to film a tiktok”

“no i can see that but would mind explaining yourself real quick yn” he scooted closer to you, grabbing your shoulders to make you face him “it’s a get ready with me video hee” you said rolling your eyes “yeah i know that but what do you mean ‘to break up with my boyfriend’?” he said, you try not to laugh but it’s impossible seeing how serious heeseung is “god you are so cute” you said as you cupped his face and gave him a quick peck “i was just joking”

“it better be joke, we aren’t ending ever”

— JONGSEING PARK

“what are you doing?” jay asked as you set up the camera “just a tiktok” he hummed going back to his song writing “hi guys ! get ready with me to break up with my boyfriend” you peered over jay from the camera, he didn’t even move an inch, still busy with his notepad writing, “so me and my boyfriend have been dating for 3 years now and honestly he is the best you could ask but i just don’t feel like it anymore so i decided to break up with him” you did your skin care as you blabbed nonsense but jay still remained stoic.

you switched off the phone as you stomped your way towards him, he looked up with a smirk “what’s wrong darling? are you done with the tiktok?” this cheeky bastard “you…” you are pouting trying to find the correct words but instead of you getting a reaction out of him he has you all bothered “me?”

“meanie” you said walking away only to be pulled by him, you landed on his lap, he hugged you tightly “we are not breaking up ever so these pranks won’t work on me, why don’t you find another one hmm?” he said pressing you against his chest

“you and me have to grow old together”

— JAEYUN SIM

“get ready with me to break up with my boyfriend” jake looked “what?” he questioned hoping he heard wrong “jake not now im filming a tiktok”

“i’m pregnant” you whipped your head towards him in disbelief “that’s not how it works jake” you said doing your mascara while he fiddled with your jacket trying to think of some excuse “yn stop i will cry” you giggled at him, cupping his face and pulling him for a long peck “say you are joking” his face still being squeezed by your hands “it’s a prank jake sorry baby” your his nose while he glared at you “not funny, im afraid you have no humor, the police going to get you”

“i accept cuddles and kisses to forgive you for what you did”

— SUNGHOON PARK

“you’re recording?” sunghoon said as he flopped behind you on the bed watching some video on his phone “yeah” you said setting up the stuff “okay, i will turn off the volume” he said getting up to kiss your cheeks before you hit record

“hi guys, i know it’s been so long since i posted anything but get ready with me to break up with my boyfriend” sunghoon paused the video as he got up sitting next to you, his eyes scanning your face as you “babe do you need some-”

“unless you have other boyfriends you are breaking up, but you obviously don’t thus stop lying to them and start recording again” he said, he deleting the recording “you can’t do that” you said as sunghoon laid back down on the bed again “i can do anything” he said pulling you down with him, he kissed you holding your waist down while your hands travelled down his biceps “wouldn’t be able to kiss me if you break up yn” he said smirking, kissing your cheeks all the way down to your collar bone.

“you’re mine forever”

— SUNWOO KIM

“get ready with me-” sunoo enters the washroom in confusion “babe tiktok? without me?” sunoo fake pouts “sorry sun, next okay” you pecked his lips “okay but remember we have to leave soon” he said sitting down at the bed leaving the door open “okay ! so get ready with me to break up with my boyfriend” a loud voice came from outside so you went out to check what it was “sunoo are you okay?” you went over to look if he got hurt “yeah i’m fine and you can take your time yn. no rush” hearing your name instead of babe or honey made you gulp.

“i should call the restaurant and let them know we can’t make it too” he said unlocking his phone and you thought its better to say it’s a prank before he starts crying “sunoo it’s a prank babe, im sorry” he turns towards you with a smile “oh good for a second i thought we need to get on” he put his phone up and records himself while you look at him confused “get ready with me to break up with my girlfriend” you hit him as he laughs “stop”

he kissing your forehead “i can never lose you, it will break me, never joke about it”

— JUNGWON YANG

“babe this one?” jungwon asked passing you a face mask “yes thank you” you hit record as he sat on a sofa opposite to you, so he can be out of the frame, admiring his pretty girl “get ready with me ! breaking up with my boyfriend edition” his eyes quickly went from admiring to shocked big boba eyes, he looked like he was frozen “what do you mean?”

“not now won, i’m filming” he didn’t care he sat beside you peering like a cat “if this is a way to engage with audience or just rage bait, i do not care, your not do such a thing please” he said turning off your phone “saying please when i know you are giving an order” he smiled “cuddles please” — “that’s another order with an unnecessary ‘please’ i have face mask on now won” you rolled your eyes, he hugged your waist and made you lay with him.

“i do not care” he said snuggling into your neck

— RIKI NISHIMURA

“get ready with me to break up with my boyfriend-” a loud choking noise “you have other boyfriends because you sure aren’t getting ready to break up with me”

“so you are cool with me having other boyfriends but not breaking up with you” you put on your hair band to get your hair off your face “absolutely not but-” he stumbled with his words trying to find the right thing to say while you hummed and did your skincare, watching him confused “wait how did it get to me having to give an explanation when you are the one in wrong” he huffed

you giggled at his pouty face, twisting from confusion to frustration, you kissed his cheek “i was joking riki” he glared at you trying to prove he is still angry but of course that didn’t last long when you showed up with his favorite food.

“better not pull this again or you will on time out”

[frudoo]

It’s always baker!reader or butcher!Simon—which is always delicious, mind you—but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen baker!Simon (correct me if I’m wrong). Fem!Reader.

Baker!Simon who decided to take his therapist’s advice to find a relaxing hobby and taught himself to bake and decorate after retiring from the military.

Baker!Simon who runs a home bakery so he can do what he loves where he loves. Where else could he blast his favorite playlists while creating tasty treats (he’s convinced that listening to Tool truly helps make the goodies taste better)?

Baker!Simon who specializes in intricate desserts—flawless layered cakes lathered in rich buttercream, perfectly piped patterns across the surface. Soft, chewy sugar cookies with royal icing that has a satisfying snap to those who can actually bear to bite into them and ruin his beautiful designs. Smooth, vibrant macarons with a gorgeous rise and creamy ganache filling.

Baker!Simon who gets his traction on Facebook. He sells his goods on Marketplace and is a member of nearly every baking group on the site—and is quite popular amongst the older ladies in the same groups.

Baker!Simon who, as amazing as his baked goods look and taste, cannot take a flattering picture of them to save his life. Because of this, he doesn’t get as much business as he’d like. Apparently, Marketplace shoppers are picky about camera quality, as if that has anything to do with talent or flavor. Even the baking groups he’s in have given him warnings in the past to take clearer photos—the admins backed off as soon as the old ladies found out they were picking on their best boy.

Food Photographer!Reader who stumbles upon one of his groups one day, seeing the potential in his treats and knowing she could help him out with his promotion photos.

Baker!Simon who cocks an eyebrow at the ping his phone alerts him of, opening Messenger to see a pretty thing with a camera in his DMs:

Sorry to bother you, but I’ve gone through your profile and I think your work is absolutely gorgeous. If you’re interested, I’m a trained photographer and I’d like to help you out with your pictures? No charge, don’t worry. Consider it a favor between two small businesses! :)

Part 2 <3

[dreamwritesimagines]

Sunshine [3] - Downpour

AN: My loves, thank you so so much for your wonderful support and lovely comments and HCs! ❤️ You're amazing! ❤️

I hope you like this as well, and please don't forget to tell me what you think, thank you! 🥰

Thanks to @chibi-lioness for beta reading!

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Summary: Evening rain comes out of nowhere.

Word Count: 4540

CW: Smoking cigars, explicit language

Series Masterlist

Fine.

Maybe you did have a crush.

And maybe the said crush was taking over all your thoughts to the point that you could barely focus on anything other than him, but that was completely normal.

Just like you and your best friend analyzing every single second of your interaction with your crush was completely normal.

“He actually lifted your car?”

You nodded your head, filling both her glass and yours with wine before tucking your legs under you.

“With one hand,” you said, leaning back to the arm of the couch. “He did that with one hand.”

“And you didn’t jump his bones right then and there?”

“No but I may have rambled about going to jail if the car fell on him and also not knowing who would take care of Theo.”

“What is that even supposed to mean?” she asked with a scoff. “I’d take care of Theo. We’d come to visit you every weekend.”

“Thanks Julie.”

“I’d even sign you up for those inmate dating websites.”

You blinked a couple of times. “Uh, no thank you.”

“Hey, if you accidentally kill the ridiculously hot mutant guy—”

“Logan.”

“Yeah, Logan. If you accidentally kill him, you might as well exchange some dirty letters with someone else.”

“Can we please focus on the fact that I actually have a crush on him?”

“We absolutely can,” Julie grinned, swirling the wine in her glass. “Aw look at you! It’s cute.”

“It’s not cute!” you whined, slipping a little on the couch. “Julie, I talk absolute nonsense whenever he and I cross paths.”

“Babe, I mean it in the best way possible,” she said and motioned at your face. “I doubt any guy really listens to any word coming out of your mouth when you look like this, so you’re fine.”

“So not true,” you stated and sipped your wine. “I mean either way, it’s not like anything could happen between us so I’ll just, you know, fantasize about him and gaze at him longingly. Should be fine.”

Julie rolled her eyes at you. “Come on.”

“No seriously, because Theo—”

“Sweetheart,” she said. “You got pregnant at 18. Don’t get me wrong, I think Theo is the most perfect kid in the entire world but keep in mind that while we were all out partying, you were taking care of a baby.”

“It’s fine, I lived vicariously through you.”

“And now that you’re in your twenties and hot as fuck,” Julie said, ignoring your comment. “You don’t think it’s time to live a little?”

“It’d confuse Theo if I started dating around, especially with Logan—”

“Fine, then don’t date Logan. Just fuck his brains out.”

“Nope,” you said, shaking your head. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because the moment I sleep with him, I will be trying to decide on the wallpaper of our future cabin in the woods,” you pointed out, getting a handful of popcorn from the bowl and she scoffed.

“I still can’t believe you want a cabin in the woods.”

“I want a cabin in the woods and I want a horse and a cat and two dogs,” you insisted. “Anyway, the point is, no strings attached is not a thing for me when it comes to a guy that hot. He lifted a car for me, Julie!”

“And you want him to lift you up and down repeatedly,” Julie said with a grin, making you throw a popcorn at her.

“I doubt I’m his type,” you said and she groaned.

“You cannot be serious.”

“No I am, because men like him go for…” you trailed off and threw your head back. “Ugh, I so want to show you his picture so that you’ll know what I’m talking about but I don’t have one!”

“I have this mental image of a very hot lumberjack in mind.”

“That would be correct,” you said before taking a sip of your wine, but then your phone started vibrating on the table and you frowned, then snatched it off the table when you saw the caller ID.

“Theo?” you answered immediately. “Are you alright?”

“Hi mommy!”

You let out a breath at the cheerful tone of his voice, then pressed a hand on your chest and checked the time on the phone.

“What are you doing up, bean?” you asked. “It’s late at night.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“I’m with auntie Julie,” you said and Julie grinned.

“Hi Theo, I missed you sweetheart!” she called out, making Theo giggle.

“Hi auntie Julie!” he said. “Mommy, I thought about it, and I solved how I can have fish.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, a smile pulling at your lips as you shook your head.

“I’m listening, bean.”

“Okay so,” he said. “We will get two fish, and we will put them in an aquarium, but like a bowl, not a huge aquarium.”

You hummed.

“That’s where they’ll stay at the weekends when I’m there,” he said. “And then, on weekdays, I will bring them here, and put them in the lake, and that’s where they can stay within the week! They’d even make friends with other fish!”

You let out a small laugh.

“Theo, my love,” you said. “How will you catch them again if you put them in the lake?”

He paused for a moment.

“Um, I’d call them by their names,” he said. “Cheeto and Popcorn. They’d come.”

“Fish don’t do that baby,” you said softly. “How about you make friends with fish there in the lake and on the weekends they can just spend time with their own friends?”

“Yes but—” he started but then got distracted for a moment by something. “It’s my mom!”

“I know bub,” you heard Logan’s deep voice and your eyes widened. You sat up straight immediately, making Julie tilt her head in confusion. “Tell her I said hi.”

“Mommy, Mr. Logan says hi to you.”

“Uh, tell him I said hi back,” you said after a beat, hearing Theo parrot what you said as you covered the bottom part of the phone with your palm, then mouthed ‘Logan’ to Julie.

“What?!” she whispered and you cleared your throat.

“And tell him to please watch that you don’t have any sweets before bed, for his sake.”

“No!”

“Bean.”

“Ugh fine!” he said. “Mr Logan, my mom says please watch that I don’t have any sweets before bed for your sake.”

You could hear Logan’s chuckle, making you bite at your lip before he spoke.

“Can I borrow the phone for a minute Theo?”

Your jaw dropped and you motioned at the phone frantically, and Julie pulled you by the arm and made you lower the phone a little so that she could hear as well. You pressed your finger to your lips, signaling her to be silent before Theo’s excited “sure!” and there was a shuffling on the other line for a moment before Logan’s voice reached you again.

“So no chocolate before bed then?”

Julie gripped your wrist, mouthing “hot voice!” to you and you let out a giggle, trying to focus.

“Nope,” you said. “Trust me, it’s for your own good.”

You could hear Theo in the background; “I think I can have one chocolate.”

“No no,” you said, shaking your head. “He can’t.”

“Sorry bub, whatever your mom says goes.”

“Um, Logan,” you said, your mind going overdrive again. “If he’s up this late, he will turn the puppy dog eyes on for dessert, and he can be very, very insistent but sugar makes him incredibly energetic, and he will end up blowing a hole in the wall because of his powers so you can’t—”

“Relax princess,” Logan said and you could almost hear his faint smile. “It’s fine.”

Julie’s eyes widened and she fell on her back onto the couch dramatically, kicking her legs in the air while slapping the pillow and you stood up, your heart beating in your ears.

“How’s the car?” he asked and you licked your lips.

“Oh I changed my mechanic, so it’s at the new mechanic’s shop for a couple of days. My friend has been driving me to work—” Julie waved a hand from where she was lying down on the couch. “But apparently it’ll be fixed the day after tomorrow so it’s totally fine.”

“Are you being safe?”

“I am,” you said. “Are you?”

“Am I being safe?”

“Yeah,” you said with a smile. “What with lifting cars and stuff, it can be dangerous.”

“Half a chocolate!” Theo said as if it was the brightest idea in the world. “Half—Mr. Logan, can I have the phone back please?”

You ran a hand over your face and cleared your throat.

“Sorry about that,” you said and Logan chuckled.

“Not a problem,” he said. “Good night.”

“Good night Logan,” you said, your head spinning with excitement and you heard the shuffling, then Theo took a deep breath.

“Mommy, half a chocolate!”

“Not at night,” you said. “We’ve talked about this bean. You can have chocolate tomorrow morning after breakfast, okay?”

“But—”

“Theo,” you said. “After breakfast.”

He heaved a dramatic sigh.

“I know bean,” you said softly. “You’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Mkay,” he said with a huff. “I’m going to sleep then.”

“Okay, I love you!” you said. “Call me tomorrow and be nice to your teachers, okay?”

“I will,” he said. “Love you too!”

He hung up and you let out a breath, then tossed the phone on the couch while Julie sat up.

“Oh he talks you through it!” she said, slamming the pillow on the couch. “I just know he talks you through it!”

“Julie!” you exclaimed, your cheeks burning and she let out a laugh.

“Oh please, with that voice…”

“That’s what I mean!” you said and flung yourself on the couch. “He’s…he’s so amazing and Theo adores him and he’s so good with him too and to repeat, he lifted a car for me!”

“Aw,” Julie said. “He’s gonna be such a good stepdad to Theo.”

Your jaw dropped and you shook your head.

“We’re not even thinking about that,” you said, pointing at her. “We’re keeping our expectations very, very low, okay?”

She hummed, then tilted her head.

“Do you want to check Pinterest for cabins in the woods to see which one could be your and Logan’s in the future?”

You paused for a moment, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Yeah,” you said. “That sounds like keeping our expectations low, sure.”

                                                *

Despite having drunk until midnight and consequently having a hangover in the morning, the next day went without a hitch. You’d only had a couple of rude customers, which in service industry counted as a normal day if not a good one, but because of last night you were more than ready to get home, eat a bunch of snacks and go to sleep.

Towards the end of your shift, rain started pouring and you couldn’t help the whine escaping from your lips, leaning back to the counter. You could hear your friend Stacey’s small laugh as she looked out the window, then back to you.

“It’s just summer rain love,” she said. “It’ll stop.”

“Yeah but I’ll have to walk to the subway under that rain and I don’t have a coat with me,” you pointed out. “Ugh. Great. I’ll look like a horror movie protagonist by the time I get there.”

“This is why I am a huge advocate of waterproof makeup.”

You hummed, chewing on the pen in your hand as you grabbed your phone to check the weather forecast, faintly hearing the door opening behind you.

“It says it’ll rain until—what?” you asked Stacey when you lifted your head to see her raise her brows at something by the tables area and you turned your head to look over your shoulder, your heart jumping to your throat the moment you did so.

“Logan?”

Jesus, he looked way too handsome. He gave you a small smile, running a hand through his dark hair as if he was trying to get rid of the raindrops clinging to it, then approached the counter.

“Hey.”

“H—hi!” you said, your voice going way too high-pitched all of a sudden. “Uh, welcome! It’s so nice to see you, what—what can I get you?”

“I can take his order love,” Stacey said helpfully. “Your shift is over, get home before rain gets worse.”

“No no, I can stay.”

“I’m not here to eat actually,” Logan said, making you pull back a little.

“…Is Theo okay?” you asked, your stomach dropping as the thought hit you and he nodded his head.

“Oh he’s fine don’t worry,” he quickly assured you. “He was trying to name all the fish in the lake with his friends while I was leaving. I came to take you home actually.”

You blinked a couple of times.

“You drove all the way here from the institute just to take me home?” you asked just to make sure you had heard him right and he nodded again as if it was completely normal.

“You said your car is at the mechanic’s.”

One of these days, you were going to melt into a puddle in front of him.

“You really didn’t have to,” you said. “I’d hate to be a bother, and I’m sure you have other things to do, so I can just—”

“What did we say about you being too polite?” he asked, his voice almost chiding in a teasing manner, making warmth spread from your chest to your fingertips and a smile you couldn’t stop lit up your face, making you shift your weight, way too excited to just stand there.

“Um,” you said. “Just—just wait here okay? Don’t go anywhere.”

The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “I won’t.”

You took a step back, and rushed to the kitchen, making the line cook turn his head.

“Hey, leaving already?”

“Yeah. Paul, where’s the pie?”

“Over there,” he said, motioning at the counter. “What’s the rush?”

You grabbed the pie to put it into the container while Stacey entered the kitchen.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend, and more importantly, why didn’t you tell me he was this hot?!”

“What boyfriend?” Paul asked and Stacey motioned at the window.

“Look, right there.”

“He is not my boyfriend,” you said, your cheeks burning and Paul stole a look out the window, then let out a whistle.

“I was going to try to win you over but holy shit, that’s one hot dude.”

“And get this, he came here to drive her home.”

“He’s just being nice.”

“Car sex in the rain, got it.”

“He is my friend!”

“Oh really? So you’d be okay if I went out there and gave him my number?”

You blinked a couple of times and scoffed a laugh.

“Yeah but he…” you trailed off, desperately trying to come up with an excuse. “He has a girlfri—he’s married,” you changed your mind mid-sentence, nodding solemnly. “Yeah. He’s not wearing a ring because he is having it cleaned, and also he has—he has this condition that he can’t have sex with anyone. A disease.”

Out of the corner of your eye through the small kitchen window, you could see Logan tilting his head like a confused puppy.

“When he does, his partner’s… lower region just falls off, and it’s very gruesome, and if you haven’t heard of that condition, it’s because he’s like the only person in the world who has it, they named the disease after him,” you added. “Doctors call him a medical wonder.”

Stacey turned to Paul.

“She’s so gonna fuck him in the car.”

“She’s not gonna do that!” you exclaimed and cleared your throat, pushing the box into a plastic bag. “I’m—I’m leaving, I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Theo doesn’t need a sibling yet, use protection!” Stacey teased you and you shook your head, then pushed the kitchen door and stepped out.

“Hey,” you said breathlessly, your whole face on fire and you held up the plastic bag. “The pie as promised.”

He gave you a calm smile, his eyes darting over you.

“You didn’t bring a coat?”

“Um no, but it’s fine—” you started but before you had the chance to say anything else, he had already taken his leather jacket off to put it over your shoulders.

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Logan said as he opened the door for you and you stepped outside, Logan gently steering you to a truck with his hand on the small of your back, making you bite back a smile. As soon as you reached the truck and got in, you let out a breath and put the plastic bag on the back seat, then put your seatbelt on. Logan got in as well, then started the engine and began driving.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “Really.”

“No problem.”

“I could just put it in the GPS or…” you trailed off when you noticed that there was no screen or phone or phone holder in sight so you nodded to yourself. “I don’t—you know, I’m against being a prisoner to technology myself so I can totally relate, and yeah I’ll just put my phone here.”

You quickly found your home address and touched the screen, then carefully placed it on the dashboard and stole a look at him.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he said. “As long as it’s not about my condition.”

“Your condition?”

“Yeah, that disease you were talking about just now?”

Your eyes widened, your jaw dropping as embarrassment hit you, your cheeks growing hot and a whine escaped from your lips.

“You heard that?”

“Mm hm.”

You slipped a little in your seat, burying your face into your hands, the sight making him chuckle as you took a deep breath and lifted your head to look at him again.

“I can explain,” you said. “It’s just that…Stacey is—you know, she’s incredibly nice but I don’t think she’s over her last boyfriend and I was trying to spare her feelings. Wait, did you want to get her number? Because if you did—”

“No.”

A small spark of hope shot through your system.

“Oh,” you managed to say. “Okay. Um, sorry I made up a nonexistent STD about you.”

“No problem,” he said with a smirk. “But for future reference, you might want to go with the wife lie. I can’t get diseases.”

You nodded slowly. “Because of clean eating?”

“Because of the X-gene.”

You blinked a couple of times, staring at him.

“Wait, what?” you asked. “But Theo got sick multiple times after his powers showed.”

“Not for every mutant,” he said. “My body heals itself.”

“Against everything?”

“Mm hm.”

“What if we had a car crash right now?”

“I’ve been in car crashes, healed in a second.”

“What if someone attacked you with a knife?”

“Happened before, healed instantly.”

“What if someone shot you?”

“Multiple people did in multiple wars. I healed.”

You tilted your head. “I’m sorry, wars?”

“Like I said,” he said after a beat. “My body heals itself. Against injuries, and time.”

You frowned slightly, trying to make sense of what you’d just heard and as soon as the thought hit you, you gasped.

“Oh my God, Logan,” you said. “Did you know Marie Antoinette?”

“What?” he asked with a grimace, turning to look at you better. “What is it with you and Theo and France? He asked me if I knew Napoleon the other day.”

You raised your brows. “Did you?”

“No!” he said. “No, I was born in 1832.”

Holy shit, Julie was right.

You did have a thing for older men but having a crush on an almost 200-year-old man was just a little bit excessive, even for you.

A silence fell upon the car and he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “You okay there?”

“Yeah, just in disbelief,” you muttered. “Do you miss it? Back then?”

He shook his head.

“Not really,” he said. “It was terrible. Now is better, it’s just a little too...”

“Chaotic?” you asked and he scoffed, then nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “A little too chaotic.”

“I mean I wasn’t born in the 19th century but I know what you mean,” you said. “Seriously, if I could just live in a cabin in the woods with Theo and a cat, two dogs and a horse, I’d do it. I even have all their names.”

“What are the names?”

“I’m glad you asked,” you said. “The cat will be Catapult—”

“Are you seriously going to name your cat after a pun?”

“Damn right I am,” you said, counting with your fingers. “The dogs are Underdog and Overdog.”

“Jesus.”

“And the horse’s name used to be Princess Pink Sparkle Her Highness when I was six, but now I think I’m just going to name her Hi-Horse so that someone can tell me to get off my high horse one day.”

Logan looked like he was in actual pain for some reason.

“But listen, the list used to go like, a cat, a dog and a horse, and I figured like, if I get one dog, why not have two, you know?” you asked. “I couldn’t possibly leave Underdog without a friend, because as much as I love cats, they can be kind of assholes sometimes to dogs, they can’t help it, so that’s how Overdog came into being, and there were also ducks named Comma, Colon, Semicolon, and Exclamation, and their babies were going to be named Parenthesis, Dash and Hyphen but then I realized that would mean I'd need to have the cabin next to a lake, and ever since I watched that one creepy horror movie I’m terrified of lakes at night because I really don’t think we should mess with any bodies of water and—” you managed to stop yourself and cleared your throat. “Just…feel free to stop me when I do this.”

“I like it when you do it,” Logan stated without taking his eyes off the road, as if he was talking about the weather and your heart started pacing in your chest while you gawked at him.

“…People usually hate it.”

“People are idiots.”

“Someone I used to know would cover my mouth whenever I rambled too much.”

“And you didn’t break their hand?” he asked and you scoffed a laugh, then shook your head.

“Nope,” you muttered. “That sounds like a good idea though.”

“It is,” he said, reaching out to grab the cigar resting by the gear stick, and opened his window a little.

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” you said. “You smoke cigars?”

“Mm hm,” he said, patting his jeans for a lighter, then looked around the car before his hazel eyes fell on you. “I think my lighter is in the jacket pocket, would you…?”

“Oh sure!” you said and felt around the leather jacket over your shoulders, then pulled out the lighter and flicked it, the warmth caressing your hand for a moment before you held it out for him. Logan stole a look at you, his gaze stopping on your face illuminated by the flame before he leaned in to hold the tip of the cigar to the flame.

You had no idea why, but it felt strangely intimate.

“Thanks,” he murmured and you offered him a hesitant smile, flicking the cap of the lighter back before carefully placing it beside the gear stick.

“Sure,” you said, trying to snap yourself out of it. “Um, I used to smoke cigarettes. Mostly to look cool.”

“Did it work?”

“Not really,” you admitted as he stole a look at the GPS, then back at the road. “Never a cigar though, do you mind if I try it?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Corners of his mouth curled upwards. “Are you trying to look cool right now?”

“Hey, if you don’t think I’m cool after learning my future pets’ names, I don’t think a cigar is gonna help it.”

That coaxed a chuckle out of him and he held out his hand so that you could take the cigar from him. The moment your fingertips brushed against his skin, his hand twitched, a warmth spreading from your hand to your whole body. You swallowed thickly, your heartbeat getting faster and you brought the cigar to your lips with a trembling hand, then took a drag.

“Don’t inhale—” Logan started but you had already inhaled the smoke, a sharp pain stabbing you in the chest as soon as you did. Logan pulled over and through the coughs, you realized you were right in front of your apartment but you couldn’t even thank him as you pounded your chest with your fist, then took a deep breath and wiped at your eyes with one hand while handing him the cigar back with the other.

“Ugh, that’s terrible!” you whined. “You smoke that willingly?”

“You’re not supposed to inhale it.”

You made a face and wiped at your eyes again, sniffling.

“Not supposed to inhale it?” you repeated as you straightened your back to look at him better, your brows pulled together in almost a petulant manner. “What’s the point of it then?”

The calm smile that graced his lips was almost taunting and he reached out to wipe at the remnant of a tear under your eye with a knuckle, your breath catching in your throat.

“The taste, princess,” he said, his deep voice sending an excited shiver down your spine as he pulled his hand back. “The taste is the point.”

…Oh.

Oh you were so going to melt in front of him one of these days.

That wasn’t supposed to sound as suggestive as it did, you were sure of it but that did nothing to stop the fire spreading over your cheeks, making you shift a little in your spot before he nodded to the window.

“Is this your place?”

You had to force yourself to drag your eyes away from him and looked outside even if you knew where you were, then nodded fervently.

“Yeah!” you said. “Yeah that’s—that’s me.”

A silence fell upon the car and you cleared your throat, trying to snap out of the daze you were in.

“Thank you,” you said after a beat. “For…for all of this, really.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said and you looked outside again, now realizing the rain had stopped so you grabbed your phone off the dashboard, unbuckled your seatbelt and slipped the jacket off your shoulders, his unwavering gaze almost too hot on your skin.

“Good night Logan,” you said softly and opened your door to step out of the car, then made your way to the building. You climbed up the stairs, a giggle you couldn’t stop escaping from your lips as you unlocked your door, then stepped into your apartment and closed the door behind you before leaning back against it.

“Alright…” you breathed out, your heart beating in your ears. “Yeah, okay. I definitely have a crush.”

[4] - Ray of Light

[lexiputellas]

In My Defense, It Was Pretty

"I did something," you announce, strolling into the room like someone who definitely did something.

Alexia doesn’t even look up from her phone. She just sighs, already bracing herself. “Define something.”

“You’re going to find out anyway, so I’m pre-apologizing in advance.”

That gets her attention. She finally looks up, eyes narrowing like a detective about to crack a case. “What did you do?”

“Okay, so… maybe—and this is just a maybe, babe—imagine this,” you say, gesturing vaguely as if that’ll soften the blow.

She crosses her arms, unimpressed. “I’m imagining.”

“I got a text from Carla.”

“Who’s Carla?”

You gasp, clutching your chest like she just insulted your entire bloodline. “Carla? THE Carla? My sales associate from Miu Miu—Carla, who personally curates pieces for me, Carla, who understands my soul better than my own mother?”

“Which, I must add, is not that difficult,” you tack on.

Alexia blinks. “Ah.” She nods slowly, like someone preparing for bad news. “Okay.”

“Anyway, babe, you might recall a recent conversation where you suggested—very lightly, not even that seriously, honestly—that I should maybe stop buying things because it was maybe becoming a problem?”

She tilts her head in slow, deliberate suspicion. “I recall saying it very seriously.”

You wave off her correction. “Right. Well. The thing is… I don’t think it’s a problem.”

“Of course you don’t,” she mutters.

“And because I don't think it’s a problem… I may or may not have bought some things.”

“We don't even have space!” Alexia throws her hands up, her voice shooting an octave higher. “We’d have to buy a whole new house just to store your clothes! I’m this close to sleeping with your shoes next to my face because there’s literally no more room!”

“Okay, but in my defense—”

“There’s no defense!”

“—it was really, really pretty.” You grab her arm, pouting up at her. “Do you want to see it?”

She stares at you, visibly weighing whether it’s worth engaging or if she should just book a one-way flight somewhere and start over.

“Is this the part where I say no, and you show me anyway?”

“You know me so well,” you beam, already pulling out your phone.

She groans. “How much did you spend?”

You clear your throat. “That’s not important.”

Alexia pinches the bridge of her nose. “It’s very important.”

“Okay, first of all, Carla gave me a deal—”

“You mean she let you buy more so you’d think it was a deal.”

“—and second, I didn’t just buy for me!”

That makes her pause. She narrows her eyes. ”What do you mean?”

You grin, wiggling your eyebrows as you pull up the pictures. “I got you something too.”

Alexia’s eyes flicker with the briefest hint of curiosity before she schools her expression back into exasperation. “I don’t need anything.”

“You say that,” you hum, scrolling through your purchases, “but first, I saw a Naplak jacket—then a silk zippered blouson, then a boat-neck sweater, and oh, the sneakers, straight from the runway. They’re leaning into a sporty aesthetic now, and honestly, it felt wrong not to include you in the movement.”

She folds her arms, unimpressed. “You bought me a jacket.”

“Not just any jacket, babe. The jacket. A jacket so perfect, so immaculate, that I had no choice but to buy it—with all the love in the world, of course.”

Alexia exhales sharply, trying so hard not to look interested. “It better not be ugly.”

You gasp dramatically. “How dare you? I picked it, babe, have some respect.”

She sighs, clearly torn between annoyance and knowing that, in about five minutes, she’s going to be in front of the mirror trying it on.

“You’re impossible,” she mutters, shaking her head.

“And yet, you love me,” you grin, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

She side-eyes you. “I’m thinking about it.”

You laugh, already knowing how this will play out. Because later, when she thinks you’re not looking, she’s going to run her fingers over the fabric, mutter something about how it is nice, and inevitably start wearing it everywhere.

She always acts exasperated. And yet—somehow—her closet keeps making space for the things you buy.

[tsukisangel]

hq boys react to you getting hit on in dms!!

characters ꕤ tsukishima, atsumu, kuroo, daichi

wc ꕤ 926

you were laying on your belly in bed with TSUKISHIMA while he was sitting up next to you and reading. it wasn’t too late in the evening. the two of you were just winding down after a long day. you scrolled through your phone when you got a message request on instagram. you furrowed your brows, pressing it and reading it. you gasped softly, making tsukishima glance over at you.

daish.guru: hey baby ;) how about u leave that loser and get w me instead ?

you laughed in pure shock. tsukishima hummed and set his book down after placing the bookmark in the page he was reading. you held the phone up to him, and he raised his brows. possessiveness flashed in his eyes for half a second. you hardly noticed it. then he smirked, taking the phone. he didn’t even say anything. he just wrote a message and gave it back to you. then he went back to reading.

you furrowed your brows at your boyfriend, looking at the phone.

y/n: correct me if i’m wrong, didn’t your girlfriend break up with you recently? and then when you begged on your hands and knees for her back and she rejected you, you went on instagram and found objectively attractive women to hit on thinking that would work? nice try. unfortunately for me, i’m stuck with her -loser

you laughed. “kei!” you exclaimed, a grin spreading across your face. “what the hell do you mean unfortunately?”

he rolled his eyes. “should i let him have you?” he asked. “you’re interrupting my reading.” you scoffed, hitting his arm and then stealing his book. “hey.” you laughed, making sure you kept his spot as you flipped through the pages. despite the teasing, your heart was still fluttering at the message your boyfriend sent.

ꕤ

“tsumu!” you groaned. “hurry up!” you exclaimed. “i’m gonna start it without you!” while you waited for ATSUMU to get out of the kitchen and get to the living room for your night in, you scrolled instagram on your phone. you furrowed your brows when you noticed a strange dm from some random guy you didn’t even know.

terushi.ma: hey gorgeous 😍 i bet you’d have way more fun with me than that weirdo ur with ;)

“who the fuck is that?” atsumu asked from behind you. you jumped, the phone flying out of your hand. he laughed.

you scowled and pushed his face. “i don’t know. guess he thinks i’m hot.” you smiled at atsumu. “but i already know that.”

“okay, bighead.” atsumu rolled his eyes, picking your phone up. you laughed softly. he checked for cracks and then sat next to you, opening the dm. “here, take a pic with me.” he opened the camera to take a picture, then pointed to his cheek. you grinned and kissed it, hearing the camera click. then you watched as he typed a message back.

y/n: [1 image attachment]

y/n: i think she’s good bro, gl tho

you nodded. “perfect.” you said. “my protector.” you rested your head on his lap and he chuckled, setting his popcorn bowl down on your belly. you giggled.

“anything for you, gorgeous.” he winked at you.

ꕤ

KUROO walked over to you, his strong arms wrapping around your waist from behind as you prepared your breakfast. you saw his hands held your phone. he pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “why in the hell is daishou suguru messaging you?” he asked sweetly. you furrowed your brows, looking down at the message on your phone.

then you scoffed at the message.

daish.guru: hey baby ;) how about u leave that loser and get w me instead ?

“i’d like to know the same thing.” you frowned. “isn’t he from that team that cheated or whatever?” you asked.

kuroo nodded, starting to type on the phone. “cheated and still lost.” he chuckled.

y/n: daishou - 0, kuroo - 2

y/n: seems like you’re the loser here.

you laughed softly at the messages. “still holding a grudge on him?” you teased.

“no, not anymore. i’m finally at peace with it.” he grinned, setting your phone down. “food’s burning, by the way, pretty.” he walked away and you gasped, looking at the food. “maybe let me handle it next time.” he teased.

“shut up!” you exclaimed.

ꕤ

DAICHI set the plates of dinner down at the table. “thanks for cooking.” you smiled, putting your phone down face up on the table.

“of course. you deserve it.” he kissed your head. “plus, we haven’t been able to sit down and eat together for a while.” he sat down across from you, drinking from his cup of water. “i’m just glad i get to spend some nice, slow time with you.”

you nodded. “me too.” you said happily. as soon as you had both relaxed and started eating, you saw an instagram notification.

tets.kuroo: are you made of fluorine, iodine, and neon? because you’re F-I-Ne ;)

you furrowed your brows, about to grab it, but daichi grabbed it before u did. you saw him read it, look up at your bewildered expression, and then you watched him block the guy who messaged you. you could've sworn you saw his eye twitch. you raised your brows. “that’s that.” he said.

you smiled. “don’t be jealous.” you teased. he shook his head and you stood up, wrapping your arms around his neck. he looked up at you, pulling you down to press a kiss against your lips.

“you’re mine.” he said softly. you nodded, kissing his head.

“forever.” you smiled, glancing at the ring on your finger.

m.list

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[mandalhoerian]

Repost because tumblr's tags were broken yesterday and it ate my post up 😞 Spoilers and translation notes for Rafayel's intertidal zone & analysis because it kinda floored me, I was just as a blank page as he was throughout this. I had to watch it like 5 times to understand what the story was saying and dig into chinese and japanese versions of this to piece together what was really happening. It may be my idiot brain not getting it and maybe it was like the easiest thing to understand for you but. Yeah. I may be just dumb LMFAO AND!!!! There's also a theory of mine into how Rafayel is actually able to read mc's mind/wishes through their lemurian bond, so stay tuned for that I guess

EDIT: correcting some transcriptions of chinese characters and the translations. sorry about that! google couldn't transcribe it correctly. for clarity's sake i will also include original screenshots. please tell me if anything is wrong!

EDIT 2: Check out part 2 to this as well for stuff I missed!

EDIT 3: An Abysswalker connection I found

EDIT 4: Debunking the myths of non-consent & Rafayel hurting MC in the spicy scene

So Rafayel’s whole deal in this memory, I believe, is dependency. Like, too much intensity, too much need, too much fear -- about scaring her off, about what he sees himself possibly becoming in the future, overall just being too reliant on mc and getting scared by it.

Let's begin with this massive fear of being a taker, not just in the “I’m stealing someone’s fries” way, but in this existential, soul-deep kind of way where he’s terrified of turning everything he loves into something he exploits out of demand for his art. And yeah, it’s sad when you first hear him say it, but it’s also really interesting when you look at how this all ties into his relationship with MC and his inspiration source drying up because of her.

Before Rafayel became an artist, he looked at the world in this super pure, wholesome way. Sceneries and nature were just there, things to admire and feel awe over without needing to do anything about it. Like, imagine standing at the edge of a desert, looking at a sea that’s drying up. Sure, it’s tragic, but it’s also kind of beautiful in a raw, heartbreaking way. That’s how Rafayel saw things, he could appreciate them without feeling like he had to do anything.

But then Rafayel started creating, and suddenly, sceneries weren’t just sceneries anymore. They became inspiration. He wasn’t just admiring beauty, he was extracting something from it, its meaning, its pain, its soul, to turn into art for other people. And that made him feel all kinds of icky, because now he wasn’t just looking at the drying sea. He was taking from it. Just as he's using his people's pain in his art as well, that's also a thing.

Now let’s talk about MC. Rafayel loves her like he used to love those sceneries,,, in this pure, untainted way. There's a parallel here. But here’s the kicker, he’s not the same guy who can just admire something and leave it untouched anymore.

And suddenly, this is no longer only about losing inspiration for him.

This happens after he and MC get together, and it’s like all the pain and anguish that used to fuel his creativity just.. ... dries up. He can’t find that spark anymore because now his life is surrounded by love instead of suffering. In fact, his inspiration starts coming from her and it's starting to clash with how he makes art. In the phone call, he seeks her out and says he needs her so bad and she only needs to talk to help him out. This is the first wink wink nod nod of the story.

So what does Rafayel do? He goes on this big, dramatic trip to "find inspiration" (or at least his muse), but it’s not just about his art. He’s not just looking for inspiration, he’s trying to figure out how to be less dependent on her and becoming increasingly more restless over this. The temparature and physical discomfort is making things worse, he's anxiously overthinking, and imagine trying to fight this and the longest art block as of late off when all you want to do is indulge in this special person and be comforted like a lap cat all day every day.

He understands that if he lets himself indulge without restraint, one day his love for mc will turn into pure need. He’ll become more and more greedy, and he doesn’t want that and is afraid of being abandoned because of that growing neediness and dependency.

This is in relation to his art, because as @/dat-silvers-girl put in the comments, he's struggling with "the genuine fear of not being able to enjoy anything in life because all you're thinking about how to use it (as an artist)" . what if he starts doing this to her? to their love and relationship? take from her, and become someone who only takes in every area of life -- like someone who only exploits things by extracting what he feels about them to use it for his art. he's afraid of that, he doesn't like that and possibly doesn't like himself who does it. so why should she? she would leave him for sure, in his head, that's a solid reason to.

The first time around he brings up his anxiety about MC leaving him out of the inner realization of his dependency, the possibility of just what he can become, and fear of abandonment. she effortlessly soothes his worries. It's heavily implied they did it afterwards and after hearing "her life has already been consumed by him" he tweaked out a little bit and his "obsession" seeped through.

After it fades to black, he says ほら……僕もとっくに……君に侵食されてしまっているんだ…… which means "See... I've already been completely consumed by you too" in Japanese instead of the life being made a chaotic mess localization. While I think MC's line was jokey and lighthearted, I don't think this man is joking at all. Rafayel didn't say his life was consumed by her as well, he said HE was consumed. Ouh.

This took the edge off from him for a while but they hadn't gotten to the root of the problem yet, so he was back to square one after the memorial hall, because remember, he's trying to find inspiration as an act of making this dependency of his better. Pain and suffering are all around him here, which his inspiration feeds off of. The dried up ocean he could hear weakening, the skeleton of the whale, the burden of his people and homeland more prominent than before. And what does MC do? Tear through the perspective of pain and introduce a hopeful alternative, "Isn't it a surprise to see an ocean in the middle of the desert?"

This is a place that gave Rafayel the height of helplessness and suffering when he visited by himself before despite momentarily being hopeful after the locals told him such a place existed. But now, she was there to comfort him through his loneliness and pain, hug him, and give him hope yet again. He brings up how he wanted to come here with the most important person to him when he was still hopeful about it before consumed by the pain of it all, and that wish has been granted. That moment has to be so powerful for Rafayel. Literally light at the end of the tunnel.

It had me reeling that he just sat in the car after all that, staring at her for god knows how long until she woke up. He was probably overthinking again, but my interpretation that it was heavily emotional for him (it could have meant so little for MC but the world for him, she doesn't even know) and he wanted to be in that moment with her, just feel and look without restraint. Indulge a little. (I can just imagine him going just a little bit more, I'll go after she wakes up.) And like. His eyes are shining in the darkness is the description here. Perhaps he was feeling so much here. So much love. So much happiness. And he's about to go in for a kiss (heavy breathing and everything) after that, but holds himself back and actively has to pry himself away. He's feeling the neediness again.

That’s why he makes an effort to actively wean himself off and says he'll be okay on his own. What he says to her after MC is like "spoiling him" being all "hey you're sick maybe don't go? or let's go together?" (which is NOT helping Rafayel at all) is even more meaningful in Japanese and I didn't know why they left out this context, but the rearranged line would be "Do you want me to become a sea creature beached on the sand after the sea recedes, unable to breathe on my own ever again?"

Yeah. YEAH. This is about dependency. (He's saying don't coddle me I'll literally become that wolf tearing his shirt meme 😭)

So of course his stubbornness and anxiety force him to do things without MC and distance himself, he can do it. He’s determined to prove to himself that he can endure it on his own.

I also feel like part of the reason he insisted on going to the salon alone is that he’s still worried mc might come to dislike the version of him who's someone he's so sure she will leave, who isn't perfect and he hides behind the persona he's put up just for her. If he truly becomes addicted to her and shows her everything/his true self, and she ends up leaving him, it would completely break him. He's trying to be like "im so normal about her haha" but he's so not normal about her at all. He's literally obsessed I feel like, and perhaps this is him fighting it knowing it's not healthy.

and OOOH about why he ends up coming back from the salon all hot and bothered.

I have strong context that she flicked the bean in there after he left her high and dry in the car ("hot water washes away the stickiness from my body and his stifled breaths still echo in my ears, enveloping me along with the steam in the bathroom. The warmth from his fingertips lingers in the places where he touched me..." is the english. however, in chinese, it goes "熱水洗去身上的黏膩，壓抑的喘息迴盪在我耳畔，和浴室裡氤氳的水氣一起包裹著我." stating "the suppressed breathing" -- which doesn't have any possessive adjectives when I translated it on google and later explicitly asked chatgpt if it had any his/my adjectives involved, just to be sure. it said no but i'd like it if a real chinese speaking person could give their input on this !!! PLEASE DONT LEAVE ME WITH CHATGPT

so um. if the context is in fact the case that he heard her masturbating to him, the intensity with which he attacked her would be normal, I think 😭

I have belief that MC unconsciously shatters his "training himself to be without her" determination through their bond. She just keeps thinking about him the entire time. about him reading her thoughts, though. we still don't know all about the lemurian bond they share. I’d say it grants him some sort of mind/heart reading ability or connects their minds together (when she was thinking about whether she should hug him, he answered “yes”).

At the salon, I imagine Rafayel was already thinking about her like crazy. Then he realized, or perhaps, "heard" she was still worrying about him and thinking of him (as much he thought about her) and decided to go back. Rafayel probably felt that suppressing himself was only making her more anxious and unsettled. She's thinking all about him, unconsciously calling to him to come to her, she didn't want to let him go at all, wanted to go with him, etc...

but even if it was his own decision and no mind reading was involved... uh. If you ask me. He did quite literally hear her after coming back. That's also something that might make him think she wants him as much as he wants her, which made his self-restraint utterly meaningless from the start.

Disregarding this theory of mine proven wrong until a Chinese speaker helps me out here, MC returned to Rafayel's room. A translation omission happened here from what I saw. There are no possessive adjectives in the Chinese text about the room she returns to, and the Japanese one states she returned to the guest room (doesn't specify which one. She was also able to enter Rafayel's room without needing to knock before.)

so uh. she went into rafayel's room y'all. the line "this is my room, you're the one who walked in here" MAKES SO MUCH MORE SENSE. (SO LIKE. NOT ONLY DID SHE GO INTO HIS ROOM, SHE FLICKED THE BEAN THERE AND HE POSSIBLY HEARD IT. SHE'S MORE OF A FREAK THAN HE IS, I UNDERSTAND WHY HE LET GO AFTER THAT LMFAO)

I don't put it past him to get worked up after he finds her in his room post-bath even without my theory lmfao (idk why they put her in a dress when she should be in a bathrobe or something 😭)

His conclusion at the end of this memory that "he finds inspiration in pain and the art of creation is a part of his life. mc made him realize love and art are so alike. even if they don't complete him but burn him instead he wants them (love and art) with every fiber of his being" and MC says she doesn't like that, rightfully so.

So like. There's SO MUCH to unpack in here.

When Rafayel says he finds inspiration in pain and that creation is a part of his life, he’s admitting something raw and essential about himself: pain isn’t just a byproduct of his art, it’s intrinsic to it. For Rafayel, pain and art are intertwined in a way that’s almost inseparable. It’s like his muse isn’t just beauty, but beauty that hurts.

But then he takes this further by connecting art to love. He’s realized that both art and love demand the same from him: vulnerability, passion, and sometimes suffering. They don’t necessarily complete him (he’s not romanticizing them as salvation), but they burn him, wear him down, consume him (coincidentally, this is something he said to MC in the JP dub of this memory, that she consumes him), but also give him life. And for Rafayel, that’s the crux, even if they burn him, he wants them with every fiber of his being.

This is such a Rafayel thing to say. It’s dramatic, it’s tortured, but it’s also deeply SUBTLE. He doesn't spell all of these out, mind you, I got a headache trying to understand him. Or I'm just slow, I don't know. It shows how much he values creation and connection, even if they come at a cost.

MC, on the other hand, challenges this perspective. When she says she doesn’t like that he views love and art as things that burn him, she’s pushing back against the idea that suffering is a necessary part of creation, or love. MC doesn’t want Rafayel to see their relationship as something that requires him to hurt. She’s telling him, “You don’t have to destroy yourself to love me.”

When MC says, “You’ll never have to burn for me,” she’s giving Rafayel an alternative to his destructive mindset. She’s saying that love doesn’t have to hurt, that their relationship can exist without him sacrificing himself on the altar of passion. It’s a refusal to let Rafayel romanticize pain as the price of love.

And I love that Rafayel goes, "Will you help me look for other parts in life outside of pain?" in response. This is NOT about art or inspiration anymore, and the way the dialogue is written is just AUGH. Again I had to rewatch this over and over again for the nuances and subtext.

I love MC's response, she knew exactly what to say. “I’ll always be the one who walks along the shore with you. Of course, diving into the sea bed is fine too. If it can snow in the desert, there will be a day when the ocean returns.”

MC’s response is layered with metaphors, but at its core, it’s about unwavering support and hope::

Walking along the shore: This represents safety and companionship. MC is saying she’ll be with Rafayel in the calm, in the moments where they’re just observing life without diving into its depths. She’ll be his steady presence, his grounding force.

Diving into the sea bed: This is an acknowledgment that life and love sometimes require going deeper and they may go through hardships, into the unknown, the murky, the challenging. MC isn’t afraid of this, she’s willing to go there with him too.

Snow in the desert and the ocean’s return: This is a symbol of hope and transformation beyond being a nod to The Sea of Golden Sand. Snow in the desert seems impossible, just like the idea of Rafayel finding inspiration outside of pain might feel impossible to him. But MC believes in the extraordinary, in change, and in the possibility that beauty and creation can exist outside of suffering.

Her words are a promise: she’s willing to stand by him, to face the unknown together, and to hold onto the belief that a new way of seeing the world is possible.

And Rafayel LOWKEY PROPOSES IN RETURN.

By saying “let’s watch the sea together,” he’s accepting MC’s offer of companionship and hope in the long run. He’s recognizing that life doesn’t have to be about diving into the depths alone, it can be about sharing the experience with someone else, even if it’s just standing on the shore and watching.

“Every sea”: This phrase is key. Rafayel isn’t just committing to one kind of life or one kind of inspiration, he’s opening himself up to all possibilities. Watching every sea means embracing all facets of life, whether they’re calm or turbulent, painful or beautiful. It’s a marriage proposal declaration that he’s ready to explore the world beyond pain, with MC by his side.

So. I love that his inspiration returns after his freak is accepted by MC because he literally feels the acceptance through the bond.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. This memory DRAINED me. They were just supposed to bang what the fuck happened. Why did I have to go treasure hunting to find what was going on in this card. anyway...

[v0idwraith]

This is the only thing I’m going to say on the matter of Neil Gaiman for now:

The accusations against him are awful. If they are true, I wish the victims nothing but the best. I am not going to speculate about whether or not they’re true, because that would be incredibly disrespectful. What I am going to do is wait until we have more information before saying anything definitive. Because from my understanding (and correct me if i’m wrong,) this information is coming from a single true crime podcast that almost no one has actually listened to in full, and that does not seem like an incredibly reliable source of information. I am not defending Neil in any way here, but I do think it’s important to always take the time to gather information from multiple sources, *especially* with something as serious as this.

Also, if you’re one of the people going “oh no what does this mean for Good Omens season 3??” Literally shut the fuck up, put your phone down, and go outside. That is not even remotely important right now and it’s an incredibly insensitive and tone-deaf thing to say.

EDIT 8/2/24 (Because Tumblr decided this should be the top post on my page.) There are now several people who have listened to the podcasts in full and publicly posted all the info from them. I’d encourage everyone to read at least one of those posts (preferably more than one, everyone is biased in one way or another) and make up your mind from there, not from the hundreds of posts paraphrasing and doing the whole “well I heard from this person who heard from this person who heard from this person” thing. Also, while I haven’t looked into this much myself, I’ve heard other people are coming forward with accusations against him.

Edit 1/13/25

[imloyaltoscoups]

"Accidentally" calling him Daddy

It had been a lazy friday afternoon, the two of you lounging on the couch. Seungcheol had one arm slung over your shoulder while his other hand absently scrolled through his phone. You were half-watching a movie, but your focus drifted to him—his black fitted shirt accentuating every sharp line and curve, his chest rose and fell with every relaxed breath he take, his hair brushed up effortlessly, revealing that maddeningly perfect forehead. Not to mention his long eyelashes that's longer than yours, and those pouty lips—damn, your mind screamed "DADDY CHOKE ME". You didn’t even realize you said it until it was too late. “Can you pass me the remote, Daddy?”

The words slipped out so casually that you didn’t register their weight until you caught the subtle quirk of Seungcheol’s lips. His smirk was slow and deliberate, like he’d just uncovered your deepest secret. He turned his head to look at you, a playful spark igniting in his dark eyes. “What did you just call me?” he asked, his voice low and teasing. Your heart nearly stopped. Heat rose to your cheeks as you scrambled to backtrack, feigning innocence. “I said Cheolie. You heard wrong.” His smirk grew wider, and he shifted so he was fully facing you, his knee pressing into your thigh. “No, no. You definitely didn’t say Cheolie” he teased, his tone dripping with amusement. “Go on. Say it again.” You shook your head furiously, burying your face in the throw pillow to hide your embarrassment. “I’m not saying anything,” you mumbled, your voice muffled. But he wasn’t letting it go. Gently, he tugged the pillow away and leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Don’t be shy now,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. “You called me Daddy so naturally. I think I like it.” You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Cheol, stop it. I didn’t mean to—it just slipped!” He chuckled, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “Oh, I know it slipped,” he said, leaning back against the couch, his smug expression firmly in place. “But now that it’s out there…” He trailed off, letting his words hang in the air. You peeked at him through your fingers, narrowing your eyes at the satisfied grin he wore. “Don’t get any ideas,” you warned, though your voice lacked conviction. Cheol simply shrugged, reaching over to pull you into his lap. His arms wrapped around your waist, and he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Too late, baby,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours. “I think you just gave me a new favorite nickname.” Your face burned as you tried to squirm out of his hold, but his grip was firm. “Cheol!” “It's daddy, remember?,” he corrected with a wink.

[heavyhitterheaux]

Mo' Money Mo' Problems

See Me Through You Blurb

Synopsis: Asking for help has always been hard for you, but when you aren't left with another option, your recently drafted NFL boyfriend comes to your rescue

Pairing: Boyfriend!Joe Burrow x Girlfriend!Reader

Requested: by a gorgeous anon 😍

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Erin looked at you as you sat down across from her and sighed. This had been going on for the past week and you had now given yourself a headache trying to figure out what you were going to do.

“Call your boyfriend.” Erin told you as she threw your phone for you to catch it, but you quickly shook your head no as you caught it before it hit the floor.

“I am not calling him.”

“And why NOT?” She exclaimed and looked at you as if you were crazy.

“Because this is my problem and I'm going to deal with it. I don't have to run to him for every little thing.”

“YOUR BOYFRIEND PLAYS IN THE NFL! AS A QUARTERBACK! Or did you suddenly forget?”

“Just because he plays in the NFL doesn't mean I’m going to take advantage of that.” You said as you crossed your arms.

“Bestie, I love you but you fucking annoy me so much sometimes. So let me ask you this, Joe doesn't have a problem asking you for sex correct?”

“What in the world are you getting at?”

“Answer my question.”

“No, he doesn't.”

“And he fucks you raw simply because you had a fucking pregnancy scare two semesters ago when he won the Heisman.”

“Erin, get to the point already. I was scared out of my damn mind.” You replied as you rolled your eyes.

“My point is that you shouldn't have a problem asking your boyfriend who fucks you raw for money. At the very LEAST like bare minimum he can give you a little cash.”

“I get it but..”

“Uh no you obviously don't. And you know how he is. First thing out of his mouth is going to be why didn't you tell him. I'm convinced that man would drink your bath water if you let him.”

“I swear you get on my nerves.”

“Welp been doing that since we were three and that's not changing any time soon.”

“I don't know. I feel kind of weird asking people for anything. Like not just him and I’ve always been like that.” You said as you got up to go into your kitchen with Erin following close behind.

“It's not like he's going to want you to pay him back. I guarantee you that he'll give it to you without a second thought. You never know unless you try. Surprised he hasn't put your name on the bank account yet.”

“Something is wrong with you.”

“Bitch, don't act like he's not going to put a ring on your finger. Surprised he didn't do it our first semester.” Erin told you as you turned to look in the freezer for ground turkey to make homemade burgers for the two of you.

“Yes, obviously but not yet.”

“He is literally just waiting for you to graduate to do it.”

“And how do you know all this?” You asked as you began to cut up red onion along with some green bell peppers.

“I just do and like I said, he would drink your bath water.”

“Ew, Erin that's nasty.”

“Just calling it like I see it. But if you don't fix this in 48 hours when your rent is due, I'm calling Joe.”

Twenty four hours later you were finally lying down in your bed after a long and exhausting day, your phone rang indicating a facetime call coming through and you rolled over onto the other side to answer it. When your boyfriend's face came into view, you instantly smiled.

“Hi my love.” You quietly said and wrapped yourself tighter in the blankets that were covering you while propping up your phone.

“Hey baby doll. How was your day?” He asked while it looked like he was sitting up against the headboard.

“Hmm, long. I've been up since 4 in the morning. But you know I never pass up an opportunity to talk to you. I miss you.”

“I miss you too and Erin called me.”

“What? Why?”

She literally only gave you 24 hours and not 48 like she promised.

“You tell me. Something going on that I should know about?” Joe asked and you continued to look at him confused.

“Uh, not that I can think of.”

“Let me ask you this then. Have you paid your rent this month for your condo?”

“No and I have no idea why she called you. I told her I would take care of it.”

“Because you miscalculated your bills for this month and they added a whole bunch of fees and you decided to suffer instead of calling your boyfriend for help.”

“I…”

“Is that it?”

“I didn't want to bother you.” You quietly said and Joe just looked at you.

“Seriously? When are you ever bothering me? I have another question for you.”

“Yes?”

“You plan on being with me for a long time, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you know that I'm going to take care of you right? Especially when you graduate and move up here.”

“Yes.”

“So, why wouldn't I take care of you now?”

“I know you will, but if I can do it on my own, I'm going to try to.”

“But I'm here and you don't have to. Aren't you a WAG now?” Joe asked as he smiled at you.

“I want to be the W and not the G.” You replied without skipping a beat.

“Who’s to say that I don't already have your ring?”

“Well, my finger is still bare so? What does that do for me?” You told him as you held it up so he could see your hand.

“Touché, princess.” Joe told you as he smirked.

“Mm hmm, that's what I thought.”

“But next time you come up here we're picking out a house.”

“I…”

“Me and my future wife along with my future kids need a place to live so we can start looking. Or we can have it built, your choice."

“And a new car, mine is on its last leg.”

“Name it and it's yours. That goes for whatever else you want to.”

“NO! I'm going to get it! You are not going bankrupt buying someone who is not even your wife expensive things.”

“You ARE my wife; it's just not on paper yet.” He told you as he shrugged while your cheeks began to heat up.

“Babeeeee.”

“What? I'm not saying anything that isn't true. And besides, I'm not spending any money from my contract. Just my endorsement deals. But back to our original problem, you're good for the rest of the year.”

“I… JOEY! That was like 4,000 dollars!”

“Money is not a factor when it comes to you. If you need it, I'm getting it. So can we move on?”

"Fine, while I have you in a giving mood, I want an elephant." You replied and Joe simply gave you a blank stare.

"Best I can do is the Cincinatti Zoo, you gotta work with me here."

"Well, you said 'name it and it's yours'."

"Baby, I meant within reason and an elephant is not within reason."

[sinofwriting]

Horny Teenagers - Max Verstappen

Words: 1,189 Summary: If Max and her were only allowed to say one thing that people described them as, it would be horny teenagers. They disagree with that entirely, after all what’s wrong with having a healthy sex life? Note(s): Suggestive Themes, Slightly NSFW

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“Max, how do you feel about the most recent interview your team principal did?”

Max raises an eyebrow, not understanding the question from Olav.

“He described you and your girlfriend as horny teenagers.”

“I mean, I don’t see how we are. I think of it as us having a healthy sex life.” The words slip off his tongue before he can stop them and he can see Y/N just a few feet away cover her mouth at the Dutch words and he worries for a second but then sees her shoulders shaking with laughter.

—

“Red Bull is going to kill us.” She pants, her hand fisting the hair at the back of Max’s skull, his lips sucking a bruise into her neck.

“Like they’ve been threatening for two years?” He smirks, squeezing at her leg that’s wrapped around his waist and really he’s lucky she wore this dress, such easy access to everything he wants.

Her laugh turns into a moan as he grinds his hips into hers, eyes slipping shut.

“I just won my fourth championship. I think they can forgive this.”

Her free hand pulls at the waistband of his pants, fingers grazing over his bulge that’s pushing at his zipper. “You say that like we ever need an excuse to fuck in a club.”

“No, but it certainly helps.”

She hums, eyes opening and she can spot more than a few phones pointed at them and it’s really lucky that Max is so broad. They more than take risks, but Max would never let anyone see any part of her, always sure to press her face into his neck, hiding everything he can so he can greedily have it all for himself.

“Take me back to the hotel? I can’t congratulate you properly here.”

“Whatever you want, schat. Whatever you want.”

—

“You did amazing.” Her voice is nearly a shout and Max’s smile widens, eyes crinkling at the edges and his arms are wrapping around her waist, their lips pressing together.

Her hands immediately go to his face, feeling the flush of his cheeks, the slight sweat dripping from his brow. And she giggles against his lips as one of his hands moves to her ass, grabbing and pulling her closer. She nips at his bottom lip in revenge, breath hitching at the near growl he gives.

“You're getting it later.” He warns.

“Promise?”

He kisses her again. “As soon as I’m done with media.”

She watches him walk back over to where Charles and Oscar are, both shaking their heads at him, and she can see the resigned looks of most of the Red Bull team.

“Twenty seven and still playing grab ass.”

“Max is twenty-seven.” She corrects, smiling at GP and his amused expression.

“Oh yes, sorry, you're how old again?”

She shakes her head, nudging him slightly as they both watch Max step up to give his interview.

She sighs, continuing to watch him. “Winning looks so good on him.”

“I don’t need to hear that.”

“None of us do.” Rupert murmurs.

“Really starting to think you guys hate when I speak.”

“We do.”

GP nods, “Would really rather you didn’t. Don’t think I need to hear anymore about Max.”

“Your loss.” She sings, blowing Max a kiss as he looks over at her one last time before leaving for the cooldown room.

—

“Actually, before everyone goes, I wanted to let you all know some exciting news before we all see each other next time for preseason testing.”

Everyone in the room shares glances at Max’s words, the driver practically beaming.

“Y/N and I are expecting a baby.”

The room erupts in congratulations. People getting up and swarming the driver and he laughs, accepting the pats on the backs and hugs.

“How is she doing?”

“She’s doing great. No morning sickness or anything, she’s thirteen weeks along, so we finally started telling people.”

“That’s amazing, really, Max. When is her due date?”

“August 17th. A bit fortunate with the new calendar, but babies have their own schedule, the doctor told us.”

“Thirteen weeks, huh?” GP asks.

Max nods and they can see his hand twitching to his wallet and they just know that he’s got an ultrasound or two in there.

“Vegas must have been a really nice celebration.”

Max laughs, a slight pink to his cheeks. “Well, the club was nice, but the hotel was much better.”

Groans escape from everyone in the room at the reminder of all the pictures and videos that had flooded social media from that night, but they all can’t help exchange looks, more than happy for the driver but also finally, finally it would mean a break from the nightmare that was Max and Y/N together and their constant horniness.

—

Rupert looks in horror at Max’s back.

“What happened?”

Max looks over his shoulder at him, bending to get a shirt before sliding it on. “What do you mean?”

“Your back is shredded.”

“You say that like it’s the first time.”

He splutters, running a hand over his face. “No, but Y/N’s pregnant.”

“And?”

“You two are still having sex.”

Max laughs, slapping him on the back. “You do know that doctors actually encourage that right? It’s good, apparently. And what you thought that just because she was pregnant we’d stop? It’d take more than that.”

Rupert watches Max leave in horror.

—

“Max,” At the sound of his name, he looks away from Charles’ phone that displayed a picture of Leo. “I just wanted to offer my congratulations on the news of you and Y/N expecting a baby and was wondering if you could stamp out a rumor of sorts.”

“Thank you and a rumor? We are talking about rumors again? So early in the season.”

A few reporters laugh.

“It is quite early. This has to do with a report that apparently last weekend your hotel room in Bahrain was vandalized. Broken mirror, torn pillows and such.”

Max coughs, trying not to laugh as he sees actual concern on the reporter's face. “No, nothing like that happened. Just, uh, a little overexcited so to speak.”

Charles lets out a laugh that he quickly turns into a cough when feeling his press officer glare at him.

“Mate.” He murmurs.

Max smiles, dropping the microphone back in his lap as Tom changes the subject, asking Jack something. “Well if I said any more I’d get fined.”

“I can imagine.” And Charles’ gaze softens. “I know I’ve said it already but congratulations. You and Y/N will make excellent parents.”

Max’s smile widens. Charles had been the first driver to text him to offer his congratulations, and his repetitiveness of offering them was nice. It was good being so close with Charles after their rocky karting years. “Thank you, Charles. I’m starting to think you want to be in the running for godfather.”

“Oh, absolutely. If not, I better be known as uncle Charles. I’m offering piano, Italian, and karting lessons.”

“Fucker.” Max mumbles at the last one with an amused look and small nod before turning his attention back to Tom.

[nereidprinc3ss]

come on home

in which the only person who can comfort you after your breakup with spencer reid, is spencer reid

inspired by the song "summer's end" by the artist currently known as phoebe bridgers

wc 2857

warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), minor mommy issues, angst, happy ending

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this:) u r an angel and I listened to this song the whole time i wrote (if you haven't heard, listen!!) i sincerely hope you enjoy, i like this one a lot<3

She hung up on you. 

Forty-seven minutes of being insulted and berated after you’d called her looking for comfort, and you put up with every single cruel word—just for your mother to hang up on you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, so you shouldn’t be surprised. An ache, you’d expect—but it shouldn’t sting like this. You thought you knew better. 

Now you’re in a ball on your couch, clutching your phone to your chest and crying. There’s no point hiding it. Your roommate is out with her girlfriend for the evening—which is too bad because even though you feel like being alone, you’re sure that’s the wrong call. Your other friends are out having fun tonight, too. They’d even invited you, but you turned them down. Look where that had gotten you. Obviously, your mother is not the person you’re about to run to for comfort, either. 

You try to pretend, while you’re thinking of all these people who have ever cared for you, that Spencer Reid isn’t on your mind at all. You try to pretend like you don’t care that the person who loved you until you believed you actually deserved it is a contact going stale deep in the bowels of your text cache. With bleary eyes you scroll down, looking for your conversation where it gathers dust—the end of your relationship was a mutual decision, and you’re friendly, but you haven’t texted in a few weeks. Probably because every time the conversation starts to feel a little too easy, or the phone call lasts a little too long, that aching void in your chest gets worse and worse. Like pain in a phantom limb, you become acutely aware of what you do not have and how much it hurts.  

So blame it on the tears, or the mind-muddling melodrama of your relationship with your mother, blame it on anything but the truth—when your thumb drops on that call button like the plunger on a syringe, you don’t regret it.  

What you’re not expecting is for him to answer after the first ring. 

“Hi,” you say with a snuffle before Spencer can get a word in. There’s a brief interlude, in which you pick at your nails, comfortable to just sit in silence if that’s what he wants. As long as he’s there. 

“Hi.” Hearing his voice instantly melts a bit of the weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Another pause, for which you remain silent, because you can feel him formulating a question—and you’d like to hear him speak again. “...am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?” 

Your lips purse and twist to the side, pained and comforted by how easily he can tell that you’re distraught. One word across a tinny connection, and he knows. 

“No. Yes. I mean... I guess that’s why I called you. But you don’t have to ask me about it.” You sniff again and take a deep breath. “How was your day? What state are you in?” 

“I’m in the district,” he answers after a moment, easing into a casualness that he likely doesn’t feel for your sake. Wind crunches through the speaker. He probably just got out of work. “My day was... it was good. I got to talk about my job to a bunch of elementary schoolers, which is always a confidence boost.” 

You chuckle, still laying on your side on the couch and watching storm clouds gathering outside. 

“Nice, nice. What else?” 

“Let’s see... I forgot lunch, so I had three oranges, and they were actually pretty good. I reread Game of Thrones—I don’t know why I did that. I’m never going to like that book.” 

“Masochist,” you smile. He laughs, and you hear the sound of a car door opening. 

“Oh! I talked to my mom. Believe it or not, she says hi.” 

A completely inadvertent snort constitutes your response. It’s not what you meant to do, and out of context it’s sort of mean, but you actually think it’s incredibly endearing that he still talks to his mother about you. He scrambles to explain himself. 

“I swear, we barely talked about you this time. Mostly we talked about her new boyfriend Leonard.” 

“No, no, that’s not... I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or your mom. That’s really sweet, actually. Tell her I say hi too.” 

When he next speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I will.” Another long pause. You imagine him sitting in the parking lot at Quantico, keys vertical in the ignition of his old car and feeling the silence just as much as you are. He surprises you by not ending the conversation—instead he asks a question. It is concern, poorly disguised with nervous humor. Or maybe you just know him too well. “Do I get to find out what’s on your mind, or are you leaving me in suspense here?”  

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Um... well, actually, I just got off the phone with my mom, too. It didn’t go so well,” you laugh halfheartedly, “I know it was dumb to try and have an actual conversation with her, but... you know me. Always following blind optimism to the depths of hell.” 

“Why’d you call your mom?” he asks, so gently it brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes. Still, you attempt to put a cheerful affect on your strained voice. 

“Mm, you know. Just needed someone to talk to.” 

Spencer’s knowing sigh does little to make you feel better. 

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I know it’s... it’s different now, but... I care about you a lot. And, you know, I receive very few phone calls, so the line is pretty much always open.” 

Your laugh quickly devolves into a cry. 

“I appreciate that, but I can’t talk to you about everything.” 

“Why not?” he pleads immediately, voice thin and desperate like it’s his most burning question. A million lies dance over the tip of your tongue. A million things that feel safer to say than the truth. But in the end, it comes out anyway—choked, and so quiet, but aloud nonetheless. 

“Because I’m trying really hard to stop missing you so much.” 

Another long beat of silence. The back of your throat feels dry and hollow—a cage for your hummingbird heart. 

“If it hurts too much to talk to me, you don’t need to do that to yourself. But I also don’t want you to hurt yourself thinking you’re alone. You are... so important to me. I will always try to take care of you the best I can—whether that means staying away or being at your front door. If you ever need me, or even... vaguely want me, I will be there.” 

Each word caves your resolve. Each syllable is a slap in the face to progress you’d been pretending to make. You can be strong—you've proven that over the past ten weeks. You can be stone-faced and slash at your heart until the scar tissue is thick and jagged, and eventually it won’t hurt anymore. But maybe, by letting someone tend to the wounds, they’ll heal a little nicer. A little kinder. Even if you can’t undo the damage, maybe one day you’ll be soft again. 

“What if I vaguely want you right now?” you sniffle. 

Finally, you hear the silver jingle of keys turning. The sputter and rumble of an old engine coming to life. 

“Then I’m on my way.” 

Twenty four minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your door.  

After the call had ended, you’d wondered if you made it all up. Surely your ex-boyfriend wasn’t actually about to show up at your apartment. Someone you’ve grieved for can’t just come back—there are countless horror novels and movies based upon that very tenet. Does it matter if they ever actually died? How long is ten weeks, really? It feels like a lifetime. 

You shuffle across the room, wiping under your eyes with your already damp sleeves, and undoing all the locks Spencer had conditioned you to start using. When the door cracks open, and you see Spencer standing there, windswept and concerned, for the first time in months, it hits you like a tidal wave. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, still just as in love with him as you ever were. The relief that floods your veins as he looks down at you with so much care in his eyes is like sinking into warm water. It’s a dead giveaway, and maybe it makes this whole thing a terrible idea, but you can’t seem to care very much. You open the door wider, and he enters, and he stands in your kitchen with his hands in his coat pocket as you shut the door and he’s perfect. It dawns on you that for the first time since the breakup, you feel safe. Like you don’t have to be a stone pillar anymore. This, of course, translates into even more tears, which you try to hide as you face away, re-locking the door.  

“Sweetheart...” he sighs, because you can’t hide anything from him. Hearing the resonance of his voice so close to you once more is overwhelming. In an instant you’re rushing into his arms, and he accepts you without hesitation. You bury your teary face in the vetiver safety of his button-up and slip your arms under his coat, as if you could absorb his warmth and forever hide from the world that way. He pulls you even closer. It’s terrible and cruel how much he is exactly what you needed. “What’s wrong? What did she say?” 

You shake your head and gasp a small sob. 

Truthfully, you’re not really crying about the petty insults from your mother anymore. You’re back to square one, the reason you’d called your mother to begin with—you miss the man whose arms are currently wound around your shoulders. 

His hand smooths over the back of your hair. 

“Okay. That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

You stay like that—content even as you cry because being with him feels so much safer than being alone. It feels right—or perhaps it’s just familiar. You don’t know which is worse.  

Spencer is rubbing soothing lines up and down your back as you cling to him, soaking him up in all his ephemeral, comforting glory. He surprises you by chuckling—it vibrates through his chest, buzzing against your ear. 

“Nice Magritte print. I bet the person who bought that has fantastic taste.” 

“Are you gonna ask for it back?” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket. He is, of course, referring to the painting you’d more or less stolen from his apartment seven months ago. You really don’t want him to take it home. It’s the most overt Spencer memorabilia you’d allowed yourself to keep in plain sight. 

“No, baby. You can keep it.” The words are low, and kind, and they settle you some, but you can’t seem to get him close enough. “What can I do?” he whispers after a moment, helpless as you take a shuddering breath. “Can I make you tea? Have you eaten?” 

“Will you just... stay for a little bit? I’ll—I promise I’ll stop crying.” 

There is an unexpected lull where you thought you’d receive pretty immediate agreement, but before you can pull back and ask what’s wrong, he murmurs, “yeah. I can stay for a while. But you have to kick me out before it gets too late.” 

You wonder if you’re imagining the double-entendre that seems to underline his words in bold red ink. Spencer is too smart to have not noticed a thing like that. You don’t mention it—it all boils down to the same unspoken idea. 

Don’t let me stay, because I might not leave. 

“I will,” you sniff, finally stepping back and wiping your own tears. It hurts to lose his touch, but at least you know he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. This, as opposed to everything else lately, can be a beginning instead of an end.  

At least, until he goes home. 

Three and a half hours later, after tea, an impromptu dinner comprised mostly of cheese and crackers, and several vinyl changes on your record player (which served only as background noise for your long, ambling conversations), things are seeming to wind down to a natural stopping point. Which you hate. The whole time you’d had a dull ache in your chest because talking to him was easier than breathing and you knew it wouldn’t last. There had been one or two false bottoms already—the first when you’d yawned around nine, and the second when you’d gotten up to do your skincare and brush your teeth half an hour later. Even then he’d just leaned against the doorframe, watching your reflection above the sink as you talked for fifteen more minutes. Now you stand across from each other in the kitchen, plates restacked and everything in order. Of course he’d insisted on helping you clean up. 

“I should go,” he says, with a soft sort of finality in his voice.  

“Is your carriage turning into a pumpkin?” you tease gently, to hide how much you don’t want him to leave. He smiles—a small, weary thing—but genuinely and endlessly charmed by you. 

“That among other things.” 

“Would you—would you walk me to my room first?” 

The hesitance is clear in his eyes and the way his lips part as if to say, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea’, but you're sure he’s really going to leave in a moment and you’re also sure he won’t deny you this one small thing before he does. 

“Okay.” 

It’s a short, silent walk through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom door, but you can feel him trailing behind you the whole way. You stop in front of your open door, turning face to face with him.  

“Thanks,” you murmur.  

His lips pull into a melancholy smile. 

“Anytime.” 

There’s nothing left to do but wrap your arms around each other once more, tuck yourself into the you-sized space between his head and shoulder and hold on for as long as he’ll let you. The hug lingers for longer than is wise. Spencer adjusts his arms looped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nuzzle against his neck, grateful that at least he seems as reluctant to let this end as you are.  

But eventually, it relaxes. Your hold on each other loosens. His face is just inches from yours, and you get to study every plane and valley and line like you’d thought you never would again. It seems he’s doing the same—losing himself in the luxury of seeing you up close. 

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” you whisper, unable to muster any self-consciousness though you know it’s a fool’s errand. Spencer strokes your waist. 

“I can’t do that, honey.” 

“Why not?” 

His voice is just as quiet as yours. It falters slightly as he speaks, so gently, so patiently. 

“Because we’re not together anymore.” 

“Why not?” 

Your feeble, desperate supplication sounds pitiable even to you. You’re not proud, but you can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed, either. All you want is an answer. But it’s like a child asking why the sky is blue, or the earth is round. There is a definitive explanation, but mostly, the adult will shrug, and say, that’s just how it is. 

Spencer’s eyes squeeze shut. His head tilts down. 

“We can’t do this again, sweetheart. You know why we’re not together.” 

In theory—yes. You’d had so many conversations when you’d broken up. It had been a long, painful process, spanning multiple all-nighters at his kitchen table, nursing coffee and trying to convince each other and yourselves that it was the right choice. But it just feels like a horrible, horrible mistake. You feel desperate to explain this to him before he slips away again—the words come out flustered, inelegant as you cling to him.

“But I don’t think I’m getting better without you. I tried, I tried so hard to be good on my own, but everything is worse and harder and—and we weren’t sure about it then, and I don’t think it was the right choice, because I still really need you. Like, all the time. I’m—it’s not getting better without you. Nothing got better.” 

He swallows, eyes darting between yours for an infinite second. You’re breathless and your heart is pounding after your confession—you can feel your eyes stinging with the few tears that managed to escape as you spoke. 

“Everything is worse,” he agrees shakily. “Everything. I’m—I’m getting disciplinary infractions from Hotch like I’m a child because I can’t focus on anything. Game of Thrones is the most complex literature I can comprehend right now. I had to use a calculator the other day.” 

You want to laugh, but nothing is funny until he’s yours again. 

“Then come back. Please come back, Spencer.” 

Finally, he leans closer, until your heads are pressed together, and his nose bumps yours, feather light. You're dizzy. You exhale. He inhales. 

“I don’t think I knew how to leave in the first place.” 

When he kisses you, it feels like home. 

[theemporium]

[4.9k] things start to feel real as luke’s rookie season in the nhl officially begins. but maybe it’s not as bad as he thought. and maybe those good vibes will follow him off the ice too. (smut)

series masterlist

.

“You look like shit.”

“I feel like shit.”

Your smile widened as you pulled the door open further, letting the boy shuffle inside with a small wince at the bright sun shining through your windows. The hood of his jumper was thrown over his head, his curls a mess and his eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses he stole from Jack’s room after he woke up. 

It wasn’t the best state for you to see him but, truthfully, that was not his biggest concern at the moment. 

A few months away from college and he almost forgot what a bad influence his friends could be when it came to drinking. There was a vague memory somewhere around the fifth round of shots where Luke was pretty sure Nico tried to get them to drink some water, but it was pointless when Ethan found another bottle of tequila and insisted they had to drink it before it went to waste.

And, to Luke’s drunken mind, that sounded like the most logical solution. 

He was honestly surprised the three of them had managed to wake up early enough to catch the plane back to Michigan. They had woken him up to say goodbye, muttering something about afternoon practice and other things that Luke vaguely remembered before he fell back asleep for a few hours. 

Luke was pretty sure he was still drunk when he woke up a second time to the sound of Jack blasting music in the kitchen. 

Somewhere between his annoying brother and the lingering anxiety that followed with the hangover as result of the night before, Luke found himself at a local bakery to grab some goods before he stopped over at your place, not even thinking to message you beforehand (if he even knew where his phone was). 

“But you don’t smell shit so that’s a plus,” you noted as you shut the door behind him before taking pity on his state, dragging the curtains shut again whilst Luke muttered his thanks under his breath.

“I think I bought half the bakery,” Luke admitted with a sheepish expression as he extended the bag towards you. “I asked for every cherry based thing they owned, which surprisingly isn’t much.” He paused for a moment. “Maybe I should have tried another bakery.”

You laughed, brows raised in question. “I’m surprised you can stomach anything right now.”

“Oh, I can’t,” Luke said, his nose scrunching up in disgust like the idea made him feel nauseous. It did, if he was being honest. It was bad enough he almost threw up after Jack made him chug some water. “These were…well, they were the start of an apology.”

You tilted your head to the side.

“For…abandoning you in my room after everything,” he continued, his cheeks heating up. Because apparently no matter how much he drank the night before, he remembered well enough that he was a bit of a dick with how he ran off with his friends. “It was a shitty move. And it was shitty for me to make you hide under the bed.”

“That did throw me off,” you admitted, though there was a slight teasing tilt to your voice. “Although, your bed was surprisingly clean under there. No plates growing mould or other questionable diseases.”

Luke scoffed a little. “I’m not a slob.”

You shot him a look.

“I’m not that much of a slob,” Luke corrected, grumbling under his breath before he let out a sigh. “You know, you are making this apology a lot harder than I imagined it being.”

“Probably doesn’t help that you’re hungover as fuck,” you teased, but you took the baked good from him. You peaked inside, noting just how much he had actually bought and something warm twisted in your stomach. “You really didn’t have to. It wasn’t that big of a deal, Luke.”

“But it was to me,” he murmured, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “I…I shouldn’t have done that. Like, don’t get me wrong, I love my friends. And I know they wouldn’t judge me but…”

“Hey,” you stepped forward, reaching out to gently touch him. “It’s fine, I promise. This was a part you hid from them for so long and it freaked you out. I get it.”

“I’m not embarrassed by you,” he blurted out, because apparently he has no filter or control over the words leaving his mouth. “Just in case you thought that. Because I’m not. The boys would probably love you but like—”

“You just don’t want them asking questions,” you finished for him, watching as the boy shyly nodded his head. “You don’t have to explain yourself but thank you, anyways. And thank you for the pastries.” 

“Right,” he cleared his throat, nodding a little. “Well, I–”

“Go lay down,” you said, a smile growing on your face when his shoulders slumped in relief. “I wasn’t lying when I said you looked like shit. The fact you are even awake before noon is shocking, to be honest.”

“Thank you,” he sighed in relief as he made his way towards your couch, his feet shuffling against the floor. “If I had to go back and listen to Jack blast his obnoxious playlists, I would have died.”

You snorted. “Aw, baby is facing his first, proper hangover outside of cheap college vodka.”

He pulled his sunglasses off to glare at you. “Ha. Ha. Ha.” 

“Lie down,” you prompted as you gently pushed him a step forward. “We can nap on the couch. I’ll even show you the trick to hangovers.”

He raised his brows. “It’s not gonna be some weird shit like drinking raw egg yolks, is it?” 

“I was going to offer head scratches but if you want raw eggs—”

“No!”

You grinned. “That’s what I thought.” 

…

The thing about playing with the team during playoffs was that, as amazing as it was, they did get knocked out and the whole thing felt fairly short-lived.

Don’t get him wrong, it was still a surreal experience. Hockey had been a constant in his life, something that always felt familiar and welcoming no matter where he was. It had felt as recognisable and comforting to him as his family was. 

But to know he had made it? To know he was skating and playing and wearing the jersey of an NHL team? 

It brought a new thrill to hockey he had never expected, but basked in, nonetheless. It added an extra layer, an extra kick that college hockey could never compete with. It made him feel like everything was worth it, that everything worked out and his dreams aligned with the stars and—fuck, he was making his debut in the National Hockey League. 

But as fast as it came, it went. 

And then summer happened. 

And he was distracted by long nights in Michigan summer heat and cool beers and boat rides that made him feel like nothing else existed beyond the lakehouse. It felt like he was just a normal guy, spending the summer break with his brothers and his friends and pretending like life was always this easy. 

It was his last thread to normalcy before his life fully changed. 

And then he was moving to Jersey, his belongings packed into boxes and cases as he moved in with Jack for the first time since his brother was drafted. He spent days being paraded around his new city, trying to feel familiar in the unfamiliar apartment, trying to bond with a team that had been together long before his arrival. 

It was confusing and exciting and baffling and scary. Every emotion a person could experience, Luke had felt tenfold since he had started preseason training. He felt like he was stumbling through a life that wasn’t his, trying to catch up and get a hold of himself. 

Then, in a blink of an eye, he was about to step out for his first official game of his rookie year in the NHL. 

And, for some stupid reason, he was far more nervous than he had been for the playoff games. 

There wasn’t a pressure on him during the playoffs, not really. People were letting mistakes slide, willing to look over things because it was his first time stepping foot onto the ice for an NHL team. He knew he technically had that luxury now too, that he was a rookie and he was allowed to use this year to find his footing.

But it was hard to remember he was a rookie when everyone and everything kept reminding him he was the third Hughes brother. He wasn’t just a normal rookie or young kid starting out their career in the big leagues. He was the third brother to try and live up to an insane standard his brothers have set, he had to prove he wasn’t a bust who only got here because of his name. 

Luke felt more than ever that he had to prove he belonged, that he deserved to have his spot and his place in the team. That he was more than just his surname and the connotations it brought.

He had to prove—

cherry🍒: break a leg or whatever they say in hockey

cherry🍒: actually wait

cherry🍒: don’t break a leg, that would be pretty shit for you

cherry🍒: feel like it would be pretty useful to skate with two unbroken legs

cherry🍒: what i am trying to say is good luck! 

And, in a silly way, he knew it was stupid. He shouldn’t need to hear someone else say something, to try and reassure him. Jack had tried a few times to prompt the conversation as game day approached. A few of the other guys had tried too. Hell, even Quinn had called him to try and give him a pep talk.

But, in the nicest way he could put it, it felt meaningless when it came from people he felt like needed to say it. 

They needed to believe in him. 

You didn’t. 

Fuck, you didn’t even know a single thing about the sport. You didn’t understand the significance of his last name in the sport. You didn’t understand just how intense the next year of his life was about to be. You didn’t understand a single thing that the other people in his life had been trying to reassure him over. 

And, for some reason that was beyond Luke’s own understanding, that was what he needed.

He needed that unwavering, unbreakable faith from someone who didn’t have to support him. You weren’t his family. You weren’t his teammate. You weren’t a fan. You had no reason to lie to him, to sugarcoat your words and fluff away his worries. You had no reason to believe in him other than the fact you just did. 

And it was what he needed.

It was what he needed minutes before the game was due to start, the clock ticking to puck drop and his eyes lingering on your messages before he had to get up and head out to the ice.

He needed you. 

…

They won the first game of the season. 

And then, because the person in the league who was organising the game schedule decided they wanted to try and test them this early on, they played their second game the next night. 

And they won that one too.

It was surreal, to be fucking frank. It was a kind of buzz that Luke had never experienced before, not in hockey at least. 

Winning was always great, regardless of what age or what league you were playing in. Truthfully, he didn’t think anything would beat the thrill college hockey gave him. His attachment to the boys on his team, the adrenaline of the win pumping through him as he basked in the cheering crowd. 

He thought that was his peak. He thought that was the best it would ever get. 

And then he joined the NHL. 

There was something about wearing the jersey, about knowing that they had thousands of fans watching the game. There was something about skating straight towards his big brother and feeling Jack scream in his ear as they were crowded by the other boys. There was something about knowing this had been his dream since he was a kid, to know he was now living it out. 

It was the perfect way to kick off their season—to kick off his rookie season—and Luke genuinely didn’t think he could sit down for longer than two seconds if someone asked him to. His body was bone-tired, he needed decent rest because professional hockey was no joke and his body was still not used to the jump from college hockey.

But he was buzzing. He was practically vibrating with how excited he was. He felt like he could do anything at that moment.

The locker room was buzzing with talks about how to celebrate. Most of them were tired—happy but fucking tired. The younger group wanted to head out to a bar, the older ones wanted to try to be responsible for the sake of practice in the morning. Nico was somewhere in the middle, trying to be diplomatic and find a solution that worked for everyone.

But honestly, Luke didn’t want to stand in a bar where he would either have to sneak drinks or stay sober. And he didn’t particularly want to get drunk in the first place. And he didn’t want to just head home with Jack when his body felt like it could start bouncing off the walls. 

He had this ever present, insistent buzz itching beneath his skin and he had a million and one ideas on how to scratch it. 

Truthfully, everything was a blur. He didn’t remember the post-game interviews or whatever chirps were being thrown his way in the locker room. He didn’t remember what fuck-ass excuse he gave Jack as he clambered into the backseat of an Uber. He didn’t even remember ordering the Uber in the first place. 

He just knew it led him to your doorstep, knocking on your door somewhere past eleven when he hadn’t even stopped to think if you’d be awake or not. He just knew he wanted to see you. 

It was almost a shock when the door swung open a couple of seconds after he knocked. 

“Shouldn’t you be out celebrating with your team, winner?” You teased, leaning against the door as you spoke. Though, you didn’t look all that bothered with Luke showing up this late to your place unannounced. 

But his brain was still moving a million miles an hour and he knew—somewhere amongst the chaos of his thoughts—that he should have said hello, or apologised for randomly showing up, or for banging on your door when you could have been asleep.

But the only thing he managed to blurt out was, “I want to make you come.” 

You blinked. And again. And then one more time. 

And he thought his racing heart was going to explode in his chest before you pulled the door open wider, an invitation for him to step inside as you muttered something about your nosy neighbours overhearing the whole conversation and eavesdropping. 

Luke stood aimlessly in your entrance hallway, watching as you spun to quickly close the door behind him before turning on your heel to face him. You leaned back against the door, making his chest tighten in some kind of way at the way you smiled at him.

“Feeling confident after your big win, huh?” You grinned, pulling the sleeves of your hoodie over your hands, and he couldn’t help but find the act oddly endearing. “Does this mean you’re, like, first place or something?”

Luke didn’t bother fighting the smile growing on his face. “Yeah, we basically won the whole thing. Everyone has just forfeited from the championship.” 

“You know, you joke but if it wasn’t for the fact I can see you trying not to laugh at me, I would have believed you,” you said to him before pushing off the door, taking a few steps closer to him. “You never answered my question though. Did the win make you feel more confident?” 

“Maybe,” he swallowed, his fingers itching to just reach out for you the second you were at arm’s length from him. “It’s just…you always do stuff for me. I wanna do stuff for you too. But like, it’s okay if you don’t want—”

“Don’t do that,” you interrupted.

He frowned a little.

“Don’t second guess your own confidence,” you corrected yourself as you stopped just a step or two away from him. “Be sure of yourself. It’s hot.”

“Mhm,” Luke nodded, though it didn’t sound all that self-assured. 

“Remember, just like hockey. You practice and then you play. We’ve been doing the exact same.” And weirdly enough, your words were comforting. “Have some faith in yourself, Luke.” 

“Right. Just like hockey,” he murmured, glancing at the small distance between the two of you.

“Just like hockey,” you repeated with a small nod.

And, just like hockey, Luke let himself act before he over thought his actions too much. Hockey was about acting fast and thinking later. It was about acting on your instincts and trusting your teammate would be on the other side of the puck. It was about letting every move, every hit, every shot to be nothing but one hundred percent. It was about taking the chance before it was gone.

Luke took a step forward, closing the distance between you two as his hands reached to cup your face before he kissed you. You let out a noise of surprise that sounded from the back of your throat before you sunk into it, letting your hands rest against his stomach as he took control.

It was intoxicating, in a way you had never experienced with Luke before. Most of the time, he was happy to let you take control. He got this cute but hopeless look on his face when he didn’t know where to put his hands. He was happy to just sit back and let you tell him exactly just how you wanted to be touched, kissed, held. 

But this was different. It was overwhelming. It was suffocating in the best way possible. Feeling his body tower over you, feeling his large palms holding you just where he wanted you as his tongue slid into your mouth. Feeling the way Luke acted when he didn’t think, when he didn’t get in his own head, when he just let his body act the way it wanted to. 

You barely had a chance to catch your breath before his hands dropped from your face, fingers wrapping around your thighs with a stuttered ‘jump’ whispered against your lips before he lifted you with the ease only a professional athlete could achieve.

He barely pulled away as he walked deeper into your apartment, the layout practically memorised in his head considering the fact he spent just as much time here as he did in his own apartment. His arms were locked on you, not letting you slip a bit as he wandered into your bedroom, laying you down on the bed with a gentleness that made your stomach dip. 

“Show off,” you murmured as you glanced up at him, lip tucked between your teeth as your fingers brushed against the hem of his shirt.

He lazily grinned down at you. “I can be impressive sometimes.” 

“Yeah?” Your lips twitched upwards as you shuffled back until you were sat further up the bed. You reached for the hem of your hoodie, pulling it over your head and tossing the clothing off to the side. “Come show me how impressive you can be, Hughes.” 

He swallowed, eyes darting over your figure before he slowly began making his way onto the bed. “You’re sure?” 

“You were the one who came knocking on my door, saying you wanted to make me come,” you teased. 

“Yeah but,” Luke paused for a second as his gaze caught yours. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do it because I want to.” He flashed you an awkward but sweet smile. “Consent is sexy, you know?” 

You snorted, but you grinned back at him. “You have my consent to make me come, Luke.”

“Uh,” he cleared his throat. “I just…I want you to enjoy it but I don’t…”

“Breathe,” you murmured in a softer voice, reaching up to gently squeeze his cheeks to catch his attention. “I’m still here, you’re not doing this alone. Just like hockey, remember? Think of me as your teammate.”

His face instantly scrunched up. “I really don’t want to be thinking about any of my teammates right now.”

You snorted, despite yourself. 

“Yeah, okay, maybe not my finest choice of words. What I’m trying to say is that you’re not doing this alone. Sex is a ‘two way street’, ‘it takes two to tango’ kinda thing, Luke,” you spoke as you reached down to guide his hands to the waistband of your leggings. “We’re doing this together.” 

“Together,” he murmured with a nod.

“Just like hockey,” you said to him again, seeing a hint of his earlier confidence shine in his eyes as his fingers hooked the waistband of your leggings before pulling them down your legs. 

He tugged them over your feet before throwing them off to the side, where your hoodie still laid. He didn’t even hesitate before he ripped his own shirt off over his head, in some weird mixed statement so you weren’t the only one who was half-naked—and because he felt his whole body running far warmer than he thought was normal. 

“Foreplay is important. It’s like warm-ups, it’s necessary and preferred and makes the game easier, as well as more enjoyable,” you said, your voice a little lower than before as you gently guided one of his hands from your waist downwards. “It makes her feel good. It makes you feel good. It’s sexy.” 

“Sexy,” he noted with a nod, though his eyes were transfixed on you. 

Luke gulped a little as his fingers rested along the elastic waistband of your panties. His heart was racing in his chest and blood was roaring in his ears and it was a little hard to focus on the words you were saying when his dick was twitching in his sweatpants.

“Just gotta know where to touch her,” you whispered, lip tucked between your teeth as your fingers lightly skimmed over your clothed cunt. You choked out a gasp as you pressed a slow, deliberate circle over your clit. 

He didn’t think even a meteor crashing into your bedroom could make him tear his eyes away from you right now.

“Try.”

Luke’s brows raised a little as you stared at him expectantly. 

“C’mon, winner,” your lips twitched upwards. “Just like hockey.”

Just like hockey.

Luke slowly ran his hand over your waist, feeling the cotton fabric of your panties under his touch. He kept his eyes locked on your cunt, trying to ignore the way his hand was shaking as he ran his fingers along the fabric. 

A soft sigh left your lips and his eyes snapped up to look at your face, to watch your expressions closely to see what you reacted to. His thumb pressed down experimentally and your nose twitched a little.

“A little higher.”

He listened. 

“Firm but gentle.”

He listened.

“Fuck, just like that, Luke.” 

He listened.

“A little faster.” 

Luke listened. 

He listened as you guided him. He listened until there was a small wet spot on the front of your panties. He listened until you were panting and telling him to pull them down your legs. He listened as he gently glided his fingers between your folds, watching with dark eyes as his fingers glinted with your release. 

“I get it,” he muttered out at some point, his thumb pressing down on your swollen clit as your hips bucked up against his touch. “The noises. Why you like them.” He gulped a little as his eyes glanced up at you. “You sound pretty when you’re moaning, Cherry.”

“Shit,” your eyes fluttered shut as you reached down to grip his wrist. “Just…fuck, I need to feel you inside me.”

His cheeks burned hot. 

“Just,” you panted, chewing down on your bottom lip until it was red and a little swollen. “Slow, okay?”

He gulped. “You sure?” 

You huffed out a laugh. “You wanna make me come?”

He nodded.

“Then yeah, I’m sure,” you murmured, brows furrowed together as you felt him glide his fingers through your folds until they were completely covered. 

And, if Luke was being so completely honest, he could have come in his pants from the sight alone. It was like at the last possible moment, his brain remembered to look up as he slowly slide one finger inside you and, fuck, he was glad he did.

He felt entranced. He felt mesmerised. He felt like he was stuck in some sort of hypnosis and he couldn’t look away. 

He wanted to burn this moment in his memory so he could never, never forget it. He wanted to memorise the way your eyes fluttered shut. He wanted to memorise the way you felt squeezing around him, like you didn’t want him to ever leave. He wanted to memorise the way your lips parted with a silent scream as he slid another finger inside you, as he curled his fingers, as you bucked your hips. 

He wanted to remember every single fucking moment until the day he died.

“A little faster,” you breathed out, your head thrown back on your pillow as he followed your instructions. “Shit, yes. Like that. Fuck.”

“Good?” Luke murmured, his whole body feeling like it was on fire and his dick straining against his boxers but, fuck, he couldn’t care less when his attention was on you.

“Good,” you confirmed with a nod as one hand gripped the sheets, the other reaching down to give your clit some attention. “So good, Luke.” 

Something in his stomach flipped at your words. 

If someone asked Luke Hughes how the last forty-eight hours of his life had been, he would tell them it had been fucking amazing. 

And if they asked him what the best moment was, he should probably answer that he has too many to choose from. That maybe it was the fact he officially started his rookie year in the National Hockey League. That maybe it was the fact he won not one, but two NHL games. That maybe it was the fact they won them one after the other. That maybe it was the fact he did all of the above whilst sharing the ice with his big brother.

But, in all fucking honesty, Luke would have chosen this moment. 

He would have chosen the sight of you writhing and squirming beneath him. He would have chosen the sight of you panting and moaning and begging. He would have chosen the sight of you coming on his fingers, your back arching off the bed and his name a whimper on your lips. He would have chosen the sleepy smile you gave him as your body twitched as he pulled his fingers out, already missing the feeling of you clenched around him. He would have chosen the look of pure lust and desire in your eyes as you watched him slide his fingers in his mouth, his body moving before his brain caught up as he sucked the taste of you off his fingers. 

He would have chosen this moment. And maybe that realisation would be a lot more alarming and head-spinning in a couple of hours, but right now it was a passing thought before he slumped down on the bed next to you.

“Luke?” 

“Hm?” 

“You’re a good student,” you murmured, feeling a smile on your lips as he let out a small huff of laughter. “A little more practice and I think you could have a good business going for you if the hockey thing doesn’t work out.”

He shook his head. “I think my skating skills are still better than my sex skills, but the confidence you have in me is appreciated.”

“Hm, true,” you said as you nudged his arm, lifting it up before you curled into his side. Luke didn’t say anything but wrap his arm around you to pull you closer. “You do skate very fast.” 

“Those two videos really told you everything you needed to know, huh?” He teased, his words light-hearted and joking and warm. 

“No, the games you just played told me that,” you corrected.

Luke froze, his mind replaying the words in his head like he wasn’t sure he heard you right the first time. “You watched my games?”

“Yeah,” you answered like it was obvious. “You said they were the start of the important ones, the ones that counted. I mean, I didn’t understand half of it and I spent a significant amount confused but,” you paused to shrug. “I wanted to support you.”

His chest tightened and it was a little harder to breathe, but he didn’t really want to let you go just yet.

“You didn’t have to,” he eventually choked out.

“I wanted to,” you answered before continuing. “Who knows, maybe I’m your good luck charm.” 

He knew you were joking. He could hear as much in your voice. But it still made his heart clench a little at the thought.

“Guess you gotta watch every game then.” 

“Guess you gotta teach me the game so I understand it then.” 

His arm tightened around you, his face burned red and his heart skipped a beat or two. But he still managed to mutter out, “Deal, Cherry.”

.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

lil edit if you saw this beforehand no you didn’t 💗

“how. the hell. can you eat that ?”

your boyfriend slowly stop licking at his spoon, glancing at you. who has been stuck in that same position, looking at him with that same disgusted look for a hot minute now.

“it’s good.” he shrug, dipping his spoon in his chocolate fudge ice cream for another spoonful. “your ice cream’s melting.”

“you’re fucking crazy.” you say it with no emotion, slowly blinking at him like he actually went insane. he huffs loudly, talking with another spoonful in his mouth “then why didn’t you say anything about it when you went to get it for me at the store ?”

without looking away, you dips your spoon in your own ice cream and shove it in your mouth, a simple cookie dough flavor. a classic, a good flavor. “because i was hoping, that when i came back here with chocolate ice cream you’d correct me and tell me that wasn’t the one you wanted and i’d heard you wrong over the phone..and yet here you are.” katsuki snorts rolling his eyes, shoving you with his shoulder. you squeal, almost dropping your tub of ice cream and glaring at him. he sends you a side glance and a smirk.

“you’re such a loser.”

“at least i don’t like chocolate ice cream” you gag.

he rolls his eyes “you fuckin’ chew your ice cream, and you act like i’m the weird one.”

“you do it too !”

“shut up.”

katsuki shovels another spoonful, leaning towards you as you back away. he chuckles “want some ‘a mine ?”

“ ugh, no !” you yell revolted. “get that away from me.”

“c’mon, ‘m sharin’ witcha.”

“katsuki, i’m so serious !” he snickers, getting the spoon in his mouth before it melts and splatters on the couch, as much as he loves to annoy you he hates making a mess. the way he has the nerve to hum after tasting it has you scrunching your face up.

“lemme get some of yours then.”

“nuh, uhn ! i don’t want your nasty chocolate residue on my spoon ! either you get another one or nothing for you.”

“you’re so dramatic.” he complains, but stalks towards the kitchen to get himself another spoon. he hums when the taste hits his tongue.

“see ? this is good ice cream.” you nod to yourself, katsuki flicks your forehead teasingly muttering a “dumbass.”