#i always feel like im forgetting something lol

[missmaymay13]

Home Is With You - j.hughes

j.hughes x oc

13k

summary: jack was a patient person, and he was willing to wait as long as everlyn briar needed to realize that he was there for her.

warnings: none

authors note: another request! hope you guys enjoy this one! im having so much fun writing :) i really need to work on my summaries lol. im awful at them.

Quinn Hughes knew a lot about hockey.

Ask him about any game in the last decade—NHL or juniors—and he could give you a detailed play-by-play, rattle off stats like they were embedded in his DNA, and even tell you the name of the ref who made that terrible call in the second period. Hockey ran through his blood. It was his language, his rhythm, his safe place.

Academics, though? That was a different story.

It wasn't that he wasn't smart. He was just... uninterested. Unmotivated. The kind of kid who could get through most classes on charm and bare-minimum effort, skating by (pun intended) with a shrug and a smile. But junior year hit different. The coursework was harder, his travel schedule was crazier, and even Ellen—his endlessly patient, fiercely supportive mom—was starting to worry.

So she did what any mom would do: she found him help. Enter Everlyn Briar.

She was a sophomore, which at first felt weird to Quinn. A younger student tutoring him? But it took less than five minutes into their first session for him to realize Everlyn wasn't just smart—she was brilliant. The kind of person who didn't just know the answers, but understood them. Who explained things like it was no big deal, casually dropping SAT vocab like it was regular slang. She was taking AP classes in everything and somehow managing to be the captain of the school's volleyball team.

And not just on the volleyball team—she ran it. Confident, poised, competitive as hell.

Quinn didn't know people like her existed in real life.

He also didn't expect to like her.

At first, he resented the whole tutoring setup. It made him feel dumb, and if there was one thing Quinn Hughes hated, it was feeling dumb. But Everlyn had this way of making you feel like you were capable. Like you could be just as smart as her if you tried. She had an addicting personality—effortlessly cool, quick-witted, with a sense of humor that caught him off guard more than once.

And then there was her smile.

God, that smile. Bright and full of mischief, like she was constantly in on a secret she might let you in on if you were lucky enough. It was the kind of smile you couldn't forget, even if you tried.

Their tutoring sessions slowly evolved into something else. Something casual, something natural. They'd meet in the library or the back corner of the local coffee shop, but more often than not, their study sessions would end with them laughing over inside jokes, sharing stories about their teammates, or mock-roasting each other over their wildly different Spotify playlists.

Within a few months, they were inseparable.

It wasn't long before their social circles started to blur. Everlyn met Quinn's friends from the team, and he got introduced to her volleyball crew. Weekend hangouts became group events—bonfires, house parties, late-night diner runs. It was all fun and games until people started dating each other and everything got predictably messy.

Typical high school chaos.

There were breakups that forced the group to awkwardly take sides, dramatic friend group rifts, and one infamous party where someone tried to stage an "intervention" for a relationship that wasn't even official. Through it all, though, Quinn and Everlyn stayed solid. He'd show up to her games, she'd come to his. They were always seen together—heads tilted close in conversation, sharing drinks, stealing fries off each other's plates without asking.

Years would pass before either of them realized just how much those years mattered—how foundational they were. Before either of them would understand that what they built back then, in classrooms and crowded kitchens and half-lit basements, was going to follow them far beyond high school.

Because this isn't just Quinn's story.

It's Jack's too.

And for Jack Hughes, Everlyn Briar wasn't just some girl his brother used to hang out with.

She was the girl.

The one he was never supposed to fall for.

⸻ It started small.

At first, Everlyn would stay a few minutes after her tutoring sessions—just long enough to chat with Quinn before he got dragged off to practice or dinner. Then she'd linger a little longer, helping him pack up his notes, maybe sneaking in a few teasing jabs about his handwriting or his inability to remember historical dates. Eventually, Quinn started inviting her over for actual study sessions at his house.

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, Everlyn Briar became a regular fixture at the Hughes household.

It was Ellen's idea, really. She was over the moon about Quinn's sudden improvement in school—how he seemed lighter, less tense. His grades had gone up, but more importantly, so had his confidence. And she noticed it wasn't just the academics. Her son was happier. There was a spark in him again.

So of course, Ellen wanted to meet the girl responsible for that.

That first invitation came wrapped in the form of a casual offer: "Why don't you just stay for supper, sweetheart?" And Everlyn, who had only meant to drop off a study guide, hesitated just long enough for Ellen to smile and wave her into the kitchen like she'd already been part of the family for years.

It was so simple. So easy. So warm.

Everlyn didn't realize how much she needed that warmth until she felt it.

The Hughes house was nestled at the top of a long driveway, the kind of home that looked like it had history—scuffed baseboards, picture frames lining the hall, cleats piled by the door. It smelled like home-cooked meals and dryer sheets, and the moment she stepped inside, she could feel something shift in her chest.

There was life here. Real life.

Trophies filled the shelves—some polished and gleaming, others dusty with age. Framed photos covered the walls, capturing every phase of childhood: first goals, missing teeth, family vacations. Hockey sticks leaned against corners. A dog barked from the backyard. Laughter echoed from upstairs.

It was messy in the way that made your chest ache with comfort.

She could've cried.

Because back at her own house, it wasn't like this. Not anymore. The silence there was deafening, broken only by the sound of raised voices behind closed doors or the slam of a front door that never quite shut all the way. Her parents were in the middle of what could only be described as a war disguised as a divorce—ugly, drawn-out, venomous. And lately, Everlyn had become the easiest target.

It wasn't physical. Not exactly. But the emotional toll? That was harder to explain.

The tension followed her like smoke. Her mom was sharp with her words, her dad cold with his distance. The house was split in invisible lines—rooms she couldn't go into without a fight, conversations that ended in tears, meals that were eaten in silence. And she, caught in the middle, found herself suffocating more and more with each passing day.

So she escaped. Any chance she got.

Practice. Study halls. Library sessions that lasted until closing. Couch cushions at friends' houses. Empty locker rooms. Anywhere but home.

Which made the Hughes' house feel like a gift from the universe. An oasis.

The first person to greet her that day—besides Quinn—was a thirteen-year-old Luke Hughes, peeking cautiously from behind his older brother's shoulder. He had that awkward middle-school lankiness, all limbs and big eyes, his dark hair a little messy like he'd been running around all day. Shy but clearly curious, he gave her a wary glance, unsure of what to make of the girl standing at his front door with a backpack and a too-kind smile.

"Hey," Everlyn said softly, crouching down just a little to his height. "You must be the famous Luke. I've heard you've got a killer slapshot."

Luke blinked, then gave the tiniest, bashful nod—cheeks already a bit pink. And just like that, she'd won him over.

From then on, he was her shadow anytime she visited. Offering her cookies, showing off his hockey cards, even once letting her watch him play NHL on the Xbox. Luke Hughes was a soft, sweet soul—and he, like the rest of the family, made space for Everlyn without asking for anything in return.

Next came Ellen and Jim.

They met her with hugs, no hesitation, like she was already part of something. Ellen's warmth was maternal and immediate—offering her water, asking if she was hungry, complimenting her necklace. Jim's was quieter but genuine, his handshake firm, his smile kind. And both of them went on and on about how grateful they were to her for helping Quinn—not just with school, but with his peace of mind.

"You've brought such a light to him," Ellen had said, eyes crinkling. "I don't know what we'd do without you."

Everlyn had smiled and said thank you, but the words clung to her like armor. A light. She didn't feel like a light lately. Not with everything going on at home. But maybe, just maybe, here... she could be.

She was still soaking it all in—memorizing the faces in the photos on the walls, the way the floor creaked in certain spots, the steady hum of a home that felt alive—when the front door opened again.

And in walked Jack Hughes.

He was fifteen then. Already taller than most of the guys at school, with dark, boyish hair that curled a little at the ends and those unmistakable Hughes eyes—sharp, expressive, like they could see straight through you if he wanted to. His backpack was slung lazily over one shoulder, cheeks a bit flushed from biking home, and there was a faint scowl on his face until he rounded the corner and saw her.

Everlyn.

His brother's friend.

The one he wasn't expecting to look like that.

Jack froze for half a second, and it was only noticeable if you were really paying attention. His mouth opened just slightly, like he was about to say something and forgot the words. His eyes did a quick sweep—face, hair, eyes, outfit. And then he recovered, tossing on that signature smirk he wore like a badge.

"Hey," he said coolly. "You must be Everlyn."

She looked up from the couch, smile blooming. "And you must be Jack. I've heard a lot about you."

"Only the good stuff, I hope."

"That depends on your definition of 'good.'"

Quinn snorted from the kitchen, and Jack rolled his eyes. But his gaze didn't leave her. Something about her pulled at him—a softness behind her confidence, something that made his usual smoothness falter just a little.

And when she smiled at him—really smiled, all teeth and light—Jack Hughes, the confident, cocky middle brother, felt his heartbeat do something stupid.

Like skip.

He'd seen her before, sure. In the hallways at school. At volleyball games he'd gone to half-heartedly with Quinn, back when she was just a name he'd heard in passing. But seeing her now, in his home, on his couch, laughing with his brothers?

She wasn't just a name anymore.

And he didn't know it yet—but this girl, this friend of his brother's with the soft voice and the sharp mind, was about to change everything.

⸻

It was subtle at first.

A lingering glance here. A too-long laugh there. The way Jack's eyes would flick toward her in a crowded room, like his brain was hardwired to track her presence no matter what else was happening.

Jack Hughes had a crush.

A real one. The kind that made your chest tighten and your thoughts trip over themselves. But this wasn't just any girl. This was Everlyn Briar. The girl who tutored his older brother. The girl who had somehow woven herself into the fabric of the Hughes home like she'd always belonged there. The girl who showed up with a smile and stayed with a purpose.

And Jack—who usually had no trouble flirting, who could talk circles around most girls his age—suddenly found himself stammering or going completely silent anytime she looked at him for too long.

He hated it.

Well, no. He didn't hate her. God, no. He hated the situation.

Because she was Quinn's friend. His tutor. His person. And there were unspoken rules about that kind of thing—lines that brothers just didn't cross. So Jack kept it cool. He played the role of younger brother, occasional background comic relief, the charming but harmless kid who just so happened to stare a little too long when she wasn't looking.

But all of that restraint unraveled a little the night Quinn decided to throw a party.

Their parents were out of town for the weekend—a rare escape for Ellen and Jim to have a weekend to themselves—and Quinn, being a senior with a newly found sense of confidence and freedom, took full advantage.

The guest list was mostly hockey friends and volleyball players, a mix of athletes and classmates that made the house feel loud and alive by 9 p.m. Jack got the nod to invite some of his own people too, a gesture from Quinn that meant more than it seemed.

Jack wasn't exactly part of the "cool" senior crowd yet, but he could hold his own. And when he found out Everlyn would be there—of course she'd be there—he felt this strange mix of nerves and excitement hum beneath his skin all day.

He played it off well. Showed up in a backwards hat and his best hoodie, dapped up his friends, cracked jokes in the kitchen while snagging handfuls of chips. But all of it—every last bit—was background noise.

Because the second Everlyn walked through the door, it was like gravity shifted.

She was wearing a soft, oversized crewneck and jeans with a rip in the knee, nothing overly flashy or dramatic. Her hair was half up, half down, effortlessly undone, and she wore that familiar look of ease and lightheartedness that made her glow in every room.

Jack could barely breathe.

She looked beautiful. Not in the "done-up for a party" way, but in the "this is just who I am" way. She laughed with her whole body, tossing her head back when one of her friends made a joke, squealing when she missed her last cup in beer pong by a half inch. Every reaction was real—genuine, unfiltered, and full of life.

And Jack?

Jack was down bad.

He nursed a red solo cup and watched her from across the room, his gaze drifting back to her like a reflex. He tried to distract himself—mingled, played a game of flip cup, even tried talking to a girl from his grade who'd clearly been waiting for him to notice her. But none of it landed.

His attention was elsewhere. Always.

And then, at some point in the night—around 1:30 a.m., when the music had dipped into mellow territory and some people had already started crashing on couches—he realized he hadn't seen Everlyn in a while.

Like, a while.

It wasn't like her to just disappear without a word, especially not from a party like this. And something about that silence scratched at the back of his brain.

So Jack set his cup down and started looking.

He did a quick sweep of the main floor—kitchen, basement, backyard. Nothing. He passed by groups of people talking, laughing, someone snoring softly under a blanket on the recliner, but no sign of her. His steps grew quieter as he crept upstairs, the noise from below fading into a dull hum.

And that's when he found her.

The door to Luke's room was cracked slightly, soft light filtering out into the hallway. Jack pushed it open just enough to peek inside—and his heart stilled.

Everlyn was curled up on the far side of Luke's twin bed, one arm tucked beneath her head, the other resting gently across Luke's chest. The youngest Hughes was sound asleep, face relaxed in that vulnerable way only kids have when they're completely safe. A "Fast and the Furious" movie played quietly on the TV, Vin Diesel's voice barely audible over the low rumble of cars on screen.

Jack stood frozen in the doorway.

There she was. Not at the center of the party, not surrounded by friends or attention or lights—but here. With Luke. Tucked into a quiet room, keeping him company, protecting him in the smallest, softest way.

His throat tightened.

Behind him, he heard quiet footsteps and turned to find Quinn standing there, eyes a little glassy from a few drinks but still focused.

"She's been checking on him all night," Quinn said, voice low. "Kept sneaking upstairs just to make sure he was okay. I think he was a little overwhelmed with all the noise, and she didn't want him to feel left out. Ended up tucking him in about half an hour ago, I guess."

Jack didn't say anything at first. He just watched her for a moment longer, taking in the way her brow was slightly furrowed in sleep, how her fingers were still gently curled around the blanket like she didn't even realize she'd nodded off.

"She's got a big heart," Quinn added, clapping Jack softly on the back before heading downstairs again. "We're lucky to have her around."

Yeah, Jack thought, his pulse thudding. He really was.

Because in that moment, standing in the hallway with the light from Luke's room casting a soft glow over Everlyn's sleeping face, Jack Hughes fell just a little deeper into something he couldn't name.

It wasn't just the way she looked tonight. It was the way she was. The way she made herself small to protect others. The way she made herself present when no one else remembered to be.

The way she already cared for his family like it was her own.

And for Jack Hughes, there was nothing more important than family.

So yeah. His crush? It wasn't going anywhere.

Not now.

Not ever.

⸻

If Everlyn Briar had to make a list of the best days of her life, two moments would sit at the very top: Quinn's high school graduation, and the day he got drafted to the NHL.

Both days were drenched in joy, but for different reasons. Graduation felt like the end of a chapter, the beautiful culmination of everything they'd built together—study sessions, long nights, practice runs, pep talks in the hallway, inside jokes exchanged during fire drills. Draft day, though? That felt like the beginning of something. The launch of a dream.

And she was there for all of it.

She still remembered Quinn's graduation day like it was etched in sun. The weather was perfect—clear skies, a breeze just strong enough to ruffle the sea of navy blue gowns lined up in rows on the football field. Ellen was crying before the ceremony even started. Jim pretended not to be emotional, but she caught him wiping at his eyes with his sleeve more than once. Luke was the only one trying to play it cool, muttering about how boring the speeches were while secretly filming every second on his phone.

Everlyn sat with the Hughes family, sandwiched between Ellen and Luke, and beamed like it was her son crossing the stage. Her hands were sore from clapping, her cheeks aching from smiling, but she didn't care. Seeing Quinn walk across that stage, cap tilted slightly, grinning ear to ear as his name was called? That was her best friend. And she couldn't have been more proud.

That night, they went to prom together.

It wasn't romantic—not exactly. It was one of those things they'd decided months in advance, a casual promise made in between chemistry notes and late-night FaceTimes. But when the day came, and Everlyn stepped out of her car in a pastel yellow silk dress that caught the light like liquid sunshine, Jack had nearly dropped the bowl of cereal he was holding.

She was glowing. Absolutely glowing.

Quinn, to his credit, played it cool. He met her at the top of the driveway in a navy suit that matched her dress perfectly, his tie just slightly crooked, which she fixed with a teasing smile and a soft touch. Ellen took so many photos, shouting at them to get "just one more!" while Jim muttered something about missing the days when prom meant sitting on the couch with cartoons and juice boxes.

At prom, Everlyn and Quinn were the couple everyone pointed to—even if they weren't a couple at all. They danced to every song, even the slow ones. They laughed until their sides hurt, took blurry selfies, and snuck out early to get milkshakes at the diner down the street. Somewhere in the middle of it all, Quinn managed to snag a make-out session with a senior volleyball player (thanks to a little not-so-subtle wingwoman energy from Everlyn), and he spent the rest of the night grinning like he'd just scored the game-winning goal.

But the real crown jewel came a few weeks later: draft day.

Everlyn still remembered how tightly Quinn had gripped her hand that morning. They'd flown out west with the whole Hughes crew—Ellen, Jim, Jack, and Luke—and even though the energy was pure chaos, it felt like magic. The kind of day you knew would change everything.

The venue buzzed with anticipation. Reporters hovered like hawks, camera flashes strobing across the crowd. Families in tailored suits and perfectly curled hair. Players fiddling with their ties, bouncing their knees, checking their phones every five seconds.

But Quinn? He was steady. Calm. Like he'd been waiting for this moment his whole life.

Because he had.

And when Vancouver called his name—Quinn Hughes, selected seventh overall by the Vancouver Canucks—the room erupted. Ellen gasped. Jim clapped hard enough to sting. Jack yelled something indistinct, probably profane, over the roar of applause.

Everlyn?

She stood up so fast she knocked over her chair.

She threw her arms around him, and the hug they shared was the kind of thing you felt in your soul. Tight. Breathless. The kind of hug that said, we did it. That all the long nights and frustrations and growing pains were worth it. She buried her face in his shoulder and whispered, "I'm so proud of you," more times than she could count.

He hugged her back just as fiercely. "Couldn't have done it without you, Eve."

He meant it.

The hours that followed were a blur of interviews, handshakes, smiles, and congratulations. Quinn was passed around from one media outlet to the next, pulled into rooms with cameras and sponsors and flashbulbs. And in the swirl of it all, Everlyn found herself drifting toward the one person who felt just as out of place as she did.

Luke.

He was quieter than usual, maybe overwhelmed by the spotlight or just missing the familiarity of home. Either way, he stuck close to Everlyn's side, and she didn't mind one bit.

They wandered the venue together, sipping soda from plastic cups, taking photos with cardboard cutouts, watching the draft board update in real time. At one point, she let him lean his head on her shoulder, his hair slightly messy from his button-down shirt collar.

"You okay, bud?" she asked gently.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Just... a lot."

She nodded. "I get it."

They didn't need to say much after that. Sometimes, comfort was just existing beside someone who didn't need you to explain how you were feeling. And Luke, in many ways, felt like the little brother she never had.

He'd called her "Evie" for the first time that day. Just once, slipping it in casually when she handed him a packet of Skittles from her purse.

It stuck.

And she didn't realize it then—but Jack had noticed.

He'd been across the room, getting a bottle of water, and he'd looked up just in time to see her crouched next to Luke, laughing at something he said. Her hand resting on his shoulder, eyes soft, her entire posture folded into care.

Jack hadn't said a word. Just watched.

And felt that same tight pull in his chest that had started months ago. The one that always showed up when she was near.

Because Everlyn wasn't just a part of their lives anymore.

She was their life.

And Jack Hughes was starting to wonder if he'd ever be able to untangle his heart from hers.

⸻

When Quinn left for Michigan, everything shifted.

It wasn't abrupt. More like the slow fade of background music when a scene ends. His absence was a quiet hum in the Hughes house, a space that felt too big without his voice filling it. His name was still spoken daily—on calls, in casual conversation, mentioned when Luke would repeat something funny his oldest brother used to say—but the energy had changed.

And with Quinn gone, so too was Everlyn's usual reason to be around.

She didn't disappear, not completely. Luke wouldn't let her. He texted her almost every day, sent her TikToks and memes, even guilt-tripped her with sad selfies captioned "you abandoned me" until she agreed to come by. Saturday mornings and Sunday afternoons became their thing—quick visits that turned into full-day hangouts, movies on the couch, post-practice runs to the smoothie shop.

But it wasn't the same. Not like it used to be.

Until Jack had an idea.

Jack Hughes had always been the sharpest of the three brothers. His brain worked fast, calculated odds like a chess master on a sugar high. And when he realized Everlyn's visits were becoming fewer and farther between, he knew he had to do something.

So, naturally, he tanked a math exam.

Not completely—just enough to raise a few parental eyebrows. He followed it up with a lazy English quiz and a conveniently "forgotten" science worksheet. By the end of the week, Ellen was concerned, Luke was suspicious, and Jack was already plotting his next move.

"I think I need help," he told his mom with carefully rehearsed sincerity. "Like... tutoring help."

Ellen blinked. "You? You've had straight A's since third grade."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling. "Maybe I peaked early."

Ellen didn't question it further. Within an hour, she was on the phone with Everlyn, practically begging her to step in.

And when she agreed? Jack almost jumped out of his seat in joy. Almost.

The first tutoring session was a masterclass in subtlety.

He showed up with his notebook wide open, pencil twirling between his fingers, and an expression that screamed I'm totally lost. Everlyn raised a brow the moment she saw his notes—color-coded, flawlessly organized, every assignment completed with precision.

"Okay, Einstein," she said, smirking as she slid into the chair across from him. "What exactly do you need help with?"

Jack scratched the back of his neck, doing his best impression of a sheepish student. "Literally everything."

But Everlyn wasn't just smart—she was Everlyn. She saw through him within the first ten minutes.

Especially when he started "accidentally" getting easy questions wrong, or pretending to mix up formulas he clearly had memorized. At one point, she gave him a pop quiz on vocabulary and he aced it in under a minute. His face turned the lightest shade of pink when she smiled at him afterward, tilting her head like she was onto something.

She never called him out.

Not once.

She just played along. Grinned when he fumbled a fake answer. Rolled her eyes when he exaggerated his confusion. And when the session ended, she leaned in with that same mischievous spark in her eyes and said, "By the way... we've got a home game Friday. You should come."

Jack blinked. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, grabbing her bag. "I'll save you a seat."

He went.

And he didn't stop going after that.

Watching her play was... something else. She was electric on the court. All 5'6 of her moving with fire and finesse, jumping higher than anyone expected, hitting balls with a precision that made the crowd gasp. Jack sat in the stands with Luke, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, trying to look nonchalant while fighting the urge to stand every time she scored.

She was fierce. Fearless. Unstoppable.

It did things to him.

After her games, she'd find him outside the gym, sweaty and glowing and absolutely radiant. Sometimes she'd toss him a teasing smile, asking, "Did I impress?" like she didn't already know the answer. And he'd say something dumb like, "You were okay," just to make her roll her eyes.

He loved when she rolled her eyes at him.

In return, she started showing up to his games. Sometimes she'd sit beside Luke, sometimes she'd bring one of her friends. Once, she even wore his NTDP jersey over her sweatshirt—completely nonchalant, like it meant nothing.

It meant everything. Seeing her in the stands with his name and number on her back sent shivers down his spine. 

Jack played like he had something to prove when she was in the crowd. Moved faster. Sharper. Pushed harder. His coaches noticed, his teammates noticed. He noticed.

And God, she was really starting to know his world too. She could match Trevor's chaotic energy beat for beat, holding her own against his wildest banter. Cole Caufield called her "the team MVP" after she roasted three of them during a team dinner. They adored her. Everyone adored her.

Jack wasn't even jealous. Just in awe.

He watched her laugh with his friends, toss popcorn at Luke, joke with his mom, and still somehow make time for him—quiet moments in the car, shared glances across the room, inside jokes exchanged through nothing but a look.

They were becoming close. Real friends.

And maybe that should've been enough.

But it wasn't.

Because somewhere between the tutoring sessions and the post-game fries, Jack's feelings had spiraled into something he couldn't hide anymore. Not from himself. Not from the way his stomach flipped when she touched his arm. Not from the way his pulse picked up when she said his name a little too softly.

He was falling for her. Fast.

And it scared the hell out of him.

Because she was leaving soon. Graduation was around the corner. College applications were already in, and she'd been talking about campuses in other states. Other coasts. Her life was about to expand in ways his couldn't touch yet.

And Jack?

He was just starting to feel like she saw him as more than Quinn's little brother.

So now, every laugh they shared felt a little too short. Every hug a little too brief. Every goodbye a little too heavy.

He knew the clock was ticking.

But God, if he could just freeze time for a little while longer... just a few more "tutoring"sessions, a few more late-night texts, a few more games where she wore his name on her back...

Maybe he could find the courage to tell her how he felt.

Before it was too late.

⸻

She was gone now.

Off chasing sunshine in California, trading small-town hallways for sprawling palm trees and crowded lecture halls. UCLA looked good on Everlyn—of course it did. Top volleyball program. Dream business school. A campus that buzzed with potential. It was everything she had worked for, everything she deserved.

But for Jack Hughes?

It felt like something had been hollowed out of him the moment she left.

He didn't say goodbye like he should have. Not really. He gave her one last hug, half-sincere, half-guarded, a little too quick. He told her to have fun. She promised to keep in touch. She didn't look back when she got in the car.

And then she was gone.

Jack tried to pretend it didn't affect him. He threw himself into hockey, training harder than ever in preparation for his draft year. He focused on speed, strength, footwork—anything to keep his mind off the ache that curled around his ribs every time he caught a glimpse of her old volleyball hoodie in the laundry room.

But autopilot only lasted so long.

Luke was quieter too. Less sunshine, more shadow. He didn't say it out loud, but Jack could feel it—Everlyn's absence hung in the Hughes house like a missing puzzle piece. Meals were quieter. Weekend movie nights didn't feel the same. Even Ellen had made a comment once, half-joking, "I miss our fourth child."

Jack missed her in ways he didn't have words for. Missed the way she used to steal fries off his plate. The way her laugh bounced down the stairs before she did. The way she made everything—everyone—feel lighter.

And then came Thanksgiving.

Quinn was coming home from Michigan. That was expected. The house had been buzzing with preparations all week—Ellen bustling through the kitchen, Jim dusting off the leaf for the dining room table, Luke threatening to eat the pie before it was even baked. Jack was looking forward to it, sure. But even the idea of a full Hughes reunion couldn't quite lift the haze that had settled in his chest since September.

Until the door opened.

And everything stopped.

It was Quinn standing there, his suitcase by his side, a trimmed beard on his jaw that made him look more like a man than a teenager. He grinned wide, stepping into the warmth of the house, pulling Luke into a one-armed hug.

But Jack barely registered his brother's return.

Because behind Quinn, suitcase in hand, stood Everlyn.

Her hair was longer now, sun-kissed and wavy in a way that only California could do. She wore an oversized hoodie with her school's logo on the sleeve and that same soft expression she always had when she was trying not to cry from happiness.

Time froze.

And then it crashed into motion.

Quinn stepped aside just in time for Everlyn to drop her bag and launch herself into Jack's arms.

"You're here," he whispered into her shoulder, voice rougher than he meant it to be.

"Of course I'm here," she murmured back. "Where else would I be?"

She smelled like vanilla and travel and something achingly familiar. Jack didn't let himself hold her for more than a second too long—but God, did he want to.

Then came Luke, barreling down the stairs like he'd been summoned by fate itself. "EVE!"

She barely had time to turn before he was lifting her off the ground, arms wrapped tight around her waist.

"Missed you so much," he blurted, voice muffled against her hoodie. "You're not allowed to leave again. I'm serious. I'll hide your passport. I'll chain your suitcase to the water heater."

She laughed, and something in the house shifted back into place.

Home.

That's what she was. What she had always been.

Jack stood back and watched her with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. She still looked at him the same way—fond, soft, maybe a little amused. And he'd gotten better at hiding how her gaze lit a fire under his skin. Better at swallowing the lump that rose in his throat when she was near.

She knew, of course.

Of course she knew.

She was Everlyn Briar. Too observant. Too intuitive. She could solve calculus in her head and read body language like a second language. Jack's not-so-subtle stares. The way he hovered near her but never quite reached. The way he smiled too hard when she was around.

And Quinn? He knew too. Jack could feel it in the sideways glances, the way his older brother's smirk would twitch upward anytime Jack so much as offered to get Eve a drink.

But no one said anything.

Because Jack never said anything.

And maybe that's why nothing ever happened.

The weekend was a blur of traditions and warmth. They ran the annual turkey trot that morning—Jack and Luke sprinting ahead like maniacs, Everlyn laughing breathlessly as she tried to keep up. They came home to Ellen's legendary spread: turkey so tender it fell apart, stuffing soaked in butter, mashed potatoes Jack would defend with his life.

It was loud. It was chaotic. It was perfect.

And when the night wound down, it felt almost scripted.

Just like old times, Everlyn slipped upstairs after dessert, claiming she was "just checking on Luke." And just like always, no one questioned it. She found him curled up in bed with the newest Fast and Furious playing, already half-asleep.

She climbed in beside him without a second thought.

Jack found them later, lights dimmed, movie credits rolling. Luke snoring softly. Everlyn curled against him, one hand draped protectively over her like Luke was afraid she would disappear if he let go. 

It made his heart ache in ways he didn't know how to name.

Because for the first time in months, everyone was home.

Everyone.

And still, something about her felt impossibly far away.

⸻

Time had a strange way of looping in on itself.

One minute, she was cheering for Quinn on his draft day, wiping away tears in between interviews and snapshots, her dress wrinkled from hugging everyone in sight. And then—just like that—it was years later, and she was back in that familiar whirlwind. Only this time, it wasn't Quinn's name echoing through the arena.

It was Luke's.

She had promised herself she wouldn't cry. Really, she had. She made it halfway through the morning with dry eyes and a steady smile. But the second his name was called—Luke Hughes, drafted to the New Jersey Devils—it was over.

A mess. A disaster, honestly.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, breath catching in her throat, trying desperately not to smudge the mascara she'd put on with care. Josh Norris had leaned over halfway through the ceremony, gently tapping her shoulder with a tissue and whispering, "Don't worry, he's the last Hughes to be drafted so you won't have to do this all over again next year."

She laughed through her tears.

Because this moment—this—was sacred.

Luke was beaming next to his buzzing brothers up front, his hands shaking just slightly as he held up his new jersey. And her heart swelled with something fierce and maternal, the same way it had when he was thirteen and scared to come downstairs to a party, when she tucked him in during Fast & Furious marathons, when he looked at her like she hung the stars just for him.

He was grown now. Taller. Broader. More confident. He was mature. Luke Hughes was no longer the little boy she once met. 

He was a man now.

But he'd still held her hand before the draft started.

Still leaned into her shoulder when the nerves kicked in.

Still whispered, "I'm glad you're here," like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

She had always been a safe space for him. And she always would be.

⸻

Jack had changed too.

Not overnight. Not all at once. But the slow kind of change that creeps in between seasons. Years had passed. His name had been called. His life had launched in ways most people only dreamed about.

And with every new city, every new headline, every new spotlight—he still thought about her.

They stayed in touch. Little messages. Summer meet-ups. Inside jokes exchanged over text. But distance made it easier to push those feelings away. He had flings, distractions, moments of temporary interest. He convinced himself it had passed.

That what he felt for her was just nostalgia.

Until she came back.

She graduated from UCLA in 2022—business degree, communications minor, a resumé that practically glittered. And then, in the kind of twist only the universe could write, she landed her first job in New Jersey. A start-up company. PR and account management. Fast-paced. Groundbreaking. Local.

Jack didn't find out until a week after she moved in.

He meant to message her first. He really did. But time slipped, and she was adjusting, and he didn't want to seem overeager.

Until she received a package at her new apartment. No note. No message. Just a red New Jersey Devils jersey—his jersey—and two tickets to their home opener.

He knew she'd understand.

And she did.

⸻

That night, she walked into the Prudential Center and it felt like the world had hit rewind. Only this time, the crowd was bigger. Louder. Older. And Jack? Jack wasn't a boy anymore.

He was Jack Hughes now.

Franchise face. Highlight reel superstar.

And the second she saw him skate out onto the ice, she felt her heart stop for a beat.

Because he wasn't the lanky, backwards-hat-wearing teenager who used to fake bad grades just to sit beside her. He was taller now. Broader. His movements were sharp, calculated. Every stride held purpose. The crowd roared and chanted his name when he touched the puck. He didn't just play hockey. He commanded it.

She couldn't take her eyes off him.

And he?

He felt her the second she stepped into the arena.

Didn't see her at first. But he felt her. Like gravity.

After the win, he found her in the tunnel. Same smile. Same soft eyes. But different now. Grown. Glowing.

"Hey, stranger," she said, tugging lightly at the jersey he'd sent.

He laughed, that same dopey grin breaking across his face. "Looks better on you."

They hugged—longer than they should have. He smelled like ice and sweat and home. And when they pulled back, something unspoken lingered in the air between them. A pause. A beat. Something that had never quite gone away.

They went out for drinks after, just the two of them. A quiet bar, warm lights, quiet music humming in the background. He looked different here too. Not just older—steadier. The way he carried himself, the way he ordered her drink without asking, the way he leaned back and watched her talk like he was cataloging every word.

He wasn't cocky. Just... sure of himself.

It was attractive. She wouldn't lie.

And Jack? Jack felt like he had been punched in the chest.

Because she was even more beautiful now. Effortlessly radiant. Still that same warmth, still that same grace. But there was something new too—something confident, something grown.

He kept staring at her. In the flicker of candlelight, with her hand curled around her glass and her lips curved in that same soft smile, Jack felt like he was sixteen all over again.

Breathless.

Totally wrecked.

Totally in love.

And it scared the hell out of him.

⸻

They made it a tradition—weekly coffee runs, dinner or drinks after games, late-night walks through the city. She fit into his world like she always had. Seamlessly.

She met the team. Jesper pulled her into a bear hug like they hadn't missed a day. Dawson was polite and immediately impressed. And Nico? Nico looked like he was about to make a move—until he caught Jack watching her.

Just one look.

That's all it took.

No one made a move after that. No one had to.

Because it was obvious.

She was Jack's girl.

Maybe not officially.

Maybe not yet.

But everyone knew.

Especially him.

⸻

It started the way it always did—with a ticket.

Every home game, like clockwork, Jack left two tickets for Everlyn at will call. No message. No pressure. Just a quiet gesture, a ritual of theirs that said you're welcome here. Always. And she'd used the first one nearly every time.

But the second?

She never had. Until now.

Jack's world tilted the second he saw her walk through the tunnel with someone else by her side.

He was tall. Blonde. Crisp linen shirt. One of those designer watches that practically screamed my dad plays golf with your CEO. The kind of guy you'd expect to see ordering a $19 martini and not blinking. His name was Jordan, and he shook Jack's hand with the kind of over-firm grip that tried too hard to say something.

Jack didn't flinch, but God, he wanted to.

Jordan asked questions like he was running an interview—"How's the ice this season? Do you ever get recognized on the street?"—and Jack answered through clenched teeth, polite but cold. He watched as Jordan rested a hand on Everlyn's back, too casual, too familiar. She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

Still, Jack put on the happy face.

Because that's what he did. He wasn't going to ruin anything for her—not now, not ever. She looked happy. And if that was real... well, then Jack could deal with it. He'd spent years pushing those feelings to the back of his mind. What was a few more months?

But it was a few more months.

And Jordan didn't go anywhere.

He became a fixture. At games. At dinners. Tagging along to post-game drinks, always ordering for the table like he knew what everyone wanted. Everlyn still made time for Jack, but it was different now. Tighter. More filtered. Coffee dates became his favorite part of the week—not because they were exciting, but because they were just her. No Jordan. No compromise.

Just them.

Just how he liked it.

⸻

The lake house in Michigan was supposed to be a sanctuary.

It always had been. A safe haven carved into the summers. A place where the Hughes brothers could take a breath, train hard, play harder, and be surrounded by the people who made the noise feel quiet.

It was Quinn's idea to bring everyone together that summer—an annual tradition, their own off-season camp that just so happened to include boats, beers, and more competitive tubing than anyone should legally survive.

The house buzzed with energy. Quinn had his old teammates in town—Josh and Dalton Norris, all heart and chaos. Luke brought his crew from Michigan—Dylan Duke, Mark Estapa, Ethan Edwards, each of them slipping seamlessly into the rhythm of the house. Jack, of course, had Trevor and Turcs, whose personalities were basically caffeine personified.

And Everlyn?

She brought Jordan.

The mood shifted the second they arrived. Jordan barely greeted anyone before making a beeline for the deck, muttering something about needing to "take it easy" after the drive. The Hughes boys watched Eve with subtle worry, noting the way her shoulders tensed, the way she scanned the room like she was looking for permission to be herself again.

They tried to bring her in. Quinn cracked a beer and started loading up the boat. Jack blasted a playlist of her favorite cheesy country songs. Luke ran to get the rope for tubing.

"Come on," Quinn called out, tossing her a life jacket with a grin. "Let's get out there."

She smiled—small, tight—but before she could step forward, Jordan touched her wrist.

"You don't have to go, babe. I was hoping we could chill here, have a drink or two. You've been talking about relaxing all week."

The way he said it wasn't cruel. Just expectant.

And Everlyn, as always, folded.

"Yeah," she said, her voice barely above the waves. "That sounds nice."

She took the jacket off. Handed it back to Quinn. Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

The brothers all exchanged a look.

Jordan hadn't just dimmed her light—he was stomping it out, slowly.

⸻

Quinn didn't wait long.

As soon as Jordan disappeared back to Jersey, he pulled Everlyn aside. They slipped down the dock together, away from the buzz of the house and the music, until it was just the lapping of the water and the heaviness of unspoken words.

He didn't sugarcoat it.

"You're not okay," he said.

She froze. "Quinn..."

"You don't laugh the same. You don't light up the way you used to. I watched you talk yourself out of joining the boat like you were doing him a favor for existing."

She blinked hard. "It's complicated."

"No, it's not. He's not your partner, Eve. He's your leash."

That broke her.

Her lip trembled. She turned away for a second like she could hide it, but Quinn stepped forward, pulled her into a hug, and the truth spilled out like water over a dam.

It was like this in Jersey. Jordan always had a reason why she shouldn't go out. Why she should stay in. He didn't trust the hockey scene. Didn't like her independence. The lake house made him uncomfortable. Her made him uncomfortable.

Quinn listened, jaw clenched.

"You don't deserve this," he said firmly. "You never did. You're allowed to be loved out loud, Everlyn. Not hidden. Not controlled."

She cried. God, she cried.

But when she went to bed that night, her decision was already made.

⸻

The next morning, she called Jordan.

She ended it. Direct. No stalling. No soft exit.

He didn't take it well.

He accused her—accused her of having feelings for one of the Hughes boys. "It's always been one of them, hasn't it? I should've known the second you made me come to this dumb lake house."

He hung up before she could say anything back.

And it hurt. It did. She was human, after all.

But she walked out onto the dock not five minutes later, barefoot, hoodie over her bikini, and looked out at the water where Jack and Trevor were laughing on the boat. The sun was shining. The breeze was warm. Luke waved at her from the deck, and Quinn handed her a beer with a proud smirk.

She was home.

And this time, there was no one telling her she couldn't enjoy it.

⸻

Jack couldn't stand it anymore.

Everlyn was smiling again, sure—but not the way she used to. Her laugh was a little quieter, her jokes a little softer, like she was afraid to take up too much space. She still had that spark, but it flickered instead of burned, like someone had dimmed her and walked away.

And Jack? Jack wanted to reignite her.

So he made it his mission to bring her back to life—one small act at a time.

He started with breakfast.

She always loved pancakes. He remembered that. Waffles were fine, but pancakes? Pancakes made her eyes light up. So every morning, when someone inevitably asked what to make for the house, Jack was the first to say it:

"Pancakes. Definitely."

He'd sneak her the last piece of bacon when no one was looking, tucking it onto her plate with a smirk. He'd always save her a seat next to him. And when the kitchen got too loud or crowded, he'd silently pass her the syrup like it was their secret language.

He got up early now, before the sun even stretched across the lake, because he knew she liked her morning runs. He'd tie his shoes and jog beside her, matching her pace, letting her pick the music. They didn't talk much—didn't need to. Just ran side by side, feet hitting the dirt road in quiet rhythm, breaths syncing up like clockwork.

He volunteered for errands now too. Grocery runs. Beer pick-ups. Ice refills.

"I'll go," he'd say casually. "Eve, wanna come?"

She always did.

They'd play music too loud in the car. Race to find the weirdest flavor of chips in the store. Argue over the right ratio of peanut butter to chocolate. He'd lean into her cart, throw in random things just to make her laugh. Her smile was starting to come back, slowly, piece by piece.

And Jack? Jack was falling all over again.

⸻

The fire crackled as the night crept in.

They'd spent all day out on the boat—tubing, flipping off docks, laughing until their stomachs hurt. By the time the sun dipped below the trees, everyone was sun-drenched, half-tipsy, and high on that unbeatable summer haze.

So naturally, they circled the fire pit.

Everyone gathered on the chairs or sprawled out on blankets, drinks in hand, cheeks still flushed from the sun. The playlist was low in the background, country twang giving way to soft indie beats. Someone tossed another log onto the fire, and the stories began.

First came the classics—Quinn's worst playoff beard attempts, Trevor's infamous grocery store prank, Jack's rookie year mishaps. Then came Luke's awkward high school phase, complete with dramatic reenactments of him failing to talk to girls at school dances.

Luke rolled his eyes and grumbled, "Yeah? Well you did the exact same thing when you first met Eve."

Everyone paused.

"You couldn't even sit next to her at dinner for months," Luke went on, completely unbothered. "Because you had such a massive crush on her."

Jack felt the color drain from his face, then immediately return with a vengeance.

The fire masked most of it, but the way his ears burned gave him away.

"OHHHH," Turc and Zegras chorused at the same time. "NO WAY."

Jack laughed a little too hard, trying to brush it off. "That's such a lie, Luke. C'mon."

But then Eve turned toward him, eyes soft, a smile creeping onto her lips. She looked at Quinn first—he gave a knowing nod—and then gently placed her hand on Jack's back.

"It's okay, Jack," she said sweetly. "I thought it was cute. But you were really bad at hiding it."

Dead. He was dead.

"You knew?" Jack asked, face frozen in panic.

"Of course I knew," she said with a small laugh. "I've always known."

And as if that wasn't enough to end him entirely, Ellen strolled out of the house with a tray of cookies and chimed in with perfect timing:

"Oh, Jack. Everyone knew."

The chorus of "OOOOHHHHH!" exploded around the fire.

Trevor nearly fell off his chair. Quinn tossed a marshmallow at Jack's head. Luke looked smug as hell. Jack buried his face in his hands, muttering something about never showing his face again.

It was harmless. All in good fun.

But the second the teasing died down and the yawns started, people began peeling off into bedrooms, one by one. The lake grew quieter, the fire dimming to embers.

And Jack stayed behind.

⸻

He sat there alone, elbows on knees, head tilted back to watch the stars. The air was still warm, but the night felt heavy in a way that pressed on his chest.

She knew. This whole time. He'd spent years hiding feelings he thought would ruin everything—only to find out that she'd seen them from the start.

And she hadn't run. She hadn't pushed him away.

She thought it was cute.

"God," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. "I'm such an idiot."

Then came the soft sound of feet on grass.

A blanket settled across his shoulders. A familiar head rested gently against his own.

He looked down and saw her—Everlyn, curled into his side, wrapped in the same blanket, her cheek against his shoulder. Barefaced, makeup long gone, hoodie pulled over her knees.

"Don't worry about it, Jacky," she whispered. "I thought it was adorable. I thought you were adorable."

His heart flat-out stopped.

She thought he was cute too.

He blinked, eyes wide, trying to process what those words meant. What this meant. Her voice was low and sleepy, but there was no mistaking the sincerity in it.

She hadn't said it to tease him. She meant it.

Without thinking, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, letting her warmth melt into his side. She didn't flinch. Didn't move. Just sighed and settled in.

His hand rested at the small of her back, thumb brushing the fabric of her hoodie. His heart was racing.

She always took care of them—of everyone. Always made sure Luke had what he needed, that Quinn had someone to ground him, that Jack didn't feel invisible. She was the glue, the safety net, the one who never let herself fall until she knew they were all okay.

And the thought that she had spent so long dimming herself for someone who couldn't see her? Who wouldn't see her?

It made Jack's jaw clench.

He'd been there. Right there. And he hadn't stepped in. Hadn't spoken up. He'd let her walk through that alone because he was too scared of what it would mean for him.

Never again.

Not after this.

⸻

Things had found their rhythm again.

Back in Jersey, back in their bubble, back in that comfortable hum of familiarity that made every day feel like a deep breath. But this time, there was something more. Something better.

Because now Luke was here too.

Everlyn had 2 out of 3 Hughes boys back under one roof, and it was like someone had finally returned the missing pieces of her soul. She hadn't realized how lonely she'd been until her days were filled again—trips to the rink, late-night Mario Kart tournaments, homemade pasta nights where Jack burned the garlic bread and Luke put entirely too much cheese in the sauce.

It was chaos. It was home.

They shared a three-bedroom apartment in Hoboken with a view of the skyline and a couch that had seen more naps than conversations. When they signed the lease, Luke had casually mentioned the third room being for "hockey gear or guests," but they all knew the truth.

That room was hers.

She didn't officially live there. Not on paper. But she might as well have. Her stuff was in the drawers. Her favorite cereal was on the shelf. Her slippers were by the door. Half her wardrobe was draped across the back of the desk chair. She came and went freely, sometimes staying a night, sometimes staying a week, no one ever asking when she'd be back—because they already knew.

That room would always be waiting.

It was one of the few places in the world where she never had to ask if she belonged.

⸻

One night, she was actually home in her own apartment—a rare occurrence, considering how often she found herself curled up on the Hughes' couch with a blanket and a mug of something warm. She had just gotten out of the shower, wrapped in her comfiest robe, hair twisted up in a towel, when her phone rang.

Quinn.

It started with the usual—how was your day, did you eat, how's the new campaign going, tell Luke to call his mother. But somewhere between casual updates and light teasing, the conversation shifted. Deepened. As it always did with Quinn, eventually.

"I've been thinking about... Jordan," she admitted quietly, eyes focused on the ceiling.

Quinn didn't interrupt. Just waited.

"I just—I feel stupid," she said. "I let him control so much. I let him talk me out of things I loved. I let him make me feel small. And I knew better. I always knew better."

"Evie."

His voice was soft. Steady.

"You're not stupid. You're human. And you left. That's the hard part. You did it."

She swallowed. "It still makes me feel like I lost a year of myself."

"You didn't lose it," he said. "You reclaimed it. One day at a time."

There was a long silence.

Then, like it was nothing at all, Quinn added: "It was nice of Jack to make you smiling his top priority this summer."

Her heart paused.

She sat up a little straighter, eyebrows tugging together. "What?"

"Jack," Quinn repeated. "It was nice of him. To make sure you smiled again."

She opened her mouth, but no words came. Her thoughts were caught in a whirl—memories of pancakes, early morning runs, gas station trips, firelight laughter. The way Jack always showed up in exactly the way she needed.

Quinn continued, voice low and casual.

"He's a nice guy."

Everlyn narrowed her eyes. "I know that, Quinn. I grew up with him."

"No," Quinn said, and this time, his voice had a different weight to it. A quiet emphasis.

"I mean... he's nice."

She stilled.

It was such a simple word. But the way he said it—the subtle dip in tone, the almost affectionate cadence—shifted the meaning entirely.

It wasn't just about kindness. It was about care. The kind of nice that went deeper than polite gestures and well-mannered smiles. It was the kind that showed up when you needed it. The kind that held space without asking for anything in return.

Jack was nice.

He was thoughtful in a way most people weren't. Protective without being possessive. Gentle in a way that made you feel safe. He was the kind of man who made sure everyone else had what they needed before taking anything for himself. He remembered your favorite things and brought them home without saying a word. He loved quietly—but completely.

And suddenly, it hit her:

Jack had always been like that.

With her.

She hung up the call shortly after, claiming she was tired. But sleep never came easy that night.

She laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, Quinn's words echoing like ripples in her chest.

He's nice.

Jack, who always made sure her coffee was right.

Jack, who checked her tires when it snowed.

Jack, who gave her space when she needed it, and warmth when she didn't know she did.

Jack, who never stopped showing up.

She turned her head, looking at the empty side of her bed.

And she thought: Am I crazy?

Was she insane for even considering it? For letting her thoughts wander into dangerous territory? For entertaining the possibility that maybe—just maybe—the boy she'd grown up with, the one who had waited and waited without ever saying it out loud, could be the one she was supposed to see all along?

She rolled onto her side, clutching the pillow to her chest, eyes heavy with questions.

What if she ruined it?

What if she broke the family that saved her?

And worse... what if he didn't feel the same anymore?

What if she had waited too long?

⸻

The annual charity gala had always been part of the routine.

One of those must-attend events on the Devils' calendar. Glitz, glam, donors, handshakes, perfectly staged photo ops—and beneath all that, a chance to raise money for good causes. Jack had done a few now. Eve had come with him to the last one, and the arrangement had always been easy. Casual. Fun.

This year? Different.

She could feel it. In her chest. In her stomach. In the way she stood a little too long in front of the mirror trying to decide between earrings. It had started subtly—just a thought, a whisper of a feeling—but after that conversation with Quinn, it was like a switch had flipped.

She was aware now. Hyper-aware. Of how Jack looked at her. Of how he always waited for her to walk through the door first. Of how he always held her things, brought her snacks, fixed her laces when she wore shoes with ties. Things he'd always done... but things that now screamed louder.

He was nice. But not just that. Not anymore.

He was steady. Thoughtful. Quietly romantic in ways that weren't about flowers or fanfare—but about presence. Constant, unwavering presence.

And for the first time, she wondered what it meant that he never expected anything in return.

⸻

They were supposed to go as a trio—her, Jack, and Luke. But then Luke had the audacity to fall in love and get himself a girlfriend, leaving Everlyn to go solo with Jack. She'd teased him about it for a full week, but truthfully... it made her nervous.

This wasn't just another event. Not this time.

The lead-up felt different. More intimate. Jack had taken her shopping, trailing behind her in boutiques, giving honest feedback with that same crooked grin. He didn't complain once, even when she tried on twelve different dresses and only narrowed it down to two. He just watched. Waited. Carried her purse and snacks and made sure she didn't talk herself out of something she loved.

They picked her gown together.

A maroon silk number that hugged her curves and dipped just low enough to be elegant without being too much. It made her skin glow. It made his mouth go dry.

She said yes to it when he whispered, "That's the one," with a look in his eyes that stayed with her all night.

⸻

The day of the gala, Everlyn turned their shared space into her own personal glam studio. She spread her makeup across the bathroom counter, curled her hair in sections, and took deep, grounding breaths every few minutes to keep from spiraling into full-on nerves.

It didn't help that Jack was being Jack.

Bringing her little snacks every hour like clockwork.

A granola bar. A handful of grapes. A pack of those crackers she loved from the bodega.

He kept her water bottle full, placing it within reach like it was part of the process. "Drink," he'd remind her with a little tap on the shoulder. "No dehydration meltdowns today."

She couldn't help but smile at him. He was in sweats and a hoodie, hair tousled, lounging on the couch while she transformed herself into someone worthy of red carpets.

She didn't know it, but Jack was suffering.

He kept stealing glances through the half-open door, catching flashes of her bare shoulders, the soft shape of her face under golden bathroom light. She was already stunning, and she wasn't even done yet.

When she finally stepped out—hair swept into a soft updo, makeup glowing, maroon gown clinging in all the right places—Jack stopped breathing.

No exaggeration.

She walked into the living room and time froze.

Luke was the first to recover, standing up with a big smile. "Whoa. You look incredible, Eve."

She smiled, smoothing her dress down nervously. "Thanks, Lukey."

Jack?

He was just standing there, mouth slightly open, staring like he'd never seen a woman before.

Because he hadn't. Not like this.

This wasn't just Everlyn, his best friend, the girl who made pancakes and knew how he liked his coffee. This was Everlyn, the woman. Powerful. Elegant. Ethereal.

Maroon and gold and glowing from the inside out.

He stepped forward slowly, all black tux hugging him perfectly—hair freshly cut and styled, thanks to her insistence, and now gelled into something polished but still him.

"You..." he finally managed, voice rough. "You look unreal."

Her cheeks flushed, and for a moment they just stood there, looking at each other, the noise of the apartment fading into silence.

"I had help," she said softly, nodding toward him. "You picked the dress, remember?"

"Still," he murmured. "Doesn't feel real."

And the way he looked at her then?

It was reverent.

Not hungry. Not lustful. Just... soft. In awe.

Like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

And maybe she was.

⸻

The gala started the same as every other year.

Bright lights. Sparkling gowns. Clinking glasses. Jack and Everlyn moved through the crowd like they always had—effortlessly side by side. He guided her gently through the sea of donors and sponsors, a hand resting on the small of her back like he'd always belonged there.

But this time... that simple touch felt different.

It was warm. Steady. Firm in a way that made her feel held—not just escorted. Not just shown off.

Protected.

And Everlyn couldn't stop thinking about it.

Jack chatted easily, charming everyone as usual, but her body was attuned to him. The whisper of his palm. The careful way he shifted her gently toward conversations. The pride in his voice when he introduced her as his date—even if it was unspoken, unofficial.

She didn't say anything. Couldn't.

Because every time she looked at him tonight, all she could hear was Quinn's voice in her head.

He's nice.

Not just nice. Jack Hughes nice. The kind of nice that meant pancakes in the morning and water bottles filled without asking. The kind that stood beside you silently until you were ready to speak.

And right now, he was looking at her like he was seeing her for the first time—even though he'd always seen her.

⸻

The DJ opened the floor for slow dances, and Jack didn't hesitate.

He turned to her with a soft, crooked smile. "Come on."

They'd danced together before. Plenty of times. It had never meant anything before. But now? As they found their spot on the dance floor, facing each other, hands tentatively finding their place—it meant everything.

The music hummed low, a soft melody that wrapped around them like a secret. Her hand slipped into his, the other resting on his shoulder. Jack's free arm slid around her waist with quiet confidence.

And then... stillness.

They were swaying. They were dancing. But all Jack could focus on was the way Everlyn was looking at him.

Intensely. Softly. Like she was searching for something and finding it in his face.

He studied her—tried to decode it. Her eyes were locked on his like she couldn't look away. And for the first time in all the years he'd known her, he realized she was finally seeing him back.

"What's on your mind, Evie?" he asked, voice just above a whisper.

She didn't answer.

She just kept looking at him. Drinking him in. Her mind was running wild—flashing through every moment that had led them here.

The shy dinners when he couldn't look her in the eye. The fake bad grades. The way he always showed up. Every summer spent putting her first. Every little thing she'd brushed off as "just Jack being Jack."

But now she understood.

He'd been in love with her this whole time.

And she'd missed it.

She swallowed, breath hitching. "You," she said softly.

Jack blinked. "Me?"

"I can't stop thinking about you."

He stared, stunned. Heart leaping. Breath catching. He scanned her face again and again, like he needed confirmation that this was real—that she was real.

And then it hit him.

The look in her eyes.

The one he'd been wearing for years.

She had it now. That open, unfiltered, aching gaze that he used to hide behind smirks and excuses. She was seeing him—really, truly seeing him—and God, it made his chest burn.

The song ended, but Jack didn't hear the music stop. The room disappeared. His grip on her hand tightened as the MC's voice faded into the background.

They returned to their table, but Jack couldn't focus. Couldn't breathe.

He was spinning.

Eve sat beside him, her hand resting on top of his. It wasn't new. Not really. But tonight, it was loaded. Charged. Different.

Jack needed air.

⸻

He slipped out without a word and found himself on the rooftop.

The city stretched beneath him, lights flickering, the hum of cars far below. He paced, hand tugging at the collar of his tux, heart pounding out of rhythm.

He was scared. Not of her—but of hope.

Because this was everything he wanted.

And that's when he heard it.

The door opened with a soft click.

He turned—and there she was.

Glistening in moonlight. Her maroon gown catching the breeze. Her updo slightly loosened from the night. Her eyes... locked on his.

They didn't speak.

Didn't need to.

The air between them was thick with unsaid things. It wasn't silence. It was a conversation without words. A thousand unspoken truths floating between them like stars.

Jack looked at her like she held the answers to questions he hadn't dared ask. And Everlyn looked at him like she finally, finally understood what was right in front of her.

And then—they ran.

No hesitation. No overthinking. Just gravity.

They met in the middle. Arms around each other. Breathless. Shaking.

Their foreheads pressed together. Their hands clung tight.

"Jack..." she whispered, barely breathing.

He closed his eyes, voice cracking. "I know, Everlyn... I know."

And then—he kissed her.

Years of waiting, of wondering, of almosts and maybes—gone.

It wasn't perfect. It wasn't polished. But it was everything. His hands clung to her waist like she was the only thing keeping him grounded. Her hands framed his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks like she was memorizing the feel of him.

The city roared beneath them.

But up there, on that rooftop, it was silent.

Just two hearts, finally meeting in the middle.

Just two souls, saying what words never could.

⸻

It had been over a year since that night on the rooftop.

Since the city went quiet, and Everlyn stopped running, and Jack finally stopped waiting.

Since the moment their hearts collided in the most certain kind of way—the kind that didn't need promises made with words, because it was all written in the way they looked at each other.

Since then, nothing had been the same.

And yet—everything felt like home.

Every morning, Jack woke up with that same quiet awe he'd had since he was fifteen. The way she hummed while brushing her teeth. The way she'd press her forehead to his before leaving for work. The way she poured her love into everything around her without hesitation or fear.

Every day, he fell harder. Every day, he chose her again.

And Everlyn? She felt like she'd finally exhaled.

Jack Hughes was steady. Warm. Deeply kind in the ways no one else got to see. And he loved her in a way that didn't demand attention—but deserved every bit of it. There was no show, no need for validation. Just him. Quietly hers.

They had made a life together. Not flashy. Not perfect. But theirs.

⸻

It was summer again.

Which meant one thing: the Hughes Lake House was alive.

It was tradition at this point. Offseason hit, and the boys flocked to Michigan like it was a pilgrimage. Quinn was already there, helping Ellen prep bedrooms. Luke had brought a handful of friends from around the league—Macklin Celebrini and Will Smith had become the wide-eyed younger brothers of the group overnight. The Tkachuk brothers had showed up in full chaos mode. And Jack had pulled together the old NTDP gang, making it feel like high school and the NHL were blending into one summer-long sleepover.

The lake house was laughter. Inside jokes. The smell of sunscreen and grilled food and dock water. The soundtrack was country music, clinking beers, and the occasional "WHO let Matthew drive the boat?!"

For the rookies, it was a dream. For the veterans, it was therapy.

And for Everlyn?

It was heaven.

She had her hands full—braiding wet hair, making sure no one left without sunscreen, yelling across the dock to make sure Macklin and Will weren't about to snap their necks trying new wakeboard tricks.

She was the same Eve she'd always been—loving and giving, with open arms and no limit to the space in her heart. She even tucked the rookies in like she had done for Luke all those years ago. Whispering reminders in the dark like,

"You don't have to lose who you are to belong here." "If you can't be yourself with someone, that's not someone worth staying for."

Words she'd once needed herself.

⸻

Jack stood at the door that night, watching her speak to Macklin and Will.

She was seated cross-legged on the living room floor, her maroon hoodie slipping off one shoulder, still in her swimsuit from earlier. Her voice was soft. Reassuring. Patient.

Jack felt his chest ache.

Because God, he loved her.

More than he'd ever loved anything in his life.

She was light. She was grace. And somehow—she was his.

⸻

He found Quinn on the back deck not long after. The moonlight danced across the lake in silver ripples. The sound of crickets filled the quiet. Jack stepped beside him, hands in his pockets, heart full.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment.

Until Jack broke the silence.

"She's... she's really..."

"I know," Quinn interrupted, smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I know, Jack."

He turned toward him, eyes warm. "I'm so happy for you two. I always knew. But seeing it? It's different. It's real."

Jack laughed softly, almost shy.

"I have it picked out, you know..."

Quinn blinked. "What?"

Jack looked down. Kicked the toe of his shoe against the deck.

"The ring. I got it. Not for now. I want to wait a little longer, but... I just know. She's it. She's always been it. And I got it early as a promise. A vow. For when I'm ready. For when she's ready."

Quinn just stared at him. Then stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.

It wasn't long. Wasn't loud.

But it was everything.

Two brothers, standing under a sky they grew up beneath, holding the future in their arms.

Inside, Eve stood in the kitchen, sipping from a mug of tea. She looked around at the house filled with laughter, light, and people she loved.

And her eyes found Jack through the window.

He was looking back at her.

And somehow, she knew.

[nucrests]

Lovestruck Silk Pajama Set

This idea pretty much came to me randomly. After coming across the silk top and bottom that came with Lovestruck, naturally I had to create more variations! Hope you all enjoy 💕

Additional information:

LOVESTRUCK SILK TOPS: Each top is base game compatible + includes 12 swatches Variants included: Tee (Tucked), Tank Top, Tank Top (Tucked), and Button Up

LOVESTRUCK SILK BOTTOMS: Each bottom is base game compatible + includes 12 swatches Variants included: Briefs, Briefs (Bulge), Boxer Briefs, Boxer Briefs (Bulge), Boxers (Bulge), and Lounge Pants

📁:PATREON (ALWAYS FREE) | TOU | KO-FI If you enjoy my content, please consider supporting me on patreon or ko-fi. Your support will be much appreciated!

[milfbrainrot]

i feel like i type so much more than is reasonable when i do talk to people but i also don't get to socialize a ton so i just have soooo many words in me and if i'm like, tired or short on time, it is so much harder to restrain to the already-pushing-it point i can sometimes manage ;-;

[florshedworf]

something i noticed in ep5 is that it’s mostly (TECHNICALLY) shiny’s fault that thunder got infected with the mites. (calm down there’s a point i’m making) thunder’s vision specifically said “close combat not reccomended” and shiny specifically put the kaiju guts on thunder’s hand.

HOWEVER: it goes unnoticed. nobody mentioned this.

and frankly? THANK GOD

i am SO sick of characters blaming themselves and getting blamed for shit they WOULD NOT HAVE KNOWN PRIOR. i am SO glad that the show was not “blame shiny for something he nor thunder had any clue about” and was more like “these are the circumstances that are happening now so we must deal with them”

[liquidstar]

baby guild :)

aka the timber scouts! they're basically just a bunch of kids in a sort of guild prep-course. so, not a real full official guild, but functions like one. all the kids have different woodland animal gimmicks to go with the scout vibe. They have a very loose shared uniform too, they're pretty much allowed to customize however they want as long as they keep the white button-up, brown outerwear, dark brown bottoms, and brown boots. also like a lot of kids in other guilds, their weapons are toys or otherwise "safter" items. But that's pretty much all! They aren't super deep characters, but more general info still under the cut :p

Name: Ceres

Name Origin: Dwarf planet named after the goddess of agriculture and motherly relationships

Pronouns: They/them

Age: 29

Guild rank: Guildmaster

Weapon: Pocket knife

Ethos (Power): Aegis (The ability to cast a protective shield around others but not themself)

Flaw power is based on: Their tendency to put others first, in a way that makes them a pushover.

Notes: Suffering.

Name: Aquila

Name Origin: The eagle constellation

Pronouns: They/them

Age: 12

Guild rank: 1 star

Weapon: Hula hoop

Ethos (Power): Aerial burst (A powerful burst of air created with their wings)

Flaw power is based on: They're flighty and feather-brained

Notes: Birds just wanna have fun

Name: Procyon

Name Origin: A star in canis minor, the name technically means "before the dog" but refers to the raccoon family

Pronouns: He/him

Age: 11

Guild rank: 1 star

Weapon: hacky sack

Ethos (Power): Scaling (He can climb any surface)

Flaw power is based on: His rowdy uncontrollable nature

Notes: Yeah he can kick the hacky sack while on a wall, no big deal.

Name: Kochab

Name Origin: Beta Ursae Minoris- brightest star in the little dipper

Pronouns: She/her

Age: 11

Guild rank: 1 star

Weapon: Honey dipper

Ethos (Power): Honeymelt (She can turn solid structures into a more gooey form with the consistency of honey)

Flaw power is based on: Her sluggish listlessness

Notes: Wait until you meet mama bear

Name: Vulpecula (Val)

Name Origin: The "little fox" constellation

Pronouns: She/her

Age: 11

Guild rank: 1 star

Weapon: Jump rope

Ethos (Power): Tactful sense (Heightened senses for what's going on around her)

Flaw power is based on: Her desire to control everything around her

Notes: She's the first on track to getting a second star (according to herself)

[thats-a-lot-of-cortisol]

✨ someone ✨ broke their oath the other night

[todayisafridaynight]

Okay so how’s your dad (who we need to dub as Daikawa) doing?

well he just asked me if i was down to go deep sea fishing next month so there's that

[bmpmp3]

I NEEED to go back to making art that makes it ABUNDANTLY clear that theres something wrong with my brain BUT NOT in a cool or stylishly interesting way. i need to do it in a way that makes people say "hm." and walk away

[nururu]

the amount of times I've been (rudely) made fun of for using 3in1 makes me so mad every time I think about it.... bc like........ predatory capitalism will get you around every corner. I can't just be myself and be happy about it. tv, books, ads, family, friends, etc. everywhere you go. everyone's been brainwashed into thinking buying stuff and doing what rich ppl say makes you better. like idk I'm sorry but I TRULY do not care about materialism or looks. attractiveness to me, comes from confidence and a kind personality. it has nothing to do with how anyone looks, or what they buy and have. doing stuff to make YOURSELF happy is amazing. doing stuff to make a point to others that you're better than them.... idk man... seems like a waste of time trying to fill a pot that has a leak and could fully break at any time.

[fruitmouse]

was the only first shift part-timer at my job to not quit like 2 weeks in and my manager said he “knew i was a stayer from the moment [he] met [me]” which is like. just manager talk but i’ve been thinking abt it a lot for some reason

[todayisafridaynight]

ADMITTEDLY it’s a very “teenagers first alcohol” kind of vibe so I prommy it’s not popular with any demographic that’s older than 25 gdgdgd

I’m only just recently leaving my baby tastebuds please bare with me (and give me drink recs so I can leave candy hell)

(Also sidenote but I genuinely didn’t expect so much uproar over GRAPE FLAVOURING because I’ve never heard anyone hate it so much so once again I’m convinced this is an American problem and not a problem with my beloved grape flavour 🙏)

passport you are GROWN im fucking crying looking at all of this. this is the equivalent of whiteclaw.

[eyes-0f-etro]

thinkinggggg abouttttt naruuuuto and sasuuuuke

[strawberrymatchawhore]

p power

rafe cameron

“take it from him and i leave him with nothing”

summary- john b cheats on you with sarah cameron you get revenge by getting with her brother

warning- DUBCON, sex under the influence, raw sex (wrap it folks), drinking, smoking, partying, fighting, sex tape (reader knows hes recording but doesnt know he sent it to her ex), semi public beach house sex, meanish pussy drunk rafe lol

you took a hit of your pen, gently coughing from the amount you just inhaled. you were currently in your boyfriends room, confronting him. you had caught john b cheating on you with sarah cameron, kook princess and someone you thought was your friend.

“can you not do that in my room? take this seriously.” john b said swiping his hands in the air to get rid of the cloud puffs floating. you scoffed, the audacity.

“i dont give a fuck about what youre asking for me to do right now john b, you cannot be for real about me taking this seriously.”

“i dont know what to tell you, she was going through something. she needed me.” john b gave his bullshit excuse which made you even more angry.

“what about me, did you even think about me for one bit before you decided to fuck her ?” you screamed at him, getting up from the couch ready to leave the room. as you have your hand on handle, john b grabs it. his large hand covers yours.

“i love you.. please” he pleads, eyes getting wetter.

“dont touch me with that dirty ass hand john b, i shouldve known. no matter how much i showed my love for you, no matter how much i cared. you will always choose her.” you gritted through your teeth.

“i-”

“no, its okay. im done with this shit.” your voice cracks and you slam the door in front of john b's face, driving away with tears blurring your vision.

AT THE PARTY

you strut your way into the party, the annual bonfire that happens the same week every year. you grab a pink solo cup and fill it to the brim with jungle juice. you had already pregamed before and begged your friend to drive you here, laughing at yourself when you caught yourself tripping over the pile of beer cans on the floor. obvious that you were feeling the effects of the weed and alcohol combining.

you were tired, physically and mentally, you couldnt deal with anyones bullshit anymore. especially after what happened earlier in the day, you just needed a break.

“what are you doing here ?” you heard a voice question from behind, you turned and saw rafe cameron looking at you up and down.

“oh hey rafey, nothing honestly just trying to forget shit you know ?” you down the rest of your drink and turn again to retrieve another cup. before you can take a sip out of it, it gets knocked down by rafe. who angrily walks over to john b and sarah cameron who were conversing with each other in the corner.

oh shit

“the fuck are you doing bro? chill.” john b says and backs up. sarah tries to intervene by calling his name and you just stand there interested in what was about to happen.

“you feel good about yourself ??” rafe pushes john b, getting ready to instigate a fight. you fight the urge to run up and defend your man. but you stayed still.

this is what he deserves

sarah cameron stops her brother in his tracks and tries to stop him, he ignores her.

oh yeah try to get him to stop, cheater.

“looks like you got my sloppy seconds... good luck with that. shes a real handful” john b insensitively says, rafe continues his way toward him. and within a second throws a hard punch to his face. john b falls to the ground and rafe looks over him.

“you like that shit johnny ? huh ?” he moves and hovers over john b's body, and continues to beat him unconscious. kiaras dad finally pulls them apart, and you walk over to rafe checking to see if he was okay. sarah starts to angrily push rafe, but he doesnt budge.

“sarah you better stop that shit before you end up on the ground just like john b.” you glared at her angrily and pushed her away before gently grabbing rafes arm and walking away with him.

……..

“jeez rafe you really fucked him up…” you said while wiping the blood off his knuckles with disinfectant. he winces when you finishes it off with ointment.

“yeah i dont know what i was thinking, i just.. its just that he pisses me off so much an-” rafe drunkingly rambled, you hesitated. but then losing to your own thoughts you grab his face and kiss him. you quickly pull away fluttering your lashes, mouth slightly open. taking short deep breaths in and out, nothing but the sound of waves crashing could be heard.

“fuck im sorry.” your voice cracked, tears forming in your eyes. you even shocked yourself with that action, moving your hand from your face you fidget with your bikini top. rafe then gently grabs your face and makes eye contact, kissing back but with more passion. everything in the room starts to blur and your focus is only on him. he pulls away and begins to hover over you. cornering you further into the plush couch.

“nah don’t apologize.. just kiss me back” rafe whispers into your ear making his way down to your neck, giving it light kisses and sucks. his hands wander around your body, you begin to grow desperate and grind yourself onto his thigh, hands rubbing his back. you grabbed his hair to pull him closer to you, he groans in response.

"you dont understand how badly i want you.." he kisses you deeper.

"..how badly i wanted to do this." he backs up and takes off his shirt, his abs and buff body glistening from the ocean water combined with the low light of the moon. he lowers himself and his hands reach for your bottoms, untying them then tossing them onto the floor.

your breathing hitches when you feel his cool breath on your pussy, rafes arms grab at your thighs and spread your legs open.

"oh fuckkk" you lightly moaned when you felt his tongue on your clit making slow but rough licks. rafe laughs and moans into you, sending vibrations throughout your whole body. he looks up at your and makes eye contact with your glossy glazed over eyes.

"you taste so fucking good." he continues to lap at your juices, you looked at the blonde. dazed and memorized by how pretty he was. forgetting all your worries and troubles because of how good he worked his mouth. it was over for you when you felt his fingers prod at your entrance.

the combination of his long thick fingers sliding in and out of your wet pussy and his mouth on your clit drove you over the edge.

"fuck, you gonna cum f'me? please cum baby." he slurps and fingers you faster, your chest heaves up and down before you cum all over his face and make a mess. but rafe doesnt stop there, he removes his fingers and uses both his arms to hold your legs open. continuing to eat you out.

"oh my go- fu- please.. too much! rafe please sto-" you mewl trying to close your legs to no avail.

"uh uh stay still f'me" rafe tuts, eventually he stops and gets up, his mouth and chin dripping with your juices. he grabs your jaw and kisses you before taking off his shorts, the classic calvin klein banding accentuates his v line and you could see his bulge.

you sit up and your fingers hook at the band and pull his boxers down, immediately his cock springs up and hits his stomach. your eyes widened.

"its not gonna fit." you say, his tip is leaking with precum and you fight the urge to swallow him whole right then and there.

"dont worry it will." his hand pushes you back down and he uses his knees to spread your legs. rafe starts to rub himself up and down your pussy, circuling his tip around your clit. and you let out a satisfied hum. he was fighting the urge to just shove himself completely inside you and fuck you deep into the couch. rafe eyes your phone, and leans over to grab it.

he hovers the phone over your face and unlocks it, opening your messages app. he clicks on john bs contact and sees that he left 30+ texts, laughing at the idiot rafe then clicks on the camera feature.

“rafe w-what are you doing?" you asked, closing your legs shyly. your eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"dont worry, just trust me." rafe responds, leaning down to kiss you sloppily before he pressed record on the camera. using his free hand to push your thighs apart he moves the camera closer to your bodies, your lower body and his are in view. rafe then uses his fingers to spread your lips, showing the camera your slick. he slides two fingers inside you and gives it a few pumps before he removed them.

"open up f'me." he gently taps your cheek and slides the two fingers into your now open mouth. his long fingers caressing your tongue, automatically you start to suck his fingers. cleaning them.

"thats it... good job baby." he admires the way your plump swollen lips wrapped around his fingers, at this point his cock was aching in need to pump you full of his cum. he must have you.

"please rafe.. need you." you whined and looked up at him, watery eyed and pupils blown. you desperately moved your hips, and thank god he started to rub your aching pussy with his cock again. the both of you were hungry and needy. gentle whines filled the room, and rafe eventually slid himself in.

"oh fuck." rafe dragged out, slowly pushing deeper and deeper inside you.

"youre so tight, holy shit. mmmmm." bottoming out he stayed there for a moment to let you adjust. he was so long and thick, you felt every vein on it in your walls. you seriously had nothing to say, no words could have been let out to describe what you were feeling right now. pure ecstasy.

the both of you continued to say nothing as rafe sped up, drilling harder and faster into your wet pussy. his balls slapping against you ass, nothing could be heard besides moaning and the sound of his rough thrusts. you could barely see anything aside from rafes figure but you were sure that his back and biceps were now covered in scratch marks from you. the bright flash of the camera blinding you, you've never been filmed like this before. and the thought of you being slut out on camera made you even more wet.

"such a good fucking slut for me, youre takin' me so well." his free hand gripping tight on the fat of your hips to guide himself against your sweet spot.

"oh FUCK!" you let out a combination of a moan and scream when he continued to hit that spot, the knot in your stomach growing tighter.

"does your ex fuck you like this?" he slows down his pace, but you were too fucked up to respond.

"huh?" he asked and slid out just to snap hips back into you bringing you back to reality.

"no! oh fu- youre so much bigger.." you moaned, your pussy leaving a white ring at the base of rafes cock.

"yes yes yes. ah!" you whined when he sped up, which you didnt think was possible. rafe was pounding you so hard you were seeing stars. your hand went to cover your mouth but rafe slapped it away, and put it on your lower stomach.

"dont do that i wanna hear you moan f'me."

"you feel that?" rafe asked, you could see his cock bulging from your stomach.

"god- squeezing me so fucking tight..." rafe grunted, and lowered his hand to rub circles on your clit. your mouth slack and open, boobs bouncing up and down from rafes thrusts.

rafe wasnt even sure if he was getting all of this on frame, he was jackhammering into you like he hated you. he relished in the way your cunt clenched around him like you were made for him. and he was sure you were. all perfect, pretty and stupid for him.

"rafe i feel like im gonna pee, stop!" you screamed out and gripped his bicep. your stomach burned in pleasure and you felt like it was going to explode.

"pl-please oh my god, oh... my"

"thats it baby, squirt all over my fucking cock. youre so pretty like this." your eyes started water even more, he was fucking you so good you stared crying. overwhelmed with all sorts of emotions and feelings.

"so cute when you cry for me, if you keep doing that im gonna cum inside you." embarrassed you turn your head away and shake your head, the squelching and sight of your cunt was so sloppy and messy. rafe gripped your jaw and forced you to look at the camera.

"open your eyes sweetheart, keep looking at me." his fingers made their way down to your throat and squeezed.

"fuck." he whimpered, rafe has never done that before. the both of you were shocked but youve never been turned on this much.

"mmm keep doing that, you sound so fucking hot rafe." you urged him.

"im gonna cum, can i cum inside you? please baby" he begged, his thrusts becoming less controlled.

"yes, fuck. i need you to fill me right now. i wanna see your cum dripping out of me, breed me." the both of you were whiney, your cheeks were wet and your legs were shaking and sore.

"shit, you are so perfect.. this pussys so p-perfect." rafes body was tired, rutting into you like you were nothing but a fleshlight. his tip twitching inside you before he came deep into your cervix, making sure to push every ounce of his seed inside you before pulling out. and filming your dripping cunt before he ended the video.

rafe didnt have evil intentions but he wanted to let john b know what he lost, who would want to miss out on a girl like you?

*attached video*

"shes busy rn bro"

5 hours later you were laying next to a knocked out rafe, finally sobering up you went to check your phone. the most recent message being from none other than your ex.

why is he spam texting me?

"what the fuck? youre such a bitch" the text read, confused and curious you decided to scroll up. only to get surprised by a video of you and rafe from earlier. you dropped the phone in shock and turned to see rafe who woke up from the sudden sound. you picked your phone back up and shoved the phone into rafes face.

“what the fuck is this rafe?!"

[areislol]

hsr!men with a reader who 'stresses' them out to see if they actually like reader that much or not >< HSUDHNS like testing them! kind of. during a post-confession stage where they both kind of know but haven't put any labels on it yet........

AHCK IM SORRY IF THIS IS ODDLY SPECIFIC LOL

pairings. jing yuan, dan heng, blade, welt, sampo, gepard, luocha, caelus, dr ratio, aventurine, boothill, gallagher, moze, jiaoqiu, sunday x gn! reader

warnings. just fluff

a/n. i love this idea sm omg!! this is so cute and adorable, thank you so much for popping in!

wc. 10.6k

synopsis. testing the hsr men to see if they really like you or not...

recommend listening to: blue - yung kai

caelus

✧ caelus is feeling a mix of patience and confusion. mostly confusion.

✧ you’d stress them out by acting overly distant or cryptic with your words. of course, this would be a bit too mean but.... you needed to know whether or not he truly liked you or not!!!

✧  now caelus always has this quiet confidence about him, a grounded presence that somehow keeps you both intrigued and comforted. you’ve been walking the line between friendship and something more for weeks now—soft smiles, lingering touches, and late-night conversations that stretch into the early morning. but neither of you has made the leap to define it, and the uncertainty starts to gnaw at you.

✧ so, you decide to test him. not out of malice, but out of curiosity—does he care as much as you think he does? or are you misreading everything?

✧ it starts small. you "accidentally" forget your jacket during a particularly chilly day on the xianzhou luofu. "it's fine," you say, feigning nonchalance as you rub your arms. "i’ll survive."

✧ caelus, who notices everything, doesn’t hesitate. without a word, he shrugs off his coat and drapes it over your shoulders. it’s warm and smells faintly like him—clean and earthy.

✧ "you’ll catch a cold," he says simply, his expression unreadable. but the way his fingers linger at your shoulder for a moment longer than necessary sends a shiver down your spine.

✧ okay, you think. that’s a point for him.

✧ but you don’t stop there. later, as the two of you work together to sort some scattered archives, you sigh dramatically. "i’m so bad at this," you say, even though you’ve already figured out the system. "caelus, can you help me? i think i’m doing it all wrong."

✧ he glances at you, eyebrows raised slightly. he knows you’re capable—you’ve proven it plenty of times.

✧ "really?" he asks, his tone soft but teasing. "you seem like you’ve got it handled."

✧ but he still moves to your side, explaining the process again with patience and care. you can’t help but notice how close he stands, the way his arm brushes against yours.

✧ another point, you mentally tally, biting back a smile.

✧ the final "test" happens that evening. the two of you are sitting on a bench overlooking the bustling streets below. you lean your head back, sighing loudly.

✧ "caelus," you start, your tone heavy with faux melancholy, "do you ever think... maybe we’re wasting our time? like, maybe this—whatever this is—isn’t worth it?"

✧ his head snaps toward you so fast you almost laugh. his usual calm demeanor falters for a moment, and there’s a flicker of something raw in his amber eyes.

✧ "what are you trying to say?" he asks, his voice lower than usual.

✧ suddenly, the air feels heavier. you weren’t expecting such a serious reaction, and it makes your chest tighten.

✧ "i mean..." you hesitate, suddenly feeling a little guilty for pushing him. "i don’t know. it just feels like maybe we’re stuck in this limbo, you know?"

✧ he stares at you for a moment, his gaze searching. then, he exhales softly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "if you think this isn’t worth it," he says, his voice steady but quiet, "then tell me. but don’t assume i feel the same."

✧ your heart stutters at his words.

✧ "you don’t?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. he turns to look at you again, his expression soft but serious.

✧ "no," he says firmly. "you mean a lot to me. more than you realize. i’m just... waiting for you to figure out how much you mean to me too."

✧ and just like that, the test is over. you realize you didn’t need to test him at all—he’s always been steady, always been sure. it was you who needed the reassurance, and he gave it to you without hesitation.

✧ as the silence stretches between you, you feel the weight of his coat still draped over your shoulders. you finally let yourself smile, leaning closer to him.

✧ "okay," you murmur. "i get it now."

✧ he doesn’t say anything, but the small, satisfied smile that tugs at his lips says enough.

gepard

✧ poor gepard takes your “test” far too seriously.

✧ (his face falls immediately, and he starts overthinking everything he’s ever done. he’d even try to change his habits, stumbling through awkward attempts to “loosen up.” “i—i can be fun! watch this!” (proceeds to try something clumsy.))

✧ testing gepard’s feelings feels almost unfair. he’s so earnest, so genuine, that you almost feel bad for trying to push his limits. but a little part of you—it’s that gnawing insecurity, that need for reassurance—wants to see how much he’s willing to handle for you.

✧ it starts during a routine patrol around belobog. you walk beside him, pretending to be engrossed in your surroundings, but you’re really watching him out of the corner of your eye. his posture is as perfect as always, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, eyes scanning for any sign of trouble.

✧ "gepard," you say suddenly, interrupting the calm. he turns to you immediately, his expression softening. "yes?"

✧ you fake a dramatic sigh. "do you ever think you work too hard? like... maybe you’re so busy being a model captain that you don’t have time for other things?"

✧ his brows furrow slightly, clearly not expecting this question. "what do you mean?"

✧ "i mean, what if someone in your life needed more of your attention? would you even notice?"

✧ he stops walking, turning to face you fully. there’s a flash of concern in his blue eyes, and you almost feel guilty for how well this is working.

✧ "if someone needed me," he says, his voice steady but laced with worry, "i’d do everything in my power to be there for them. are you... trying to tell me something?"

✧ you wave your hand dismissively, laughing lightly. "oh, no, just a hypothetical. don’t worry about it." he doesn’t look convinced, but he nods and resumes walking, though you notice he stays closer to your side after that.

✧ later, you decide to push a little harder. when the two of you are back at the overworld base, you feign exhaustion, slumping dramatically onto a nearby bench.

✧ "i’m so tired," you complain, rubbing your temples. "today was so stressful. i don’t think i can even move."

✧ before you can say anything else, gepard is already at your side. he crouches slightly, his hands hovering awkwardly as if he’s not sure whether he should offer to help you up or just sit beside you.

✧ "you should have said something earlier," he says, his voice full of concern. "if you’re overworked, you need to take a break. here, let me—"

✧ you cut him off with a teasing smile. "what are you going to do, carry me around belobog like some kind of knight in shining armor?" he freezes for a moment, his cheeks flushing pink. "i mean... if you needed me to, i would."

✧ you weren’t expecting such a sincere answer, and it throws you off balance. your heart flutters, but you’re determined to keep the act going.

✧ "you’re too sweet, gepard," you say with a grin. "but don’t worry, i’m fine. just testing you a little." his blush deepens, and he shifts nervously. "testing me?"

✧ "yeah," you admit, leaning back against the bench. "just wanted to see how far you’d go for me."

✧ he frowns, clearly conflicted. "you don’t need to test me," he says quietly. "if something’s bothering you, you can just tell me. i’d rather you be honest than try to figure things out on your own."

✧ his words hit you harder than you expected, and you suddenly feel a little guilty.

✧ "you’re right," you mumble, looking down at your hands. "sorry, i didn’t mean to make you worry."

✧ he sighs softly, then sits beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. "it’s okay," he says after a moment. "i just... care about you. a lot. and i want you to know that you never have to doubt it."

✧ you glance at him, his expression as open and honest as ever, and your heart aches in the best way.

✧ "thanks, gepard," you say softly.

✧ he smiles, and it’s so warm and genuine that you know you didn’t need to test him in the first place. he’s always been exactly who he says he is—steadfast, caring, and utterly devoted.

✧ “please, don’t do that again. my heart can’t take it. but... i do care about you more than anything.”

dr. ratio

✧ dr. ratio sees through your “stress test” almost immediately, being as perceptive as he is.

✧ testing dr. ratio feels like trying to rattle an unshakable pillar—he’s sharp, meticulous, and composed to the point where you’re almost certain he’ll see through you immediately. but your curiosity gets the better of you. you want to see if the normally calm and collected doctor could ever crack, even slightly, under your antics.

✧ you decide to start small, choosing to "stress" him out during one of his intense research sessions.

✧ "dr. ratio," you call out from across the lab, your tone light and teasing.

✧ he doesn’t look up from his holopad. "yes?"

✧ "can you explain this to me again? i swear i just don’t get it."

✧ you hold up a tablet displaying a simple analysis you’re perfectly capable of interpreting. it’s the third time you’ve asked him about something today, and you’re sure he’s starting to notice.

✧ he sighs, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. "are you sure you’re not just overthinking it?"

✧ "maybe," you say, shrugging. "or maybe you’re just bad at explaining things."

✧ that earns you a sharp look, and for a split second, you think you’ve actually pushed too far. but then his lips twitch, a flicker of amusement breaking through his usual stoicism.

✧ "bad at explaining things?" he repeats, setting his holopad down. "are you testing my patience, or are you testing my intelligence?"

✧ "both," you reply with a cheeky grin. he chuckles softly, shaking his head. "if you wanted my attention, you could’ve just asked."

✧ despite his calm exterior, you notice the subtle way he shifts closer to you, his focus entirely on you now. you can’t help but feel a small thrill of triumph, though you know you’re playing with fire.

✧ later, you decide to up the stakes. while he’s meticulously organizing data, you lean against the desk, deliberately placing your hand over one of his charts.

✧ "do you ever think about taking a break?" you ask, tilting your head at him. "you work so much, it’s like you’re married to your lab."

✧ he arches an eyebrow, his gaze flicking to your hand covering his work. "and if i am? does that bother you?"

✧ "a little," you admit, your tone teasing. "what if you end up ignoring more important things?"

✧ he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he studies you. "and what would those ‘important things’ be?"

✧ his voice is calm, but there’s a glint in his eyes that makes you feel like you’ve walked right into his trap. "me, obviously," you say, trying to maintain your confidence.

✧ he hums thoughtfully, as if considering your words. then, without warning, he reaches out and gently flicks your forehead.

✧ "you’re not very subtle," he says, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

✧ "ouch," you say, rubbing your forehead with a pout. "was that necessary?"

✧ "completely," he replies smoothly. "if you’re going to test me, at least make it challenging."

✧ his words leave you flustered, and you quickly retreat from his desk, muttering something about needing fresh air. but later, when he finds you in the lounge, he sets a cup of tea in front of you without a word.

✧ "what’s this for?" you ask, looking up at him.

✧ "you seemed tense earlier," he says simply. "and since you’re so concerned about me ignoring important things, I thought I’d remind you that you’re one of them."

✧ your heart skips a beat at his casual declaration, and for once, you’re at a loss for words. he smirks at your reaction, clearly pleased with himself, before walking away, leaving you to process his unexpected yet reassuring gesture.

✧ turns out, dr. ratio isn’t so easy to test—but he makes it clear that he’s always paying attention.

✧ however, he sits you down for a serious talk afterward. “you don’t need to test me. i like you—that much should be obvious by now.”

aventurine

✧ aventurine takes your antics in stride but is clearly not one to tolerate nonsense for long.

✧ but in all seriousness it feels like you're trying to move a mountain. his steadfastness and confidence make it seem impossible to throw him off balance, but you’re determined to see how deep his patience and affection run. you tell yourself it’s just curiosity, but deep down, you crave the reassurance that this larger-than-life man truly feels the same way you do.

✧ it begins subtly, during one of his routine mineral inspections. he’s meticulously cataloging a haul of rare crystals when you decide to “help.”

✧ “aventurine, what’s this one called?” you ask, holding up a dazzling gem you already know the name of.

✧ he barely glances up, his deep voice calm and measured. “that’s a starshard geode. its structure is—”

✧ “wait, wait,” you interrupt, turning it over in your hands. “are you sure? it kinda looks like... a moonstone?”

✧ his head finally lifts, and he looks at you with a mixture of amusement and mild disbelief. “a moonstone? not even close. are you trying to challenge my expertise?”

✧ “maybe,” you tease, placing the gem back in the wrong compartment.

✧ he sighs, but there’s no frustration in his expression, only a patient shake of his head as he moves the gem back to its proper place. “you’re impossible,” he mutters, though there’s a small smile tugging at his lips.

✧ later, you decide to turn up the heat. as he’s polishing a massive chunk of raw celestium, you sit nearby, swinging your legs off the edge of the table.

✧ “aventurine,” you say sweetly.

✧ “mm?” he responds without looking up.

✧ “do you ever get tired of being around me?”

✧ that gets his attention. he pauses mid-polish, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as he turns to face you fully. “what kind of question is that?”

✧ you shrug, feigning nonchalance. “i mean, i can be annoying sometimes. don’t you ever just... wish for some peace and quiet?”

✧ he sets the celestium down with deliberate care and crosses his arms, his imposing figure suddenly feeling even larger.

✧ “you’re trying to get a reaction out of me,” he says plainly, his voice as steady as the ground beneath your feet.

✧ “what? me? no way,” you reply, trying to sound innocent.

✧ he steps closer, leaning down so his face is level with yours. his expression is serious, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his gaze.

✧ “if i wanted peace and quiet, i wouldn’t be here,” he says firmly. “do you really think i’d waste my time with someone i don’t care about?”

✧ his straightforwardness leaves you momentarily stunned, and he chuckles softly at your silence. “you don’t need to test me, you know,” he adds, his tone softening. “if you have doubts, just ask. i don’t like games, but i’ll always give you the truth.”

✧ you feel a pang of guilt for pushing him, but his reassurance warms your heart. “sorry,” you mumble, looking down. “i just wanted to be sure...”

✧ he reaches out, gently lifting your chin so you’re forced to meet his gaze.

✧ “then let me make it clear,” he says, his golden eyes unwavering. “you matter to me. and that’s not going to change, no matter how many gems you mislabel.”

✧ you laugh softly, the tension melting away as his words sink in. it was clear that his affection for you is as solid and enduring as the earth itself.

boothill

✧ boothill is rough around the edges but has a soft spot for you, so your little test catches him off guard.

✧ boothill's unmovable, stone-faced, and never shows signs of cracking, no matter what you throw his way. but that’s exactly why you’re so curious. you’ve seen his stoic side, his professionalism, and his dedication, but does that mean there’s any space for you in that heart of his? you decide to try and test the waters.

✧ it begins in a quiet moment, after a long mission. you’re both back at the base, sitting side by side on a bench. boothill is cleaning his weapon, his focus so intense that it feels like nothing in the world could distract him. you watch him for a moment, then decide to start.

✧ “boothill,” you call out softly.

✧ he doesn’t look up, but you see his fingers pause for a fraction of a second before he resumes cleaning his weapon.

✧ “yeah?”

✧ “do you ever wonder if you’re too... distant? i mean, you’re always so focused, so serious. don’t you ever need to relax a bit?”

✧ he glances at you now, his piercing gaze meeting yours for just a second. but he doesn’t answer right away, instead just continuing with his task.

✧ “relaxing isn’t exactly something i prioritize,” he replies with his usual calm. “there’s work to be done.”

✧ you scoff lightly, pushing your luck a little. “work, work, work. what about you, huh? when’s it your turn to... i don’t know, enjoy life? have some fun?”

✧ he looks at you then, and there’s something almost unreadable in his expression. his eyes soften just a fraction, and he lets out a small sigh.

✧ “if you think i don’t enjoy life, you’re wrong,” he says, voice low but surprisingly tender. “i just don’t need distractions.”

✧ you press a little more, feeling a mischievous spark inside you. “so, you’re saying you don’t need me to distract you?”

✧ boothill stops what he’s doing for a moment, and this time, he stares at you, really staring. for a split second, you think you’ve gone too far. but then he leans back, folding his arms across his chest, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

✧ “testing me, huh?” he says, his voice laced with dry amusement. “you’re a little more persistent than i expected.”

✧ you shrug nonchalantly, hoping your nonchalance hides the fact that your heart is pounding. “i just want to know if you care, boothill. i mean, you’re so... detached sometimes. how do i know it’s not all just professional to you?”

✧ his gaze softens, and for a brief moment, there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that catches you off guard. then, without warning, he reaches out and gently grabs your hand, pulling it into his lap.

✧ “care?” he murmurs, his thumb stroking the back of your hand in slow, deliberate movements. “i care more than you know.”

✧ your breath catches in your throat, and you feel the weight of his words settle over you like a blanket. the walls he’s built around himself are still there, but now, you realize that inside, there’s room for you.

✧ “you don’t need to test me for that,” he adds, his voice low and reassuring. “just... don’t expect me to show it the same way as everyone else.”

✧ you can feel the sincerity in his touch, in his gaze, and something inside you finally clicks. boothill’s love is subtle, understated, and a little rough around the edges, but it’s real.

✧ “i get it,” you whisper, squeezing his hand gently. “sorry for making you doubt me.”

✧ he chuckles quietly, a rare sound that makes your heart flutter. “you’re relentless. but that’s why i like you.”

✧ and there it is—he may not always wear his heart on his sleeve, but boothill’s love for you is unwavering, and that’s something you can rely on, even if it’s not always obvious.

gallagher

✧ gallagher is as easygoing as they come, but even he has limits.

✧ it starts innocently enough—just a playful attempt to poke at his carefully maintained composure. he’s in the middle of preparing a meal, the scent of fresh herbs and sizzling meat filling the air as he moves about the kitchen with his usual precision. you, however, are seated at the table, tapping your fingers lightly against the wood, watching him with a raised eyebrow.

✧ “gallagher,” you start, your voice casual but laced with curiosity.

✧ “hm?” he replies, glancing at you briefly before returning to his task.

✧ “how do you always manage to keep your cool? i mean, don’t you ever get tired of being so... well, perfect?”

✧ he doesn’t look up this time, but there’s a subtle shift in the air, like he’s sensing you’re trying to test him. his movements are smooth and measured, and he doesn’t skip a beat as he finishes plating the food.

✧ “there’s no point in losing composure over things that don’t matter,” he says matter-of-factly, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “chaos doesn’t make for a good meal.”

✧ you bite your lip, leaning back in your chair. “so, you’re saying everything has to be ‘in its place’ with you? even with people?”

✧ his hands freeze for just a moment, and you catch a flicker of something in his expression—maybe amusement, maybe something else. but it’s gone as quickly as it came. he finishes plating the meal with a soft sigh, setting the plate in front of you.

✧ “i’m not a machine, if that’s what you’re implying,” he says, finally meeting your gaze. “i’m not perfect. i just prefer things to be organized—helps with focus.”

✧ you raise an eyebrow, pushing a bit more. “oh? and does that mean you like it when people don’t mess with your focus? or is that just a ‘you’ thing?”

✧ gallagher pauses, studying you carefully. for a moment, the air is thick with tension, but then he smirks slightly, a glimmer of teasing in his eyes.

✧ “messing with my focus?” he repeats, his voice playful now. “is that what you’re doing? because, if i’m being honest, it’s working. you’ve got my attention now.”

✧ you blink, taken aback by his response. you expected him to brush it off, but instead, he steps closer, his presence a little more imposing now.

✧ “you know,” he continues, his tone lower, “you’re not as subtle as you think you are. but i’ll give you points for persistence.”

✧ you try to recover, but there’s something about the way he looks at you that leaves you speechless for a moment.

✧ “persistence?” you murmur, a little breathless.

✧ he nods, his smile softening just enough to show you that it’s genuine. “you’ve got a lot of questions, but i don’t need to play games with you. if you want answers, just ask. you don’t have to test me to find out if i’m interested.”

✧ his words hit you harder than you expected, and you realize that gallagher isn’t someone to hide his feelings. it’s not that he’s cold—he’s just direct. he’ll never say it in the way you might expect, but his actions speak louder than anything else.

✧ “i guess i’m just used to waiting for things to fall into place,” you admit, trying to play it cool.

✧ he leans in slightly, the faintest hint of humor in his eyes. “you don’t have to wait with me. i’m already here.”

✧ his tone is simple, but it carries a weight of meaning that makes your heart skip a beat. gallagher doesn’t do drama, but when he gives you his attention, it’s clear that he’s all in, no matter how much he might downplay it.

moze

✧ moze is a man of few words, and your antics genuinely confuse him. 😰😰

✧  he's calm, composed, and always so serious, which makes you determined to break through that cold, unreadable exterior. you’ve decided to test his limits, just to see if you can get a real reaction out of him.

✧ it starts on a typical day after a mission. you’re sitting across from him in the common room, watching as he pores over some data logs. your usual routine involves making things just a little more interesting for him, because let’s face it—moze needs to lighten up.

✧ “moze,” you say, a grin tugging at your lips.

✧ he doesn’t look up, but you can see the slight twitch of his eyebrow. “what is it?”

✧ you make a show of examining the ceiling, tapping your chin dramatically. “have you ever wondered if the world is actually upside down? like, maybe gravity's all wrong, and we’re just... stuck to the floor by pure luck?”

✧ moze pauses for a split second, probably wondering how you can turn a perfectly normal moment into this. then, without missing a beat, he glances at you, deadpan.

✧ “if the world was upside down, i assume you'd be the one stuck on the ceiling by pure luck,” he says flatly, already returning to his work.

✧ you burst into laughter, but moze doesn’t even flinch, just continues typing, his expression still as composed as ever. he’s like a stone statue, and it’s honestly a little impressive.

✧ “okay, okay,” you say, wiping a tear from your eye. “let’s try something different.” you lean forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “do you ever get bored? you know, just sitting there all serious, pretending like you’re too busy to talk?”

✧ this time, he doesn’t even look up from his work. “bored? No. Are you trying to see how far you can push me before i snap?”

✧ you nod, trying not to smile too widely. “yep! How’s it going so far?”

✧ moze lets out a soft sigh, clearly unamused but still managing to hold his ground. “i’m doing great. You, on the other hand... are a handful.”

✧ “a handful? me?” you gasp dramatically, clutching your chest. “I’m hurt, moze. I’m just trying to keep things interesting around here!”

✧ his lips twitch ever so slightly, but it’s almost imperceptible. “you’re making it interesting... in the same way that throwing a tantrum in a library is interesting.”

✧ you tilt your head, pretending to consider this for a moment. “so, you’re saying you don’t like chaos?”

✧ “i like order,” he says, never looking away from the screen. “but if you’re asking if you can test my patience, then yes, you’re doing a very good job of that.”

✧ you giggle, thoroughly entertained by the way he’s handling you. "oh, come on, just admit it. you love the chaos! You secretly think it's hilarious when I mess with you."

✧ moze looks up at you for the first time in a while, his expression still all business but with the tiniest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “if by hilarious, you mean mildly irritating, then yes.”

✧ “mildly?!” you gasp in faux offense. “I’m doing my best here, moze! how could you rate my efforts so low?”

✧ he leans back slightly in his chair, finally breaking his stoic routine. “honestly, i’m impressed you’re still going. most people would’ve given up by now.”

✧ “well, i'm not ‘most people,’ am I?” you reply with a cheeky smile.

✧ he smirks ever so slightly, though it’s mostly to himself. “no. clearly.”

✧ you can’t help but giggle, because while moze definitely isn’t as easily rattled as others, it’s clear he’s starting to find the humor in your antics.

✧ “admit it, moze,” you tease. “i’m the most fun you’ve had all week.”

✧ he raises an eyebrow, finally closing the data pad and turning his full attention to you. “if by ‘fun’ you mean ‘annoying distraction,’ then yes.”

✧ you stick your tongue out at him playfully. “you love me, admit it.”

✧ moze chuckles dryly, though it’s far from his usual serious tone. “you’re impossible. But for some reason, i don’t mind.”

✧ “there it is!” you exclaim, pointing dramatically. “the confession! finally!”

✧ he sighs, but there’s a hint of fondness in his eyes now. “don’t push your luck. i’m still not letting you off the hook for the chaos you’ve caused.”

✧ you grin, leaning back in your seat, satisfied. “you can’t get rid of me that easily, moze. get used to it.”

✧ “i’m already used to it,” he mutters under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head.

jiaoqiu

✧ jiaoqiu is calm and composed, but your “test” slowly chips away at his patience.

✧ his idea of "testing" his patience feels almost like trying to mess with a finely tuned recipe—you know that if you push too far, something could spoil, but you can't resist seeing how he’ll react. the thing about jiaoqiu is that he’s blind, but that doesn’t stop him from being as sharp as a knife when it comes to his senses. especially when it comes to cooking—his true passion.

✧ you’ve noticed something about him, though. the more you “stress” him, the more attentive he gets, in his own way. it’s kind of like the game’s in his favor, and you’re slowly realizing he might be playing right along with you.

✧ one evening, you’re hanging out in the kitchen with jiaoqiu, and you’ve already decided to take your "testing" to the next level. as he prepares some of his signature dishes—no surprise, they're the most complex meals imaginable, even though he can't see a thing—you're doing your best to throw him off.

✧ “jiaoqiu, are you sure you don’t want me to help with that? it looks... dangerous,” you tease, noticing the steam rising from the pot in front of him.

✧ “dangerous?” he repeats, clearly amused but not thrown off. he moves deftly around the kitchen, the sound of his chopping board in the background. “my dear, cooking isn’t dangerous unless you’re trying to make something impossible.”

✧ you laugh softly, leaning against the counter. “so, you’re saying if I started pulling the wrong spices out, you wouldn’t even notice?”

✧ he pauses, then lets out a small chuckle of his own. “i might not see it, but i can certainly smell it. and don’t think i don’t know when you’re reaching for something you shouldn’t be.”

✧ you feign shock, dramatically holding your hands up as if caught in the act. “i would never! i have complete respect for your culinary expertise!”

✧ jiaoqiu hums, as if pondering your words, but then he continues his cooking with that quiet confidence he always carries. “you’d be more convincing if you didn’t have that mischievous glint in your eye.”

✧ your grin widens. it’s clear he’s onto you now, but you still try to push. “well, how would you know? You can't see, after all.”

✧ “true,” he replies calmly, “but i know the sounds of the kitchen well enough. if you were to drop something, or mess with the ingredients... i’d hear it. the rhythm of it all gives me a good idea of what’s happening.”

✧ you blink, stunned. you had been testing him, but jiaoqiu seems to always be one step ahead. how does he know? how can he be so confident?

✧ “and,” he adds, his voice still soft but with a hint of playfulness, “i know you, [your name].”

✧ you laugh, finally admitting defeat. “okay, okay! you got me. but seriously, how do you do it? how do you know where everything is?”

✧ he pauses his cooking and turns toward you, his voice warm yet full of humor. “let’s say i’ve had a lot of practice. and when you love something as much as i love cooking, you learn to rely on all your senses, not just sight. even when you can’t see, your other senses fill in the gaps.”

✧ you watch him work for a moment, and despite his lack of eyesight, he’s a master in the kitchen. it’s clear that his expertise comes from much more than just the act of cooking; it’s a connection to the ingredients, the textures, the sounds of each step.

✧ “okay, but what if i really messed something up? what if i did something totally wrong, just to mess with you?”

✧ he raises an eyebrow—something that’s only visible through his voice, but you get the feeling he’s smirking. “well, if you did that, i’d probably just end up fixing it before you even noticed. and then i’d make you do the dishes.”

✧ you groan, defeated but also thoroughly entertained. “you’re way too good at this.”

✧ “you’re the one testing me, not the other way around,” jiaoqiu reminds you, returning his focus to his cooking. but this time, you can hear the faint warmth in his tone, a reassurance that’s just for you. “but don’t worry, i’m not going to let you ruin dinner. even if you try to be a little mischievous.”

✧ there’s something comforting in the way he handles it all—the teasing, the games you play, even the mess-ups you deliberately throw his way. he may not be able to see you, but you know he can feel your presence, your energy, and you can’t help but feel safe in it. despite his teasing, despite the quiet confidence, jiaoqiu has a way of making everything feel just... right.

✧ “next time,” you say, grinning, “i’m going to really throw you off.”

✧ jiaoqiu just laughs softly, shaking his head as he finishes up his dish. “i’ll be waiting, [your name]. i’ll be waiting.”

✧  “but uh, next time, just ask me. there’s no need for this kind of... drama.”

sunday

✧ sunday is all sunshine and joy, but even he can get flustered when you start testing him.

✧ sunday is a halovian, with those distinct small fluffy wings nestled around his neck—adorably soft and always twitching with his every mood. you’ve learned that while he might seem all chill and sunny on the surface, he’s got his own quirks, and if you push him far enough, he’s more likely to play along than snap at you.

✧ one day, you’re lounging in the living area, and sunday’s sitting across from you, lazily flipping through a book. you can’t resist; it’s time for some mischief.

✧ “hey, sunday,” you call, trying to hide your grin.

✧ “yeah?” he replies, looking off guard. "have you ever been nervous before? like, nervous nervous?"

✧ “nervous? me? c’mon, i’m practically impossible to ruffle.” he gives you a lighthearted shrug, but you can see the playful challenge in his eyes. he’s used to keeping things breezy, but you’ve caught his attention now.

✧ you press on, deciding to have a little more fun with this. “oh really? well, let’s see... I’ve got a whole list of ways I could mess with you.”

✧ sunday doesn’t seem fazed at first, but you notice the way his fluffy wings twitch a little more with each word you say. it’s like a radar for his mood—you know he’s still calm, but there’s something in the way his feathers ruffle when he’s listening to you.

✧ “well, you’ll have to be a lot sneakier than that if you want to get under my skin,” he says, flashing you that signature grin of his, but now you can see a little spark of competitiveness in his eyes.

✧ you, of course, aren’t backing down. “let’s see if i can. hey, sunday, do you ever get tired of being all... perfect?” you ask, making air quotes around "perfect" with your hands.

✧ sunday’s wings flutter again, and this time, you catch the faintest shift in his posture. “perfect?” he asks, trying to play it off, but there’s a subtle twitch in the fluff near his neck. “you’re really gonna call me perfect? what’s wrong with that?”

✧ oh, he’s biting now. perfect. you lean in, voice teasing. “well, it just seems a little... too easy, don’t you think? i mean, you’re always so relaxed, always in control. how do you even do it?”

✧ you can see sunday’s lips twitch in amusement, and his wings give an exaggerated little flutter, like they’re bristling. he’s definitely aware now, but the best part is how he's trying to play it cool, still acting like he’s the one in control.

✧ “you really think i’ve got it all under control, huh?” he responds, a bit of a challenge creeping into his tone. “well, i guess i am pretty awesome. i mean, who could resist all this charm?” he gestures to himself dramatically, his wings fluffing out like he’s proud of the effect they have.

✧ you laugh, but don’t let up. “oh, i’m sure the charm works, but... do you ever get tired of being this smooth?” you tease, pretending to think it over. “i mean, surely you get a little flustered once in a while, right? just a little bit?”

✧ that’s when you see it—a small, barely perceptible shift. sunday’s wings twitch against his neck, brushing lightly as he tries to keep his expression neutral, but you catch it. there’s a softening in his demeanor, a slight heat creeping into his tone.

✧ ���huh. so now i’m too smooth?” he teases, but it’s a little less confident now. “maybe you’re just getting good at finding my weak spots.”

✧ you smile, leaning back triumphantly. “maybe. or maybe you’re just too easy to read, sunday.”

✧ he narrows his eyes playfully, but you catch the small, almost imperceptible shift in his posture as his wings flutter just a little more. it's like they’re signaling his internal shift—he’s starting to realize you’re not just playing around.

✧ “okay, okay,” sunday says with a dramatic sigh, his wings now fully unfurled behind him like a soft, fluffy halo. he rubs the back of his neck and gives you a teasing look. “you wanna stress me out, huh? well, guess i’ll have to turn the tables a little.”

✧ with that, sunday leans closer, grinning mischievously. his wings brush against his neck again, this time on purpose, causing a soft, tickling sensation that makes you jump a little.

✧ “how’s this?” he asks, and now, you realize—he’s playing his own game. “i think we’re gonna see how you handle me.”

✧ sunday’s easygoing nature mixed with his unexpected turn in this little game makes it all the more fun. as he continues to toy with you, you can’t help but laugh at how well he’s handled your antics.

✧ “alright, alright,” you admit, finally letting the game end, “you win. i’ll stop testing your patience... for now.”

✧ his wings flutter triumphantly behind him as he gives you a mock salute, his grin still wide and playful. “you’re welcome to try again any time, [name]. but you should know—I don’t get flustered that easily. unless...” he pauses, giving you a teasing look, “...you do something even crazier next time.”

✧ you can’t help but smile back. sunday’s laid-back nature might be hard to crack, but it’s clear—he does enjoy the game, and in the end, he’s always up for a little bit of fun at your expense.

jing yuan

✧ jing yuan usually keeps his composure, but when you start “testing” his patience, he begins to crack ever so slightly.

✧ jing yuan is the epitome of calm, controlled elegance. he carries himself like a well-balanced scale, measured in his actions and words, always composed, always unfazed. but when you start testing him that balance teeters, just a little, though he’s careful to maintain his outward serenity.

✧ you know he's a man of patience, but every person has their breaking point—and you're curious to see how far you can push his.

✧ it all starts innocently enough, a bit of teasing and mild mischief on your part. you might "accidentally" misplace his paperwork, or maybe ask him endless trivial questions when you know he’s buried in his work. you’re not being cruel, of course—just playful, testing the waters to see if he’ll falter.

✧ he humors you at first, a chuckle escaping his lips when you ask something particularly silly. “what is it, my dear?” he asks, a gentle smile tugging at his lips, his golden eyes never leaving his work. “another question for me?”

✧ but as the questions come one after another, you start to notice a shift. his pen slows, and for a moment, his fingers still. he leans back in his chair, gaze lifting to meet yours.

“you’re playing a dangerous game, my dear,” he says, his voice low, but laced with amusement. “are you testing me to see if i’ll lose interest? because i can assure you, i won’t.”

✧ there’s a sharpness to his tone now, the calm facade slipping just slightly. it's subtle, but you catch it—a flicker of something deeper behind his eyes. his gaze darkens with an unreadable emotion, and for the first time, you wonder if you've pushed him too far.

✧ but you’re not one to back down easily, so you keep going, shifting the game into a new gear. you become a little more persistent, trying to get under his skin without being too obvious. you ask more ridiculous questions, throw in more distractions, all in the name of seeing how he reacts. surely, a man like jing yuan, so steady and composed, would get annoyed eventually, right?

✧ you watch him for a long moment, his gaze steady and unwavering. His fingers tap lightly on the edge of the desk, his lips curling into a knowing smile.

✧ "is that what you're after?" he asks, his voice softer, but with a certain challenge in it. "you wish to see how far i'll bend? to see if i can be swayed by such... antics?"

✧ your breath catches in your throat, and you wonder if you’ve finally crossed the line. but instead of growing irritated, jing yuan does something entirely unexpected. he sets his pen down with a deliberate motion and stands up, walking around to your side of the desk. his presence looms over you in the most comforting, yet commanding way.

✧ before you can even react, he reaches for your hand, his touch warm and steady. “i can’t help but wonder…” he begins, his voice dipping into something more intimate, more affectionate than you were prepared for. “did you think you could test me without consequences?”

✧ you blink up at him, the playful tension suddenly replaced by a sense of vulnerability. there’s something in his eyes now, a deep knowing.

✧ without waiting for an answer, he leans down, his lips brushing lightly against your ear. “you’re not the only one who can play games, [name],” he murmurs, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine.

✧ you’re thrown off balance. the tables have turned, and now it’s you who’s feeling slightly flustered. where you were once testing him, now he’s testing you. he’s suddenly more attentive, more affectionate, drawing you in with every word, every touch.

✧ he chuckles softly when he sees your reaction, his golden eyes glinting with amusement. “you didn’t think i’d let you have all the fun, did you?” he teases. “i must admit, i’m rather enjoying this.”

✧ you open your mouth to respond, but all you manage is a soft laugh, caught between trying to keep your composure and wanting to give in to the sudden wave of warmth he’s throwing your way.

✧ “alright, jing yuan,” you say, trying to maintain your cool, but failing miserably. “i’ll admit defeat... for now.”

✧ his smile widens, a gentle but confident grin. “defeat? no, my dear. this isn’t about defeat. this is about knowing where we stand. and now that i’ve shown you, i expect no more games.”

✧ his words hang in the air like a promise, and you realize he’s not just testing you—he’s reassuring you, in his own way. with him, you never had to worry about being lost in his affection, because it’s clear: he’s always there, steady as ever.

✧ and just like that, the game you started has ended—only now, it’s more than you ever expected.

dan heng

✧ dan heng is the embodiment of calm and collected. his reserved nature and stoic expression almost never crack, even under the most trying of circumstances. it takes a lot to throw him off balance, which is why you’ve made it your mission to see if you can break that calm demeanor of his—just a little.

✧ at first, you start small. maybe you ask him to help you with something you’re perfectly capable of doing yourself, like reaching for a book you’re clearly just a bit too lazy to grab. you catch him off guard, but as expected, he’s kind enough to help without comment.

✧ “thank you, dan heng,” you say with an exaggerated sigh of relief.

✧ he gives you a short, quiet nod, his expression unchanged. “it’s no trouble,” he mutters, though there’s a faint suspicion in his voice.

✧ you smile innocently, but it’s not lost on you how quickly he’s growing aware of your game. so, you keep at it, asking for more and more “help” with things you’re fully capable of doing on your own. every time he obliges, you see his eyes narrow ever so slightly, and you can almost feel the gears turning in his head as he processes what's going on.

✧ “dan heng,” you ask one day, leaning into the playful tension between you two, “could you pass me the salt?” the shaker’s right in front of you, of course.

✧ there’s a long pause. his gaze flicks over to the salt shaker, then back to you, his brow furrowing just the tiniest bit. “you’re not really that helpless, are you?” he asks, his voice quiet but sharp.

✧ you feign surprise. “i’m not? you sure?”

✧ he doesn’t respond right away, his fingers tapping lightly on the surface of the table. you can practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes.

✧ “i know you’re not,” he says finally, voice even but tinged with a little irritation now. “so, what are you trying to prove?”

✧ you chuckle softly, realizing you’ve definitely gotten under his skin now. but it’s more out of curiosity than malice—you want to see how far you can go before he snaps, how long he’ll let you test him before he turns the tables.

✧ “oh, nothing,” you say innocently. “just wanted to see if you’d do it without asking questions.”

✧ dan heng’s eyes narrow, and for the first time in this little game, he seems to truly study you, as if trying to gauge your intentions.

✧ “you’re not as subtle as you think,” he finally says, his tone firm but not unkind. “you’re trying to get a reaction out of me, aren’t you?”

✧ you grin, leaning back with a satisfied look. “maybe... what’s the harm?”

✧ dan heng stands up from his seat, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he slowly gathers his things. you know you’ve pushed him a little, but you’re unsure if he’s genuinely upset or just playing along.

✧ “fine,” he mutters. “you want a reaction? here it is.”

✧ you blink as he steps closer, his usual reserved demeanor slipping as he looks down at you with a slight, almost imperceptible frown. “if i didn’t care about you, i wouldn’t even be here, helping you with these ridiculous requests. so, stop trying to push my patience.”

✧ you freeze for a moment, surprised at how direct and blunt he’s being. there’s no anger in his words—just a quiet frustration, the kind that comes from realizing how much you’ve been testing him.

✧ he lets out a short laugh, shaking his head as if he can’t quite believe what he’s dealing with. “honestly, i’m not sure if you’re trying to get me to lose my patience or just see how far you can push me.”

✧ you smile sheepishly, knowing you’ve been a little relentless with your “tests.” “i guess a bit of both,” you admit, but there’s a softness in your voice now. “i just wanted to see if you’d care enough to call me out on it.”

✧ dan heng sighs deeply, but now there’s a warmth to his expression that wasn’t there before. he steps closer and places a hand gently on your shoulder, the touch more tender than you expected. “i care enough to call you out, even if it means putting up with your nonsense.”

✧ it’s quiet for a moment, but you can feel the sincerity in his words. you’ve definitely ruffled his calm, but in a way that shows just how much he’s paying attention, how much he truly cares for you.

✧ you laugh lightly, not expecting him to be so honest about it, but secretly glad to know you’ve gotten through to him. “i’ll try not to test you so much, okay?”

✧ dan heng shakes his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “i’ll believe it when i see it.”

welt yang

✧ welt, being the mature and experienced gentleman he is, notices your little “test” immediately.

✧ the man is used to dealing with delicate matters, whether in his long history of research, his time as a historian, or the countless responsibilities that come with leading in times of crisis. so, when you start testing his patience, you know it’s going to take a lot more than a small inconvenience to shake him. that being said, you enjoy challenging him, just a little, to see how far you can push him.

✧ you start off small, of course. asking him the most trivial questions when he’s in the middle of reading one of his ancient books. “hey, welt,” you say sweetly, “do you think this book is boring?” the book’s not even in your hands, and he knows that you’re probably more interested in him than in the actual content of the text.

✧ at first, he doesn’t mind. he chuckles softly and lowers the book, humoring you with a small smile. “if i’m being honest, i would say it depends on your taste in reading. but you do know i can’t really afford distractions right now, right?”

✧ you smile, but this isn’t nearly enough to throw him off. you push again, dropping little hints like the fact that he’s been at his desk for hours on end and could probably use a break. you make a comment about how he’s always so serious, so focused, and maybe you should help him lighten up.

✧ “you know,” you tease, “you work too hard. you should take a break. come on, just for a minute?”

✧ welt sets the book down and looks at you, raising an eyebrow. “i’m not sure if i would call it ‘work’ if i’m doing something i enjoy, but i do appreciate the concern. perhaps you have something else in mind to keep me occupied?”

✧ his tone is light, playful even, but there’s something in his eyes that suggests he’s well aware of your intentions. he’s not the type to get easily upset, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t picked up on your little game.

✧ “you really know how to throw me off track, don’t you?” he says with a smile, clearly amused by your antics. “is this your way of seeing how far i’ll go before i lose my cool?”

✧ you grin, not backing down. “maybe. you seem so calm all the time. i wanted to know if i could make you flinch, just a little.”

✧ welt lets out a soft laugh, leaning back in his chair. “you’re testing me now, aren’t you? i suppose i should’ve expected as much from you.”

✧ you notice his hands move to the side of his glasses, adjusting them ever so slightly, and that’s when you realize: he’s fully aware of what’s going on.

✧ “you know, it’s cute that you think i’m impervious to distractions,” he continues, clearly enjoying your playful attempts. “but perhaps you underestimate how well i’ve learned to focus in the midst of chaos.”

✧ you can’t help but laugh at that, realizing that no matter how hard you try, you’re not going to make him flinch. he’s too smooth, too used to handling these kinds of things.

✧ “maybe i should stop testing you,” you say, a bit sheepishly. “you’re just too good at staying calm.”

✧ welt smiles knowingly. “i’ve had plenty of practice, but if you really want to test me further, i’m sure there are other ways to do so.” he leans forward, raising an eyebrow, his voice turning just a bit teasing. “but i’m not so easily caught off guard, dear. if you want to see me lose my composure, you’ll have to be a little more creative.”

✧ you blink in surprise at how easily he flipped the situation on its head, and then it dawns on you: you’ve just been outplayed.

✧ he notices the realization in your expression and gives you an amused glance. “now, if you’re really interested, i can give you some advice on how to keep your distractions less obvious in the future. but don’t expect me to fall for it again so easily.”

✧ you can’t help but laugh. “alright, alright, you win this round.”

✧ welt chuckles softly, picking up his book again. “it’s not about winning or losing, but about knowing how to handle what comes your way. and if you ever need a distraction, you know where to find me.”

✧ “but do you know, if you want reassurance, you only need to ask. i don’t play games when it comes to my feelings for you.” my man does NOT play when it comes to you!! 🙅‍♀️ 🙅‍♀️

blade

✧ he is stoic, so basically this feels like poking a sleeping tiger. you’d try to stress him out by being overly affectionate in public or daringly teasing him in front of the stellaron hunters.

✧ blade is a man of few words, and even fewer smiles. so when you start poking at him, trying to get a rise out of him, you know you’re walking a fine line. but that’s exactly what you want, isn’t it? to see just how much you can push before he cracks.

✧ it starts with small, playful jabs. teasing him about his stoic nature, of course. you know he’s not the type to express himself easily, but that doesn’t stop you from trying to bring out something more from him.

✧ “blade, do you ever smile? i think i’d faint if i saw it.”

✧ you say it with a mischievous grin, watching for any sign of a reaction. his first response is the usual – a glare that could melt steel. but there’s something else in his eyes, a flicker of something that tells you he’s holding back a smirk. deep down, you know he secretly enjoys your antics.

✧ “you’re really trying to get me to laugh, aren’t you?” he says, his voice low and steady, though it has a hint of something playful beneath it.

✧ you push further, though, not willing to let up so easily. “come on, blade. you can’t possibly be that serious all the time. it’s like you’re stuck in permanent brooding mode.”

✧ and that’s when the situation takes a turn. before you can even process it, he grabs your wrist with surprising speed, pulling you close, his voice dropping even lower, sending a shiver down your spine.

✧ “you think i’d waste my time with someone i didn’t care about? don’t test me.”

✧ his words come with an intensity that you didn’t expect, his presence so overpowering that it almost takes the air out of your lungs. you blink, momentarily taken aback, but you don’t back down. the playful teasing lingers in the air, even though you can tell that you’ve crossed the line.

✧ but blade, in his own way, seems to realize that. after a moment, he releases his grip on your wrist, letting out a quiet sigh. the edge of his tone softens, just slightly.

✧ “you’re important to me,” he mutters, his voice low but genuine. “stop doubting that.”

✧ there’s no grand declaration, no flowery words. just the blunt honesty of a man who’s difficult to read, yet in his own way, he’s showing you something far deeper than what words could ever convey.

✧ you watch him for a moment, realizing that, despite all his coldness, there’s a warmth buried deep beneath the surface – one that he’s not so quick to reveal, but it’s there, unmistakable in its own quiet way.

✧ “i guess i’ll just have to take your word for it, huh?” you say with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood once more.

✧ blade doesn’t respond with a smile, but the slightest hint of amusement flickers in his eyes. and maybe, just maybe, that’s his version of a win.

sampo koski

✧ sampo loves games, so he immediately plays along with your little “test.”

✧ sampo has always been the life of the party, the one with a smile on his face and a witty comeback ready for anything. so when you start throwing him off with your uncharacteristic seriousness, it’s like throwing a wrench in his well-oiled machine of flirtations.

✧ you don’t laugh at his jokes, you don’t play along with his flirtations, and you certainly don’t give him the usual banter he’s used to. instead, you respond with an almost eerie level of calm.

✧ “oh? no witty comeback today? you’re scaring me, sweetheart,” he teases, leaning back, watching you with an exaggerated frown as though he’s genuinely concerned. you can see the twinkle in his eyes, but he’s trying to hold it together.

✧ at first, you don’t budge. you just stare at him, deadpan, giving nothing away.

✧ he blinks a few times, clearly thrown off. then, he lets out a dramatic sigh. “oh no, what’s happening? is this… a breakup? did i mess up somehow? what did i do wrong? i can change! i swear, i’ll stop with the flirtations—i’ll even stop trying to steal your snacks!" he says, eyes widening as though he's on the verge of a crisis.

✧ the way he overacts is so ridiculous that it’s hard to keep a straight face. but you’re committed, your expression still unreadable as you let him stew in the nonsense he’s coming up with.

✧ when you finally can’t hold it in anymore and let out a soft laugh, his entire demeanor shifts. in an instant, his playful grin is back, and he pulls you into a sudden hug.

✧ “sweetheart, if i didn’t like you, i wouldn’t stick around this long. but nice try!” he says between chuckles, his voice playful and warm.

✧ you can’t help but smile at his antics. he may act like he’s been genuinely stressed out, but deep down, you know he’s been enjoying every minute of your teasing.

✧ he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes sparkling mischievously. “you really had me going there for a second. but hey, now i know you care enough to test me. i’ll take it as a compliment.”

✧ you shake your head, still amused by his dramatic performance. “don’t ever change, sampo.”

✧ he winks at you, his usual grin returning in full force. “don’t worry, sweetheart, i’m never going to change… unless it’s to make you laugh more.”

luocha

✧ luocha is patient and gentle, but even he has his limits. you’d try to test him by asking endless hypothetical questions about relationships or intentionally making vague statements about your feelings.

✧ when you start throwing questions his way, testing his patience with doubts about his feelings, you know he’ll handle it with the same serenity he always exudes. but the longer it goes on, the more you start to wonder if you’re pushing him too far.

✧ “what if someone better came along?” you ask casually, watching his expression for a hint of reaction. it’s a harmless question in your mind, but you can tell he takes it seriously.

✧ he pauses, his hand resting gently on his chin, thinking it through before answering with his usual calmness. “if someone better came along, then you’d deserve to find happiness with them, just as I would wish for your happiness no matter the circumstances.”

✧ his response isn’t what you expected. it’s thoughtful, selfless, and it makes you question your own intentions. but you can’t help yourself – you press on, seeking reassurance in the form of his steady words.

✧ “but what if you don’t feel the same as you did before? what if you find someone who catches your eye more than me?”

✧ luocha’s gaze softens as he listens to your words. there’s no anger in his eyes, no irritation. only concern, as if he’s trying to understand why you would even think such a thing. his voice remains calm, but now there’s a slight edge to it, as if the question weighs on him more than you realize.

✧ “are you trying to test me?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, his brow furrowing just enough to show he’s genuinely curious. “i hope you know i mean every word i’ve said to you. my feelings are not something i take lightly.”

✧ you’re taken aback, your mind racing as you realize just how much this is affecting him. you weren’t trying to hurt him; you just wanted to see if he truly cared. but now, the weight of your questions hangs heavy in the air.

✧ seeing the uncertainty in your eyes, he lets out a small, almost imperceptible sigh. he reaches out, taking your hand in his, offering you a reassuring smile that radiates warmth.

✧ “there’s no need for doubt,” he says softly, his voice gentle yet firm. “my feelings for you are genuine, and they won’t change based on fleeting insecurities. you are the only one i see, the only one i care for.”

✧ his words carry a weight that resonates deep within you, his sincerity undeniable. you feel a warmth spread through your chest, a sense of relief washing over you.

✧ “i’m sorry,” you say, a little embarrassed by how far you’ve pushed him. “i didn’t mean to make you doubt how much i care.”

✧ luocha chuckles softly, his thumb brushing gently over the back of your hand. “it’s alright,” he says, his voice filled with understanding. “i know you’re just seeking reassurance. but i hope this is enough to put your mind at ease.”

✧ you nod, grateful for his patience and the depth of his affection. his unwavering calmness and the way he handles your doubts only make you feel even more certain that, with him, you never need to worry about someone else coming along.

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[always-just-red]

hihihi! sylus girlie here. as a college student i often never take breaks whenever im working and often stay up late finishing up assignments. then i stress out but never tell anyone and suffer in silence:’) i was wondering if you could do something similar with sylus x mc where mc often forgets to take breaks at the hunters association and is always the first the volunteer for missions so she could improve.

but then it’s starting to take a toll on her and is so so stressed, but feels bad about venting to someone or saying no to new missions.

maybe one day she’s doing a simple task like cooking herself dinner (or something) but accidentally burns herself and she just ends up breaking down and decides to call sylus and he immediately goes to her. :’)

feel free to decline or change anything! i just like the thought of someone comforting u when ur overworked and stressed bc i wish someone would do that to me lol.

Fast-tracked this one for you, anon! I'm really sorry you're having a tough time right now, and I hope this brings you a bit of comfort- remember, Sylus would want you to take care of yourself! Good luck with all your studies, and feel free to send in another request if ever you need it! 🥰

Technical Difficulties

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You're not very good at asking for help when you're struggling. Thankfully? You don't always need to.

Genre: fluff + comfort ft. a very domestic Sylus!

Warnings/Additional tags: stressed reader (has a lil bit of a breakdown!), some swearing, uses of 'kitten' and 'sweetie', Sylus is so soft here he should come with a health warning tbh

| Word count: 2.4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

In the event of a wanderer incursion where evacuation of citizens is obstructed or otherwise not viable, association protocol 32.3-A dictates that you should first… That you should first… What?

Your pen is poised above the blank space where your answer should be. 32.3-A is a general procedure: something to do moving people to the nearest shelter. Or, wait— are you supposed to try to contact support, first?

You drop your pen with a huff and flop face-down onto the mock exam. It’s too much. Too much information, too much responsibility. Open textbooks are spread over your desk and around your head like an unholy halo— stacks of them, filled with codes and procedures. They’re supposed to be helpful, but they’re not; they’re drowning you.

Your phone pings and you glance up. Text from Tara:

Hi! Hate to be a bother, but did you finish glancing over that practice question for me? xx

Shit. You’d completely forgotten. You straighten, reaching for your laptop so you can load up your latest emails. You’ve got time to look over it; the exam isn’t for another two days. Breathe, okay? You have time.

Seven unread emails. What? You scan over them frantically. Two from the Captain: accepting additional mission requests you’d applied for. Were those both this week? One from Nero: you hadn’t sent in that finished report. Three from your colleagues, all scrambling for help with the exam. One from Tara:

Thanks for saying you’d look over this for me! You’re the best at this stuff!

Okay, so: Tara’s practice question. Nero’s report. Your own practice questions. Then… dinner? Maybe that should come first. You’d skipped lunch— had one slice of toast for breakfast. But you don’t wanna cook; cooking takes time, and you’ve got none. None.

Your phone is ringing, snapping you back to reality, and you peek over at it. Sylus?

“Hi,” you greet as you put him on speaker. On your laptop, you’re opening up Tara’s attachment.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Always straight to the point. “Uh… yeah?” you frown as you read through your friend’s work. “Why? What d’you need?”

Sylus sighs through the phone. “That was a test, sweetie. You failed.”

“Yeah, well…” you murmur, highlighting a sentence with your cursor. “Add it to the list.”

The man doesn’t find that funny. The phone is quiet— too quiet. “Are you alright?” he asks, just as your gaze wanders to check if the call has disconnected.

“Mmhmm.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Sylus.”

You stare down at your phone. He’s waiting for more, but you won’t give it to him. You’re one word away from slipping, and you can’t let the dam crumble, especially in front of him. He’s smiling from the phone call background: a photo he insisted would ‘ruin’ his image when you took it last week.  

“I need to go, okay?” Your eyes are shining.

“Okay,” he says softly.

There’s a bleep as the call cuts out, and the photo is gone. Waiting beneath it is another text from Tara, and one from Xavier: Nero told me to txt U bout a report??

You swallow the ache in your throat and slump down on your desk again.

…

You wake up with a start, your head ringing. The tangerine sky outside your window’s turned dark— your laptop, too— and light spills from your desk lamp, yellow on white pages. There’s more, and you turn, tracing it back to where it leaks through the crack of your almost closed bedroom door.

You hadn’t left any lights on in your flat. You hadn’t switched on your lamp, either.

Tiredness is dulling your thoughts and your senses, but you know you feel uneasy. There’s something in the air: smoky, but not unpleasant. You can hear something as well. No— two things. A faint, almost imperceptible hiss, and a more obvious humming.

Hunter instincts kick in. You roll open a drawer of your desk, snatching up one of your standard-issue pistols and removing its safety with a click. You stalk up to the door, your trained footsteps near silent. You take a deep breath, clearing your head. One. Two.

Three! You shoulder the door open, leaping through with your gun trained forwards.

At the other end of your sights, Sylus turns, an eyebrow raised. Your kitchen stove seethes behind him, and he gives you a once over as he sluggishly raises both hands. “You flatter me, kitten,” he smirks in surrender, looking between your weapon and his: a spatula.

You lower your gun, your heart still racing. “I could have killed you, Sylus!”

“That’s the spirit.” His hands drop, too.

“How did you even get in here?”

He’s turned back to the stove, and he’s using the spatula to push something around a frying pan. “Hmm…” he muses, then blink— he’s gone. He’s at your fridge a second later, materialising from thin air. “I wonder,” he finishes as he reaches around for something.

Show off. “You know how I feel about you telepor…” No. “Phas…” No. “Magic…king…?” By now he’s watching you over his shoulder. “You know— that thing you do.” You’re twinkling your fingers. “What do you even call that?”

“Magicking, yeah.”

You huff in response and he laughs, walking back over to where he’s cooking two steaks and preparing a salad. You’re still coming to terms with the fact he’s even here, looking... quite frankly ridiculous, because he’s wearing your apron. It’s too small for him. Baby pink. Frilly, too.

“You know how I feel about you magicking into my home,” you mutter distractedly, because actually? He’s kinda pulling it off. His sleeves are rolled up past his elbows, tight on his arms. “Use the door like a regular person, you psychopath.”  

“Where’s the fun in that?” He sounds smug. Ugh, he must feel your eyes on him; he must know. You think he’s toying with the idea of calling you out, but he doesn’t, and when he does speak, the smugness is gone. “Mephisto saw you were sleeping. I didn’t wish to disturb you. You sounded… tired. On the phone.”

Guilt twinges in your chest as you draw up beside him. “Is that why you’re here? Playing housewife?” You pick at a frill on the apron.

“Poke fun all you want,” he sneers. “This shirt costs more than your entire wardrobe.”

“Snob.”

“Ha.” You have to retract your hand as he threatens it with the spatula. “Watch yourself, sweetie. I’ll remember that the next time you ask to ‘borrow’ my card.”

You laugh gently. Now that’s a threat. You’re about to tell him so when you hear a ping from the other room, and your heart sinks. Just a single sound, and you’re back to where you were an hour ago, at your desk with the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Sylus hums in acknowledgment as you excuse yourself and hurry back to your workspace, snatching up your phone. You missed three calls while you sleeping: all from Xavier. He’s been texting you, too.

Nero’s yelling at me

Wants to talk to U

Can U pick up? Pls?

It’s one report, for gods’ sake. You feel your chest tightening again. You just needed to proofread it, but it’s probably fine, right? You wake your laptop out of standby; you’ll just send it as it is. “I’ll just be a minute, Sy,” you call out. “Need to finish one thing.”

He mumbles something in response, and you imagine it’s for the best you can’t hear it. Your keyboard clacks as you tap out a quick email to Nero, then you surf your files for the report he so desperately wanted. It should be… here. You attach it. Hit send.

Nothing happens.

Huh. You hit send again. Then again— still nothing. You groan, trying to back out of the email. None of your keys are working. Your cursor is stuck. “Oh, come on,” you release on an impatient breath. Switch it off, switch it on again? You hit the off button. The screen goes black.

With a sigh of relief, you wait a moment before switching it on again. The screen stays black.

“No, no, no, no,” you plead quietly, but it doesn’t cooperate. Your phone rings and you snap, hitting more buttons: Answer. Speaker. “What?” you hiss.

“Whoa. Hi…?” Xavier’s voice is cautious. “I don’t know if you saw my texts, but Nero—”

“The report, Xavier! I know! I know!” You try holding down your laptop’s power button. “I’m trying to send it, but my shitty computer won’t—”

“No way!” Tara’s voice comes in on the other line; did they both get the night shift? “Hey you! Did you get a chance to—”

“No, okay?!” you practically cry out. “No! Can you two just back off? Please!”

“Oh, sorry, I…” Tara sounds upset, then distracted. “Wait, Xavier wants to speak to you.”

“Are you okay?” he asks after a second.

Okay? You just want everything to stop. “I’m fine. Shit, tell Tara I’m sorry. I am sorry, Xavier, I just… I just need my laptop to…”

Work. Work! Nothing’s working. Half of your files are on there. How much of it is backed-up? Panic is setting in, gripping your body like ice. Your throat hurts and your mouth is dry, the dam is breaking and you can’t stop it. Tears prick at your eyes as you blink at the blank, hopeless screen. Your reflection stares back at you.

You let out a sob, expelling days of frustration and exhaustion. Everywhere you look there’s something you need to do, something you need to learn, something you need to finish. You can’t. You clasp a hand over your mouth, muffling your own cries.

Xavier is speaking— saying something over the phone— but you can’t hear him.

The light changes, and there’s a figure above you, lifting the phone from the desk. “They’ll call you back,” the shadow says. Sylus.

“Wait, who is this?” Xavier.

“That’s Skye!” Tara.

Your friends’ distant voices cut out as Sylus ends the call. He sets the phone down again, nudging your laptop out of view, then lowers himself until all you can see is him: his red eyes, softer than you’ve ever seen them. “Come on, sweetie,” he coaxes, guiding your hands over his shoulders.

You understand what he’s asking of you. His arms wrap around you and you hold him tighter, letting him lift you out of your chair. He feels warm, his skin ever so slightly flushed from where he’s been standing over the stove, and he pulls your legs around his waist, letting him carry you with ease.

With your face buried in his shoulder, you can’t tell where he’s taking you, and you don’t care. His shirt is going damp against your cheeks. You want to stop crying, but you can’t with the taste of your tears on your lips. You feel weak. You feel pathetic.

Something solid is behind you, and Sylus is setting you slowly down on the kitchen counter. He’s away from you for a moment— moving the frying pan off of the heat and turning a dial on the stove— but then he’s back, standing between your legs, standing close. You’re looking down until his hand is under your chin, lifting it with the delicate touch one employs when inspecting a flower that might break.

He shushes you without a hint of impatience. “Look at me,” he directs quietly, and when you do, he unrolls his shirtsleeves— drawing the cuffs over his hands so he can use them to wipe your eyes. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

You do— you tell him everything. The hunter’s exam. The textbooks. The extra patrols you’ve been signing up for. The work you’ve been doing for your friends. The stupid report. The even more stupid computer.

Sylus listens collectedly, nodding his head and issuing the odd hum of understanding. He listens to all of it, and when you’re done, he pushes your hair back from your face with a sympathetic sigh. “Oh, sweetie.” A tendril is tucked behind your ear. “You should have said something.”

“I know.” Your gaze is still shy of his. “But how can I? I need to do this— be this— for everyone.”

His hands are on your cheeks again, drawing back your focus. “You’re just one person,” he says. “You— just you— and that’s all you need to be. You’re stubborn, and strong, but you’re not invincible. Even Linkon’s shiniest hunter is allowed to have limits. Everyone does.”

“Even you?” you snivel, setting him up for a quip.  

Nothing. He smiles. Shrugs. “Even me.”

It’s hard to believe when he’s staring back at you, oh so solid, oh so perfect. Always a picture of strength: of fiery determination or calculated coolness. Everything in extremes; nothing by halves. Except… his hair is slightly dishevelled from where he’s been working away in the heat. There’s a damp patch on his shirt. He’s wearing your pink apron, and there’s mascara on his sleeves.

Then there’s the way he’s looking at you.

It shifts when you finally look back. He drops his hands from your face and pulls back a little. “You do a lot for your friends,” he continues with confidence, but he’s rubbing his neck, “and they care about you. You should afford them the chance to return the favour. It’s only fair.”

“You’re right.”

“…Good.”

Perhaps it’s the fact you’ve vaguely composed yourself— or the way you’re watching him like you’re seeing something new— but he straightens self-consciously, rolling his shirtsleeves back up as his eyes go sharp: assuming their usual severity.

“You’re too soft, kitten,” he scolds, reaching out to tousle your hair until you’re glaring daggers from behind a curtain of it. “How many times do I have to tell you? You put yourself first. Always. No-one else matters.”

There’s quiet for all of a second. He can’t help correcting: “Well, except me, of course.” The apron’s crooked, and he flattens it with a brush of his hands. “Any time spent with me qualifies as self-care. You really should know that by now, sweetie.”

Your mouth curls, but you haven’t quite got it in you to laugh— not yet. Stretching his neck with two sideways tips of his head, Sylus returns to his post at the oven, where the meal he’s cooking has almost certainly gone cold. You watch as the stove flickers back to life. The man is humming again, and though the food might yet be salvaged, whatever melody he’s attempting is long-past recognition, let alone saving.

You chuckle to yourself.

And you can’t see it, but Sylus is smiling, too.

[spxllcxstxr]

Jayce and Viktor Dating Someone with ADHD • Headcanon

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hiiii how are you? I love your stories so I was wondering if you could write more jayvik x reader but who has adhd? TYSMM -- anon and Your Jayvik + reader headcanons have me are giddy and are healing my soul. Is it possible to ask for a some headcanons with a reader who has ADHD and also forgets to eat because of it?? I hope your day is kind to you! -- anon

Warnings: gn!reader, reader has ADHD, mentions of food and eating/not eating, these are lowkey kinda short im so sorry lol

A.N: Disclaimer: I don't have ADHD but I have many friends that do and while ADHD presents itself differently for people, I tried to keep this a bit generalized, I hope that's ok!! If anything needs changing or needs to be deleted for being inaccurate or anything, just let me know! Hope you guys enjoy!!

•

Jayce and Viktor are both very understanding people, so when you told them you had ADHD they didn’t have a problem with it. They are, however, problem solvers (they are inventors with the dream of making Piltover and Zaun better for the people), meaning they are very curious about your habits and how they can help. They don’t want to “cure” you, because there’s nothing to cure, but they want to understand how to reassure you and how to make living with ADHD easier on a day-to-day basis

If you’re someone who fidgets with things a lot, Jayce will happily pick up the task of making something that satisfies your need to occupy your hands and your thoughts. He loves being in the forge and he’ll gladly let you sit in there with him and listen to you describe what you would want. He’ll sit next to you, sketching out the design while you ramble about what textures are better than others or how weighty it should feel in your hand. Jayce honestly loves this little side project; not only does it let him work on something other than his research, but it also puts a smile on your face

If you like rambling for hours about your latest hyperfixation, Viktor is the best for that. He has a naturally curious mind and would love to learn something new. He especially likes it when your head is resting on his chest in the middle of the night. Viktor likes watching you move your hands as you talk excitably about the plant life in Ionia or the history of the Yordles. He doesn’t just listen—he’ll ask you questions or give you reading material he thinks you may like as well

Going to Council parties or even just walking through Piltover can really overwhelm you sometimes, either with all the noise or the texture of your clothing feeling off, so your partners are very attentive to your wellbeing. The three of you set up a codeword for anyone to use when someone needs or wants to leave. They try to make it something funny every time to hopefully ease the panic a little bit. Usually Jayce and Viktor are glued to either side of you hip, but in the off chance they have to roam around the room, the two of them will try to keep an eye on you. They will always reassure you that it's ok that they are leaving these sorts of events early (Viktor barely wants to go in the first place), and when you get home the three of you will do something to calm everyone down and get into comfortable clothes

Having ADHD, you tend to get distracted/forget to do certain things. This usually includes eating. Your partners never want to seem overbearing or like they're smothering you, so they will try to subtly remind you to eat/do certain things. Jayce likes writing you little notes and putting them in the apartment. Usually they have little hearts in the corners with some encouraging remark after "remember to eat!" Viktor will usually try to eat with you, so you won't feel alone while eating. He'll be making something and he'll set the table for either two or three and that just reminds you to actually sit down and eat what Viktor makes

Your partners are very patient and are always open to new ideas. if you want them to do something different or if something works really well, they would love to hear it. They absolutely will not be mad at all, they love you so much and all they want to do is help make things easier for you

•