#i love when my friends just give me things | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sceletaflores · 3 days ago

Text

GIVE IT TO HER LIKE A MAN!

꩜ masterlist ꩜ update blog ꩜ requests ꩜ taglist ꩜

｡𖦹°‧➵ pair: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ wc: 5.1k

｡𖦹°‧➵ contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, no ellie, joel’s pov, swearing, age gap (52/23), semi-public sex (more of a semi-public ALMOST over the pants handjob?), p in v, clothed sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, hair pulling, spit kink, degradation, pussy spanking, creampie, fucking in your childhood bedroom RAAAHHH, one (1) single line about joel wanting to slap you, one (1) single use of the word daddy, erectile dysfunction? we don't know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he's twenty, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ nat’s note: hi babies! i'm back! did you miss me? cause i missed you and oh em gee i'm so excited to be rejoining the party. this actually wasn't what i planned on posting but the angsty joel fic is kicking my ass so hard that i had to take a break from it. i just needed to word vomit some raunchy, freak-nasty porn to cleanse my palate! i don’t normally go for the dbf trope but it's just so joel i couldn't not dip my feet in these waters. it's also more like dad's-close-but-distant-acquaintance-joel because in my head that man has little to no friends honestly. hope you love it, mwah!

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics!

joel gives the best graduation gifts...

Joel isn’t the type to get invited to these kinds of things.

Graduation parties for Ivy League brats. Champagne in fancy crystal flutes and catered hors d'oeuvres getting passed around on silver trays. Men in loafers and pastel polos calling each other “old buddy” without any irony. It’s a far cry from his usual crowd—his mangy old t-shirt and stained blue jeans stick out in the place like a damn sore thumb.

The invitation came from a distant friend, someone he used to work with before his career took him in an entirely different, much shiner direction. He was here more as a favor than anything else. Tommy’s been worried about him, says he needs to get out more.

“Meet some new people, drink a few beers.” He’d said with his hand clasped on Joel’s shoulder. “It ain’t healthy to spend every weekend fixin’ shit around the house, Joel.”

Joel doesn’t see the problem. He’s fine the way he is. But somehow, he still got roped into going when he could have used any excuse to pull out at the last second. He could have faked sick, faked busy, faked like he had anything else to do besides sit at a fancy oak table on a back porch bigger than the whole first story of his house, decorated in Yale blue balloons and streamers.

He regretted giving into Tommy the second he pulled up in the driveway—a too-big Craftsman style place in West Lake Hills, all clean laid brick and perfectly manicured lawns. Joel couldn’t for the life of him remember why he said yes in the first place. Maybe it was the guilt of worrying his brother. Maybe for the decent catered food and overpriced beers he knew would be there when he first got the address.

What he hadn’t expected—what hit him in the goddamn chest when the door swung open after he knocked—was you.

And Christ, did you look smug about it.

It had been months ago. The only reason Joel was even in Connecticut was to meet with a client, a big time East Coast entrepreneur who wanted a new add on to his ten car garage and was fine slinging around the money to pay for a round-trip flight and a cushy hotel room.

He hadn’t planned on going to the bar that night, but after hours of back-and-forth about permits and material costs, he needed a drink. Just one, maybe two—enough to take the edge off before heading back to the hotel.

It was a shitty little dive about ten minutes from where he was staying. The beer was cold, the lights were low, and he wasn’t supposed to be making decisions with his little head. But then he saw you across the way, right in the middle of the dancefloor.

You were in a circle with a few other girls, your dress riding up higher and higher each time you’d roll your hips to the heavy bass blaring from the overhead speakers.

Joel watched you like that for a while, leaned up against the bar lazily sipping at his beer. He hadn’t planned on doing anything about it, just sat there and enjoyed the view. But you’d caught him looking, and instead of turning away and pretending not to notice, you’d smirked.

Joel should have known right then that he was in trouble.

It wasn’t long before you left your little group and made your way over, slipping on the stool beside him like you belonged there, like you’d already made your mind up about what was going to happen next. You’d leaned in close, close enough for him to catch the scent of whatever perfume you’d rolled over your throat before heading out—something rich and heady that damn near made his head spin.

“Hey, cowboy.” You’d said with a tilt of your head, the long column of your neck dewy with a light sheen of sweat he wanted to feel under his tongue. “You’ve been watching me?”

There was no accusation in your voice, just a quiet sort of amusement, like you already knew the answer.

Joel had huffed a laugh, he didn’t see the point of denying it. He was a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. “Yeah.” He’d admitted, taking a slow sip of his beer before setting it down. “What about it?”

Your eyes dropped down the length of his body, studying him, and he’d let you. Let you take your time looking, even as heat crawled up the back of his neck.

“Buy me a drink?” You’d asked, smiling up at him like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.

That was all it took.

One drink turned into two, which turned into three, and then you were leaning into his space like you were made to be there. Your index finger teasingly tracing along the collar of his shirt as you whispered something filthy in his ear that had all the blood in his brain rushing down south.

Joel really shouldn’t have let it go any further than some goddamn footsie under the bar and a few dirty words whispered over the rims of shiny glasses, he was too old for shit like that. But you were just so damn tempting—confident and sharp and pretty as all hell.

Before Joel knew it he had you pressed up against the side of his truck, giggling into his mouth, fingers tugging at his belt like you couldn't get it off fast enough. You’d tasted like the fruity cocktails he bought you and something sweeter underneath, something distinctly you, and Joel had to have more.

You let him have it too—fisting his shirt and dragging him into the backseat without a care in the world, all eager hands and breathless laughter as you straddled his lap.

It was supposed to be just that. A reckless decision with a pretty young thing as the cherry on top of his trip. A one-night deal he’d let himself have because, fuck, it had been a long time since someone looked at him like that.

Joel tried his damndest to think how he should’ve, tried not to let some one off fuck turn him all sorts of ass backwards. He tried his damndest to boot you out of his mind the next morning when he was boarding the flight back to Austin—but you stuck anyway, like a burr in his goddamn brain.

The way you’d looked sprawled out under him, eyes glazed over with pleasure, lips parted, or the way you’d moaned his name like it was a prayer you needed him to hear. The way you’d rode him nice and slow, dragging your nails down his chest just to watch him shudder. The way you’d kissed him after, lazy and sweet, before sneaking off into the night like a goddamn thief.

Joel could've sworn he saw God that night, a smudged silhouette in the fogged up windows of his truck.

And now you’re here, standing in the doorway of some polished, high society home, looking like sin wrapped up in tulle and pearls.

Joel wasn’t a man who spooked easy, but seeing you again, surrounded by people who had no goddamn idea what you’d let him do to you in the backseat of his truck all those months ago, knocked him on his ass harder than a sucker punch.

The recognition was damn near instant, your eyes shining just as much as the sparkly sash that read “GRAD!” in big glittery letters. The initial shock gave way to a tiny, secret smile as your gaze slid up and down his body shamelessly, like this was some kind of funny inside joke.

Joel was seconds away from turning tail, walking back down your ridiculously long driveway and getting in his truck to get the hell out of there, but then your father was walking up behind you with a big grin on his face. He clapped Joel on the shoulder roughly and introduced his “Old buddy Joel Miller from his blue-collar days!”

You were all coy smiles and wide eyes. A sugared, “It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Miller. Thank you for coming…” passing through your glossy lips.

The same lips that left shiny red smudges along the skin of his cock when you slid him down your throat, peering up at him with glassy eyes. The memory alone was enough to get heat stirring deep in his gut, and the way you looked at him now—all demure and polished, like you were some angelic scholar fresh off a podium—only made it worse.

Joel is too damn old for this.

“Very top of her class,” your father boasts, swishing his beer bottle through the air towards you flippantly. “Can you believe it? Just think of what we were doing at her age, brother. She sure as hell didn’t get any brains from me, that’s all her mother.”

Joel tries to chuckle with him, but it sounds strained, forced. He keeps his eyes facing forward, knee bouncing restlessly under the table. You’re looking at him again, hot and persistent against the side of his face. The heavy weight of your gaze practically begging him to look back. He doesn’t.

This dinner is it’s own form of torture, because of course, you just had to sit in the empty seat next to Joel—close enough that he can feel your knee bump up against his every few minutes.

He’s done a good job avoiding you until now, always walking the other direction when you waltz into the same room, not making eye contact when your gaze would sweep over the crowd hoping to catch his, trying for once in his life to be a good man.

A good man that suffers through this damn party without doing something he'll regret, that leaves at the end of the night and never has to see you again.

“Yeah,” he says, nervously starting to pick at the label of his own beer. Some snobby, imported New England brewery, probably sixty bucks a six-pack. “Good times.”

Joel can see you lean forward out of the corner of his eye, the neckline of your dress sliding down an inch as you stare at him, attention rapt. “What were you like back then, Mr. Miller?”

Joel nearly winces, his fingers tightening around the neck of his beer hard enough to turn the skin around his knuckles white.

‘Mr. Miller’ echoes in his ears lewdly, blaring like church bells. Your voice is nothing but a honey-sweet mockery, so syrupy he can nearly feel it trickling down his throat to add to the warmth settling low in his stomach.

Your father snorts over the lip of his bottle, answering you before Joel could open his mouth. “Joel didn’t go to college, honey. He went into the trades right after graduation,” he takes a long sip, Joel feels your knee bump against his again. “That’s how we met.”

You hum, nodding your head languidly. “You’re an architect too?”

Joel shakes his head, not looking at you as he answers. “Carpenter.”

Your father launches into some story about his old work days with Joel, about how back in the day, they were “real men” with “real jobs,” but Joel can barely process any of it. He nods along absently, lets out some half-hearted chuckles when he needs to.

Joel nearly puts his knee through the table when he feels your barefoot brush up against his ankle, hiking his jeans up ever so slightly. He shoots you a glare as subtly as he can.

It’s a look so sharp, so warning, that it should be enough to make you back the hell off from whatever game you’re playing. You’re not even looking at him anymore, eyes glued to your father as you nod along to whatever story he’s telling now.

But there’s a knowing little smile on your lips as your hand creeps beneath the table and falls into his lap, the pads of your fingers pressing against the inside of his thigh.

Joel goes still. Rigid as his breath catches on a sharp inhale.

Christ, you’re trying to kill him.

Your father’s voice pulls him out of the silent panic and heavy arousal waging a war inside of him. “How’s business, Joel?” he asks, leaning back in his chair. “You and Tommy still running things at a hundred miles a minute?”

Joel barely registers the question as your hand inches higher and higher. He can hear his own pulse pounding in his throat, in his chest, in his cock, already half-hard in his boxers from some goddamn heavy petting like a wet behind the ears teenager.

“Yeah, we–” Joel pauses, willing his voice to steady with a quick cough to clear his throat. “We’ve been pretty busy with Summer rollin' around.”

Your father hums in agreement, cracking open another beer. “Of course, my schedule’s been a killer too this season,” he brags shamelessly, tone heavy with understanding like he and Joel are in the same boat. Only your fathers boat is a three million dollar yacht sailing for blue-print meetings with big shot celebrities and architectural digest interviews. “It’s a miracle I even had time to fly in for the party, isn’t that right sweetheart?”

Your hand slides up the length of his cock in one slow stroke, your palm grinding roughly over the tip through the tented denim.

“Yes, daddy.”

Your voice has gone all light and airy around the edges, almost melodic as it buries itself in Joel’s ears. At first, Joel thinks you’re talking to your father, but when his eyes flick over to you, you’re looking at him—your eyes half-lidded and sparkling with something dangerous as your fingers tug at the tab of his zipper.

Joel’s hand flies to your wrist, squeezing tight enough to stop your pawing at his now fully hard cock. “Alright if I use your bathroom?” he asks sharply, his voice a little too loud. He tosses your hand away and stands abruptly from his chair before he’s got an answer.

“Of course,” your father says easily, thankfully not noticing the tension at the table, or the way Joel’s trying to subtly hold his hands over his crotch. He turns his attention towards you, “Would you show Joel where the downstairs bathroom is, honey?”

Your smile only widens as you slip your sandal on and calmly stand from your own chair. “Sure,” you say breezily, but you’re not looking at your father, dark eyes still glued to Joel’s. “Follow me.”

The flowy fabric of your dress swishes behind you as you walk through the yard, Joel hot on your heels. He waits until you're both in the house, stepping through the open sliding glass door and out of view before his hand flies to your arm and squeezes hard.

Joel hears you wince softly, but you don’t try to fight your way out of his grip. He leans down closer, his lips inches away from your ear. His voice is low and rough as he grits out, “Take me to your room, now.”

You lead him through the kitchen and up the stairs silently, but Joel can still see the smug smile on your lips as you turn the corner. The need to slap that bratty shit right off your face wracks through him like thunder, anger burning hotter in his chest with every step.

You push the door to your bedroom open and step inside, barely turning to face him before Joel slams the door shut behind him and stalks past you. His eyes are dark, filled with a mix of rage and want as he stares you down.

“Do you think this is a goddamn game?” His voice is teeming with fury, the calm facade he scarcely maintained at dinner now entirely gone. “That you can do whatever the hell you please because your Daddy’s sittin' across from you?”

You bite your bottom lip, leaning against the door with your arms crossed behind your back coyly. “You didn’t bring me a present.”

It’s a taunt if Joel’s ever heard one, and it finally breaks him.

He crosses the room in three large strides, pinning you against the door. His hands on either side of your head, caging you in. Joel cranes his neck down, his face inches away from yours. He can smell your perfume this close, it’s different than what you wore at the bar—something soft and girly and sweet that has his cock straining in his boxer.

“You’re real fuckin' proud of yourself aren’t you?” he spits roughly, watching the way your pupils dilate, eyes going glossy under his intensity. “Does your old man know how much of a tramp his precious little baby girl is? That she’s got such a greedy fuckin' pussy she can’t help herself from rubbin' his buddy Joel’s cock under the table like a desperate slut.”

“Joel,” you whisper breathlessly, all the attitude draining from you at the drop of a hat the second he gets a little mean. Your eyes are stuck on his lips and, after a beat, you start leaning in, like you’ll die if you don’t kiss him.

Joel stops you with a hand fisted in your hair, keeping you still a few centimeters away from his lips. A pitiful whine falls from your slack mouth, wide eyes flicking back up to meet his with a pleading look.

“You want me to kiss you, princess?” he asks, mean and condescending. Your breath puffs over his lips, hot and needy as you nod your head as best you can. Joel laughs, dark and cool as he shakes his head slowly. “Whores like you don’t get kissed baby, they get fucked.”

It does something to you—Joel can see it in the way your lashes flutter, in the way your thighs press together, like you can feel his words between your legs. He watches the rise and fall of your chest quicken, the way your lips part as a little breathless sound escapes them, and he knows he’s got you right where he wants you.

Desperate. Squirming. Ready to let him ruin you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, low and almost reverent, but the wicked curl of his lips betrays the softness in his tone. “Bet you’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

You nod, your chest rising up to press against his with every breath.

“Words,” he demands, voice sharp as a needle. Your thighs twitch at the sound of it.

“Yes,” you breathe shakily. “I’ve been wet since you got here.”

That has Joel groaning, jaw ticking as his cock twitches heavily in his boxers, pre-come oozing into the cotton.

He doesn’t waste another second. He drops your hair to grab your shoulders, pulling and pushing until you’re tumbling onto your old bed. You let out a sharp gasp as your back hits the mattress, the force of it bouncing you a few times.

Joel looms over you, watching you, finally letting himself get a good look at the picture you make. Splayed across dainty floral sheets, chest heaving, staring up at him with need written all over your pretty face. It practically pumps off of you in waves, he can almost taste it.

Without another word, Joel reaches for his belt, his heavy gaze never leaving yours. The metal of his buckle clinks loudly in the quiet of the room, underscored by the quick pants of your breath. It snaps with how hard he yanks it out of his belt loops, the leather cracking in the air menacingly.

"You wanted this," Joel mutters, popping the button on his jeans, dragging the zipper down with a sharp hiss. "You practically fuckin’ begged for it."

You make a desperate little sound at the sight of his cock finally being freed from the confines of his jeans—thick, heavy, and leaking when it slaps against his stomach. Your legs spread wider like an offering, like you need it in you now.

Joel huffs out a laugh, grabbing your ankle and yanking you down the bed, making you squeak in surprise. He climbs on the mattress, his body completely blanketing yours so you couldn’t move if you wanted to.

His hand drags down your body, over the swell of your breasts, over your ribs, the curve of your hip, until he’s gripping the hem of your dress. Joel slips his hand under the skirt, rough palms gliding up the soft skin of your thighs before gripping the meat of them hard enough to bruise.

The thought of you finding the marks tomorrow, pretty shades of purple and yellow branding your skin as a reminder of this moment, of what Joel did to you—it makes his stomach flip with a sick thrill.

It doesn’t take much for Joel to push the bunched fabric around your hips the rest of the way up, exposing the barely-there scrap of lace covering you.

He makes a sound low in his throat when he sees the little damp spot blooming along the powder blue fabric. “So fuckin’ needy,” he mutters, tracing his middle finger along the wet seam of your pussy, featherlight, teasing. “Can’t even sit through one damn dinner without beggin’ for my attention like a two-bit truck stop whore.”

You nod frantically, lips trembling, pupils blown wide as you blink up at him.

Joel tsks mockingly, raising his palm to give your clothed pussy a sharp slap that has you crying out. “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please, Joel.”

Your voice is so soft, so wrecked. And Joel feels himself get impossibly harder, his cock throbbing where it’s pressed against your stomach, blurting pre-come onto the delicate pink tulle of your dress. He can hardly wait any longer.

Joel hooks a finger into the leg of your panties, dragging them down hard enough that he hears a rip. He can’t find it in himself to care, he just pulls them far enough that they pool around your ankles uselessly.

He finally takes himself in his hand so he can drag his cock through the wet mess of your pussy, bumping it up against your hole but not giving you a damn inch. A devastating noise falls from your lips, slow and sweet as molasses, your hips buck up off the mattress, trying to take him in. He presses one heavy hand down on your stomach, keeping you still.

“Ask me for it,” Joel whispers darkly, slapping the head over your glistening clit. “Beg for my cock.”

Your fingers curl into the sheets, frustration and desire burning in the inky black of your pupils. “Please, Joel. It’s all I can think about, can only think about you,” you ramble senseslessly, voice breathless. “About you fucking me. About your cock stretching me open. Please fuck me, please, want it so bad.”

Fuck, he loves hearing you beg.

Joel grips your hips, holding you steady as he presses inside, slow at first, just enough to make you gasp, enough to let you feel how thick he is stretching you open. He curses, head falling forward as he watches himself disappear inside you inch by inch.

Your hands scramble along the length of his back, nails scratching uselessly as you try to adjust to the sudden fullness. Joel knows he’s too big, the stretch too much all at once without prep. He knows it. He just doesn’t give a damn.

“I know, it’s a big stretch ain’t it?” Joel coos, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the skin of your hips. “You can still take it, darlin’. It’s what you wanted, wanted me to lose my goddamn mind and ruin this sweet little pussy.”

You nod desperately, a loud cry bursting from your chest as he pulls you back until his hips are flush with your ass. Your velvety heat feels scalding around him, snug and perfect, like it was made for him—made for his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he stays there for a beat, buried to the hilt—forcing you really feel the full, aching stretch before he starts to move. He drags his cock out to the tip, almost all the way, before slamming forward again, knocking the breath from your lungs. “That’s it—take it all, just like that.”

Joel sets a brutal pace, fucking you so deep he swears he must be in your goddamn guts. His grip is merciless, his fingers digging into your hips as he uses them to pull you back against him, meeting every punishing thrust. The dirty sound of skin on skin fills the room, mixing with the slick squelch of your pussy as it tries to suck him back in each time he pulls out, the pretty soft gasps and moans you’re struggling to keep quiet the cherry on top of it all.

It’s so loud, a symphony of lewd sounds bouncing off the walls enough that Joel would be worried that someone might overhear if your house wasn’t such a maze.

Joel watches you writhe beneath him, your back arching, hands grasping at his shoulders, his arms, his hair, desperate for something to hold onto as he fucks into you with ruthless precision. Every thrust sends a shockwave through your body, makes your breath hitch, your legs trembling where they’re locked tight around his waist.

“Poor thing,” he mutters, voice a low rasp in your ear. “Too dumb to talk now, huh? Just layin’ here, takin’ it like a good little whore.”

Your eyes roll back in your head when he tilts his hips, the new angle forcing his cock to rub up against your sweet spot with every thrust. “Joel–”

Joel leans over you, breath hot against your ear as he mutters, “This what you needed, baby? Needed Daddy’s friend to hike your pretty dress up and fuck you good and hard like this?” He speeds his hips up fast enough to get the bed shaking on its frame. “Actin’ like a spoiled little brat all night just so I’d drag you up here and teach you some fuckin’ manners?”

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck—” Your words slur together, breathy and high-pitched, your fingers twisting in his hair as he keeps up that relentless pace.

Joel reaches up to snatch your jaw in a tight grip, the rhythm of his hips never faltering. “Open your mouth,” he growls, fingers digging into the meat of your cheeks meanly. When you don’t, too fucked out of your mind to listen, he shakes your head back and forth like a bad dog. “Open it.”

The command breaks through the pleasure filled haze clouding your mind, and your mouth falls open obediently. Your slick lips parting enough for Joel to see the enticing pink of your tongue. A groan claws its way out from deep in his chest, and he leans down close to spit into your mouth.

Your moan is a high, choked whine as your eyes flutter shut, your pussy squeezing around his cock impossibly tighter.

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ swallow,” he says, fucking into your clenching heat harder. “Hold it right there.”

You open your eyes to stare up at him like he’s some kind of God, your lashes clumped together and glossy with unshed tears—gaze glazed over with a kind of bliss that makes something dark and satisfied wriggle to life in his chest.

“Good girl,” he mutters, barely above a whisper, but the words hit you like a sack of bricks. Your walls squeeze around him, and he groans low in his chest. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you even wider so he can watch the way his cock disappears into your puffy pussy, shining with your slick every time he pulls out. “Look at that. Fuckin’ made to take cock, aren’t you?”

You moan around closed lips, nails digging little crescent moons into his shoulders so hard that he can feel his shirt ripping under the force of it. Joel can tell you’re getting close, your whole body trembling violently as the coil of your orgasm winds tighter and tighter.

“Go ahead and swallow for me, baby girl.” Joel needs to hear you, needs to hear you say his name when you come on his cock. “Wanna hear that pretty voice.”

The sound of you swallowing is music to Joel’s ears, his hips stuttering as he watches your throat work.

“Please,” you gasp, fat crocodile tears rolling down your cheeks. “Need to come, need you to make me—”

“Yes,” he hisses, his thrusts turning sloppy for a beat before he regains his rhythm. “You gonna come for me, baby? Gonna soak my cock nice and good?”

His words push you right over the edge. Your entire body tenses, pleasure rolling through you in a white-hot wave as your climax crashes over you, stealing your breath. You sob Joel’s name, thighs shaking uncontrollably, body shuddering beneath him as you clench down so fucking tight he can barely move.

Joel groans, his jaw going slack as he watches you fall apart, losing himself in the feel of your pussy milking his cock. He grits his teeth, hips snapping erratically as he chases his own release.

“Fuck—gonna fill you up, baby,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Gonna fuck you full of me, make you mine.”

With one last thrust, Joel spills inside of you. He buries himself as deep as he can go, warmth flooding your core as spurt after spurt of come paints your insides, thick and hot. His body shakes with the force of it, a deep, guttural moan falling from his lips as he rides out his orgasm.

Joel just stays there, panting, his forehead resting against yours.

For a moment, both of you are too overwhelmed to move. You just lay on the mattress tangled together in the aftermath, breaths mingling, bodies slick with sweat. Joel smooths his hands up your sides, grounding himself as you both come down from the highs of ecstasy.

When you finally stop shaking, Joel pulls back just enough to look at you, to take in the wrecked, spent look on your face. He brushes his knuckles over your sweaty cheek, softer than before. “Still think I didn’t bring you a present?”

You let out an amused huff, pushing your hands up under the back of his shirt so you can trace the column of his spine with gentle fingers. “Trust me, it’s the only present I’m getting that’ll be worth a damn. Money can’t buy this, Miller.”

Joel chuckles, low and smooth as warmth blooms in his chest. He presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder. “You earned it, baby.”

mini nat's note: thank you so much for reading! mwah.

961 notes · View notes

madamechrissy · 2 days ago

Text

Pour it Up

Pairings: Stripclub Owner Sukuna x Stripper F!reader

Summary:- You are a single mother, your baby daddy is not just worthless, he also is actively trying to sabotage you, so you go out on your own and raise your kid by yourself. Struggling your ass off, a friend of a friend named Toji decides to offer you a hell of a deal, a few hours a night at a strip club to make BANK. While there, you meet the other owner, Sukuna, and the moment he sees you? You annoy him how beautiful you are, how much he wants you, pushing him to insanity. He knows he must have you- no matter whose ass he needs to beat.

Warnings:- reader is a mom, lowkey Yandere Sukuna behavior (He's obsessed- down bad) rec drug use, drug dealing Sukuna (the club a front lol) Mafia ties, EXPLICIT sexual content, fluff/smut AND light angst- violence, some former trauma of reader. This part- BROMANCE hehe, spanking, emotional, a LOT of violence and blood, teasing, shower sex, size kink like a MF- a little bit of everything <3 WC- 7.2k

Will be eight parts- ties into my Mob Gojo story- you'll see him and the reader from there - but you can read it alone. Art in the banner is by Sketch B on X divider by @cafekitsune

Reblogs/comments so appreciated if you enjoyy!

<<<Part Six - Playlist - Masterlist - Part eight (final)>>>

Part Seven

There is blood everywhere, everywhere Sukuna can see, as his friends, shit some of them are truly damn near his family, fight right alongside the Zenin, but the only one Sukuna is focused on is the blond man with the brown, cold eyes, the one that hurt you. The one who didn’t see what he was lucky enough to have, and never fucking deserved, you.

Naoya licks blood off his lip and ducks and dodges, slamming Sukuna against a wall, he laughs at the attempt. “You’re trying, aren’t ya? Why don’t you give the fuck up before I end your life.” Sukuna pins him now instead, Toji is sending someone flying and crashing into a crate, as you all fight in the warehouse, each hit and throw scattering goods around.

There are pounds and pounds of counterfeit jewelry being crushed under dress shoes, crunching and glinting in the dark of the room, the sound of breaking bones and grunts of pain fill the air, each hit from Sukuna is fueled by pure rage and hate. The kind that only comes from someone who’s faced with the man who’s hurt the girl he loves so much.

The one that not just had you so down on yourself, abandoned you financially, talked down to you and blew off your kid, no that’s all shit he’d certainly beat the fuck out of him for. But wanting to murder him, slit his fucking throat, comes from even more than that, the threats to you.

He’d even been running it when they met just a few minutes before this.

‘Hah, how’s my little whore doing? Ya wanna know how many times I had her, in every way? Think it won’t be long till she’s back under me-’

That was when Sukuna decided negotiations certainly wouldn’t fucking be happening, when this little prick of a man wanted to run it, there was no more hiding behind the Zenin name for him. Choso, Suguru, Satoru and Toji were all there along with many other of the families, and not only were the Zenin outnumbered, they were completely unmatched.

Certainly they had some skill and they knew how to brawl, but overwhelmingly the five men here were much better at fighting, bigger, stronger… but also, more clinically insane, and coked out. Sukuna made sure everyone was well prepared with lines and lines before they decided to do this, bloodshot eyes and batshit crazy grins adorning everyone's faces.

Not Choso on the partaking of cocaine, of course, but Sukuna quickly realizes he and his family can hold their own and then some. But no one matched Sukuna on skill or size, though Satoru and Toji came close, no, he was simply made to fight, he thrilled in it, the adrenaline coursing through his fucking veins, his ruby eyes glinting, all while thinking of one singular thing.

You.

You’re his.

You’re his and will always be his.

Sukuna can’t have this looming over you, even if it starts a fucking war, his girl should be able to live her life without constant fear of the threat that Naoya constantly brings. As soon as Sukuna had thrown that first punch, chaos had ensued across every inch of this old, dark warehouse.

Naoya tries to fight back, but he’s no match for the beast that’s been unleashed in Ryomen Sukuna. The fear in his eyes is clear as he sees the unbridled fury in Sukuna’s gaze, perhaps he really thought he had a chance in hell, but with every hit and kick, Naoya slowly comes to the realization, that he’s fucked.

Sukuna’s knuckles are raw, but he feels nothing but satisfaction as he lands blow after blow on Naoya’s face, the crunch of his nose - breaking again, at least he has a good surgeon- is just music to his ears. He can almost hear her voice in his head, whispering that you’re okay now, that you’re safe, that this is probably enough, but there is a louder voice.

Kill him.

He can’t because of Touma, he knows, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to, hitting him and not relenting until the blond man is on his knees, begging for mercy. Sukuna’s chest heaves with b every breath, his heart racing with the adrenaline of the fight, his muscles screaming for a pause, but he shoves it all back, kicking Naoya to the floor and straddling him then, yanking him by his collar.

“Any last words, mother fucker?” He says with a grin, teeth just coated in blood, knife glinting when he pulls out the butterfly, silvery blade, holding the cold metal to his throat.

“Fuck, stop, stop, shit.” He grabs Sukuna’s wrist, sputtering, Satoru’s insane peal of laughter echoes, as he kicks away a mafia member, brushing off his suit. “You all are fucking insane, fuck.”

“Ya think so?” Toji asks, flipping a man right on his head, as they all look at Naoya, helpless.

“Fuck, we’ll stay out of your territory, okay?” Naoya’s desperate words just amuse Sukuna more, as he eases back the knife, holding up a hand.

“Stop.” He orders, and everyone does, much to the relief of every single Zenin member sighing, but Satoru may or may not have fake punched one to watch them jerk in fear, for the men to snicker at. Sukuna smirks at them, shaking his head, taking a breath and feeling just how sore he is, turning back to Naoya now, who exhales in relief, then Sukuna stands.

“I think we can come to an understanding, we-” Sukuna yanks him up by his collar, he’s literally dangling in the air when Sukuna plops him right on one of the crates. “Shit!”

With a smirk, he pulls out a phone from his pocket and turns his phone on, setting the screen on record. “You’re going to apologize to her.”

“The fuck I am, I already said I’d leave your territory and her the fuck alone.” Sukuna punches him once more, the sickening crack of his fist connecting echoing through the now quiet room. “Shit…”

“Say it loud, say it clear, or I’ll rip your tongue out and shove it down your throat so you can never speak your bullshit again.” Naoya’s eyes widen in horror, but he knows better than to argue at this point, it seems, the fear of dying a painful death is stronger than his pride.

“Fine, okay, shit…” He spits out blood, a tooth along with it, making joy fill Sukuna’s heart.

It’s the simple things, you know.

Through bruised and bloodied lips, he stammers out an apology, his voice shaking, so pathetic as Sukuna videos it, just for you, his girl. The warehouse goes quiet, the other fights ceased, as the Zenin mob watches their leader fall. The Gojo and Kamo mob members, battered and bruised, look at each other with big grins, still in high spirits in comparison.

Naoya finally slumps forward, while Sukuna pockets his phone, and the Zenin mob looks to their leader, the one who’s been beaten worse than any of them, bested by a man he thought he could fuck with. It’s not just about Naoya versus Sukuna, it’s more than that, Naoya has helped lead to the Zenin weakening, and proving the Kamo and Gojo are not to be trifled with.

Sukuna leans forward, as Naoya flinches, making Sukuna even more fucking excited, grin plastering his face. “You won’t come on our territory again.”

“I won’t.”

“You won’t come near them, Touma or her, again.” Naoya laughs then, through his blood he’s damn near coughing up, so weak he looks like he’s about to collapse to the floor.

“Fuck it I don’t even want them.”

“Never fucking deserved her.” Sukuna whispers, still one fucking step away from ripping this mother fucker’s throat out, but he stops himself, standing up in a blood soaked dress shirt and slacks, sleeves rolled up to reveal much of his tattooed, bloody forearms and knuckles. “I think we’re done here.”

The warehouse door swings open as the five men and the rest of the members of the Kamo and Gojo mob walk out, letting in a rush of cool night air, Sukuna takes a breath of it, looking up at an oddly clear night for this city. He hears the distant sound of sirens, surely all the noise had made someone call.

“Time to get out before the feds come knocking.” He murmurs, as the Zenin mob retreats as well, helping their leader, who can’t even walk, but truly he’s lucky to be fucking alive.

“Coke?” Satoru offers, shaking a baggie, and Toji pulls out a bottle of liquor from the center of the limo, where the cooler sits.

“Drinks?” He suggests, but Suguru is already lighting up a blunt, smoke filling the limo of the five bruised and grinning men.

“Smoke?” He suggests, Sukuna grins then.

“All of ‘em, fuck it.”

*****

“You’re pacing baby.” Your friend murmurs, as she’s mixing up a drink in the eerily quiet club, the men have been gone for hours, and you can’t stand the sickness and anticipation in your tummy. “Sit down hunny, have a drink.”

“I can’t, I feel sick! Ugh. This is because of me.” You say in a panic, pacing back and forth more and more, she shakes her head, touching your shoulder gently. “It is all my fault, I made Sukuna have to do all this!”

“He loves you.” Her quiet words make your heart race, you hug her then, crying against her neck as she shushes you gently. “He adores you, you can just see it, I swear he does.”

“But… it’s like, what have I done to deserve him?”

“You’re pretty amazing too, you know.” You pull back with a tremulous smile, when suddenly the doors open, drawing your attention, and you exhale in relief before more panic sets in.

Sukuna is covered in blood when he walks back in the club, all of them are, your mind frantically tries to take it all in, the five bloodied men walking in, Satoru slides up to the bar, as his girl panics, cupping his face gently. Toji’s downing a shot and grimacing, Choso politely asks if there’s somewhere he can clean up, the girls start doting on him and Suguru.

But all you can see is him.

Sukuna.

The man you love, covered in more blood than all of them, his crimson eyes boring through you across the club, as you step forward, trembling as you get closer, terrified when you see his face is swelling and bruising under one of his eye, cuts all over his handsome face, you swear you can see shards of fucking glass glinting under the strobing lights.

“Sukuna…” He exhales, pulling you in close, as you look on with horror. “I need to get you cleaned up.”

“Yeah, yeah… worrying so much for me huh?” You glare, and he has the audacity to smirk. “I’m fine, brat.”

“You’re not fine. Now.” You drag him into the changing room by one of his crimson stained hands, sitting him right down in a seat, he sighs as he overtakes the tiny little thing with his huge body. “Sit there, let me clean you up.”

“Tch. It’s a scratch or two.”

“Yeah, okay monty python.”

He chuckles then, throwing his head back. “You watched that?”

“Sure I did. Sit still.” You’re dabbing at him now, with a cold wet washcloth, he sucks in a breath when you see it again, a little piece of glass. “How did you get glass in your skin, hmm?”

“Your ex may or may not have hit me with a bottle. Oooh, you look angry. So sexy, fuck.” You smack at his big tattooed hands as he tries to grip your ass.

“He what now!?” You turn and grab the first aid kit, finding antiseptic and tweezers, ready to kill Naoya if he even made it.

“He tried to fight but was failing like a little bitch. Ow!” He whines as you tweeze out the glass, quickly cleaning the wound that’s bleeding just a bit.

“Don’t be a baby.”

“Cruel, evil woman- ow!”

“Who knew big, bad Sukuna was a baby.”

“I swear to- ah!” You’re cleaning the last of the abrasions on his face up, dabbing at it with a little cotton ball. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I am not. You’re just cute.”

“Psh, I’ll beat your backside. You done?”

“Tell me how much of this is your blood.” He chuckles now, when you lead him over to the sink, rinsing his hands off, scrubbing up the antiseptic to show his knuckles were already scabbing over.

“Most of it is their blood, don’t worry so much.” You sigh, tummy feeling sick, when you’re running a towel along his hands, taking in the damage, only to be spun now, facing the mirror, when his strong, huge body takes you over. Your eyes meet his, seeing the hunger in them, as his still wet hands slip up your skirt, and he leans over you, pressing you into the counter.

“Kuna, you’re hurt. I have to keep checking you- ngh!” Sukuna’s slipped his hand between your thighs now, while his other slides up your breasts, earning your nipples pressing out, until he holds you under your chin.

“Playing nurse is hot and all, brat, but I need more than that.” His husky tone fucks with you, as his adrenaline races through his veins.

“Is he…” You gulp a bit, and Sukuna smirks now.

“Is he dead? Go on, ask it.” You take a shaky breath, whining out when he’s slipping his fingers over your cunt, which is soaking his fingers quickly, your head falling back against his hard chest. “Me killing him get you wet?”

“N-no, you get me wet, psycho man. Answer me.” You grip his wrist, trying to halt his movements so you can focus. “Did you kill him?”

Sukuna sighs, burying his face against your neck. “Wanna see him?”

“What?” Sukuna’s chuckling now, hot against the gentle curve of your neck, pulling you even closer against him.

“He’s not dead, only because… your kid. But he’s not doing so hot.” He leans back now, pulling out his phone, showing you Naoya right there on the screen, so bloody he’s damn near unrecognizable, pressing play on the video.

“Oh my god…” You feel sick as you watch it, Toji holding his head up, as Sukuna videos it.

Go on, say sorry, say you’re so sorry, and how you’re not even good enough to breathe her air.

Sukuna’s chuckle is dark and frightening, even after he watches the video back, Naoya angrily spits, you fear you see a tooth there.

‘I’m sorry, fuck, okay?’

‘Finish the sentence.’

‘Not good enough to breathe your air… shit, I’m sorry, fuck…’

“Holy… you think…” You’re trembling in his hold, as the tears start pouring from your eyes. Sukuna pauses the video before all the carnage of just what happened to the Zenin during that fight shows. “You think it’s over?”

“Yes, baby.” Baby, he calls you baby and it ruins you. He’s cupping your face, turning you to him now, lifting you with ease and sitting you on the counter, your arms wrapping around his neck, breaths coming quicker and quicker. “He won’t touch you again.”

“Kuna…” You slam your lips on his, tears falling mixing with the coppery taste of the blood on his split lip, he pulls you against him, thighs wrapped around his hips, as you endlessly kiss, deeper and deeper. You pull back with a shaky breath, foreheads resting against each other. “But will it be a war?”

“No, they’re not coming for the Kamo and the Gojo family, we negotiated quite a deal with them all. It’s easy to negotiate when you’re losing teeth.” His devilish grin truly scares you.

“You’re psychotic you know.”

“You really haven’t seen shit yet baby.” Soon everyone is pouring in, cleaning up, Satoru is pouting like a baby, Toji is tense, the mood is overall good, but when you’re all drinking in the bar later, you and your friend helping pour them, it seems like they’re all just exhausted too.

“I lied about it being boring.” Satoru murmurs then, holding his girl’s hand carefully across the bar, she frowns in concern, leaning forward.

“It’s not boring?” She asks, and he shakes his head.

“It’s boring and pointless, and fucking stupid. But, for once, I think we did something.” She’s on his side soon, as they kiss, and the hunger they have makes the room heat up, as your eyes meet Sukuna’s knowingly.

“Satoru, why don’t you take her home.” Sukuna suggests. “Before you all just fuck right here.”

“Says you two. I don’t wanna know how many surfaces you’ve hit.” He says with a smirk, earning your gasp and Sukuna’s chuckle.

“We have not hit… many surfaces!?”

“Yet.” The room laughs quietly, and soon you’re all dispersing, you’re resting your head on Sukuna’s shoulder as he drives, it’s not too often that he’s not just taking his limo, but tonight he’s got a big hand on your thigh, pressing against you so warm, while you hug his arm to you. “You okay brat?”

“I can’t believe he was in so deep and… I didn’t know. That he was doing… fuck, trading human beings, and I was oblivious. I left because he kept cheating and was so mean to me, but… it’s hard to swallow.” Sukuna’s quiet as the two of you drive through the night in the dark, lights slowly flashing by and casting shadows across your face as he looks down for a moment.

“He probably just hit it well, it’s not like it’s your fault you didn’t know.”

“But Touma was in danger!”

“And he’s not, now he’s safe.” At the red light, glowing across his tanned skin, still covered in marks, he cups your face, tilting your chin up. “It’s not your fault.”

“How could I have been so stupid? How could I have ever seen anything but…” He cuts you off with a kiss, gentle and sweet, not like the fervent, passionate, or even brutal ones you’re used to. You exhale, leaning into the kiss.

“He had you hating yourself, I saw the end of that.” His heart breaks as he sees your lower lip tremble, his thumb brushing across it as the light turns green, he shifts his gears, driving once more, towards his penthouse - well, yours now too.

“You make me feel so loved now.” Your quiet voice makes him tense, clearing his throat just a bit.

“Ya trying to make me all sappy again, brat?” Normally you’d giggle, but you’re leaning closer, pressing a kiss on his neck.

“I love you.”

“Tch.” You just smile as you cling to him, dozing slightly, so happy he’s finally with you, so thrilled you may never have to worry about Naoya in your life again, all because of him, truly. “Gonna drool on me? If so, better be around my cock, or while I’m fucking you.”

“Kuna!” He’s smirking as you sleepily smack at his shoulder, pulling in to park now, brushing back your messy hair.

“Gonna help me clean up?” He asks softly, soon you all are sending Miwa home for the night, Touma is already fast asleep, and you’re in the shower with Sukun as he sits on the black granite bench, hands washing his smokey pink locks, while he rests his forehead on your chest, thighs spread.

“You have more bruises and cuts than you led me to believe.” You reprimand, he just looks up at you, tired eyes, his sooty lashes dripping with droplets of water, while his huge hands take over your body.

“I’ll always do anything for you.” You expected a joke or a cocky statement, not that, not the pure love and adoration in his voice, making you swallow while you rinse his hair off gently, placing the showerhead back up, entire body aching for him.

“I’ll always do anything for you.” Your murmur in return, straddling him now, knees on slippery marble, he clutches you by your ass as you do, eyes brilliant ruby as the hot spray pounds against both of your skin all over.

“The date. I still want the date.” He says softly, you giggle at it, tilting your head back when his hand drags ever so slowly across one of your breasts, squishing it in his hand as he sighs.

“I want a date too. But maybe you should heal up?”

“I feel great. Good enough for…” He’s dragging your cunt against his cock now, you cry out at the sensation, soaking wet and throbbing always for him, his piercing hits your clit as you grind, making you jerk, sensitive when he’s biting at your lips, his hands sinking into your waist. “Good enough to fuck you so good you drool, baby.”

“Fuck… please, Kuna…” He’s groaning now, reaching around and slipping two fingers deep in your soppy little hole, back arching for more as he does, scissoring them in and out so fast, you’re clinging to him tightly, tongues messy and dripping saliva as they collide.

“Want it?” He taunts, his thick, huge cock throbbing in need for you, but he loves when you’re so needy, desperate, he feels your gummy walls gripping his fingers, watches your eyes roll back, while the water falls in pretty rivulets on your pretty body, and he can’t wait to cum inside you, but not just yet. “You know what to do, brat.”

“Meanie.” You huff so cutely, making him smile, your nails are slick and pressing into his back, when he slips his fingers out now, cock teasing your entrance as he holds you up like it’s nothing.

“Gonna be bratty and not get it then.”

Your thighs shake as his tip enters, pressing inside past that tight ring of muscles, feeling your walls spasm, making him suck back a whine. “Please, Kuna, please let me feel you.”

“Fuck…” Your soft pleading ends him, how can he tease you when he’s dying to thrust inside of you, and that he does, dragging your cunt half way down his veiny length, you’re struggling to take him. “Loosen up, shit baby.”

“C-can’t, you’re t-too - ah!” You’re gasping when he stands, laying you right down on that bench, slipping out of you and shoving two fingers back in, curling them, while he kisses you again.

“Pathetic little pussy, how can she not take me by now?” He whispers, you want to scowl but fail, instead you’re drooling again while he’s curling those fingers inside.

“Too big.” He smirks at that, your eyes narrow for a moment before you’re cumming all down his thick digits, muscles loosening just enough, orgasm washing through your entire body in waves. “Kuna!”

“There she goes, she’s so needy, tsk.” Sukuna picks you up, throwing you like some little doll with his huge arms, until he’s got you against the wall, shoving his cock to the fucking hilt. Your cunt tries to accommodate, gushing down his length, as he moans, feeling his tip against your cervix. “Fuck, feel her. Milking me already?”

“Want all your cum in me, Kuna.” Your whine is shut off with a scream as he slams his curved cock right up inside you again, you’re trying to hold back the noise, but steadily failing.

“Shh, brat.” He’s smirking now, and covering your mouth with two fingers. “I’m so not getting cockblocked. Hush.”

“S-sorry, fuck- ah!” You’re burying your face against his neck, biting his slick hot skin, as his tattooed abdomen flexes, fucking you more firmly against the wall, and the two of you lose yourselves, more and more.

The water pounding, the steam floating, the fragrant smells of the body wash all mixing with the taste of each other, your eyes shut you can just feel him, all his power his strong, huge body holds, as he uses you. And you’re just clinging to him, whimpering, while his tip drags on your spot, while his piercing hits your cervix now, and you can barely hold back.

“Gonna fill you up s’good, brat, gonna fuckin pour me out, huh?” You’re nodding, struggling to focus, head falling back to look into those dilated eyes. “All mine, never going anywhere, are you?” You hear the desperation as he clings, as he fucks into your slick little cunt, and you’re nodding weakly, feeling him take you over.

“Never, going anywhere. Yours.” Sukuna slams into you once more, rolling his hips just so, you’re cumming right with him, his hot gooey load pouring inside your slick, fluttering walls, when he drinks up your kisses, holding you so tight you can scarcely breathe.

“Mine, all mine, aren’t you brat?” You’re nodding weakly, so full of him, his cock just spurting even more deep against you, as he rests his head on yours, struggling to catch his own breath.

“Yours, only yours.” Your desperate kisses slowly ease, as the two of you wash each other, and soon you’re drying up, checking on Touma, who’s still fast asleep in his bed, Sukuna watches as you give him a kiss good night, crossing his arms at the doorway while you tuck him in.

It makes the entire thing worth it all, when you shut the door quietly and he picks you up, you giggle as you cling to him. “Gotta carry you everywhere.”

“You want to! Big strong Kuna.”

“Psh.” He pulls you against him, exhaustion hitting alone with your fingers gently stroking his hair, as he clings to your warm body, so small compared to him yet here he is, holding on to you, to make him feel like only you can.

“Where is this date?” You ask softly, listening to his breathing slow, feeling his tense muscles relax just a bit in your hold, with your soothing touch.

“Fiji.” Your lips part in shock.

“We can’t just go to Fiji!?”

“Why not?” He scowls up at you now, your lips twitch in amusement, earning his deeper glare. “I can take you wherever the fuck I want, you’re mine.”

“I can’t just leave Touma for Fiji!”

“Miwa-”

“No, Kuna, I so am not.”

“You’re bratty.” He’s smacking your ass so hard you yelp, stinging and radiating with his big ass hand rocking through you.

“Shit, ow!” You bite him now, but you just get his cock twitching again, as your teeth sink deep, and he yanks your hair.

“Brat, swear to god you’re asking for it. Where do you want to go then!?”

“Like, dinner?”

“The fuck - all that I did and I get a dinner date? No.”

“Kuna…”

“Don’t you Kuna me, I demand better date. Gonna have me acting like I’m fucking broke.” You roll your eyes at him, sighing, now rubbing your stinging ass cheek and wincing.

“Dinner somewhere fancy.”

“Satoru bought his date a fucking boat, I need at least a helicopter, or a private plane-”

“So it’s a competition?” You ask, amused while Sukuna leans up on an elbow now, as you burst into a fit of giggles, now on your back, hand stroking his stubbled cheek.

“Of course it’s a fucking competition.” You can’t stop your laughter now, to his anger, just growing at you.

“But they don’t… um…” You take a breath then, getting a little more serious. “I have Touma, he’s part of my life. We can’t be quite so carefree, like Satoru and his girl, I’m afraid.” Sukuna exhales now, realizing your words.

You love your son so much, and he’s so happy that you do, but sometimes it drives him crazy, he has to always share his favorite person. “I guess we will bring him and Miwa to Fiji then.”

“Shit, you’re serious?” He huffs, pulling your body impossibly close, leaning down over you, lips ghosting over your collarbone.

“That way we still get time alone, but also with him.” You feel your heart fill with so much love it makes you want to burst, he sighs when he sees your eyes, glassy even in the dark of the night, the moonlight filtering in and casting shadows on your pretty face, illuminating those tears. “You cry too much.”

“That’s so sweet, oh my god.” He doesn’t answer, he just keeps pecking kisses, along your neck, and your collarbone, huge hands taking your waist, kissing even lower, to your rising breasts.

“I love you.”

“I know. Shush.” You’re whining out when he kisses down a path to your nipple, already perked up and ready, pulling down the top when the door knocks and he groans, scowling at it.

“Mama! Papa!”

“Come in!” You’re adjusting your shirt, ignoring your boyfriend’s honestly adorable pout as Touma bursts in, running over to the edge of the bed.

“What, kid? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” He demands, crossing his strong arms over his chest now.

“Sorry, Papa Kuna!” Sukuna grimaces once more at the name, as Touma reaches up his little hands, opening and closing them, he turns over and rests his chin on his hand, raising a brow.

“Is that the name we’re really going with?” Touma is bouncing up and down, you giggle as you watch, rolling over on your side now, a hand on Sukuna’s bare shoulder.

“Can I sleep in your bed Papa Kuna!?”

“God no.”

“But, PapaKuna…” You earn his glare as you rest your chin on his shoulder now, pecking a kiss on his cheek. “He’s so cute though.”

“No sleeping in my bed, kid.” Touma pouts now, lip trembling, making Sukuna falter, he looks just like you, dammit. “Don’t you give me those puppy dog eyes, you learned that from your mom, huh?”

“But your bed, it looks so cool! Please!”

“Go to your bed!”

“I’ll go to sleep with him then.” You go to sit up, and Sukuna rolls his ruby eyes, pressing you back down, his glare even deeper.

“You’re going nowhere.” He sits up now, the sheet falling, revealing his bare, tattooed body, Sukuna looks even more of a huge, huge man when he picks up itty bitty Touma from the floor, unceremoniously plopping him down between you two. “There, just one night, though, got me kid?”

“Yay! Big bed, big bed!” Touma’s smacking a kiss on his cheek, Sukuna’s wiping it off with a disgusted look, then softens as Touma kisses your cheek now. “Mama, I get to sleep in the big bed!”

“You do, it’s super comfy too.” You’re tucking him under the covers now, as he snuggles up, and Sukuna crosses his arms, earning your smile.

“Papa Kuna, lay down.” Your words have Touma laughing, as he reaches his little hand out and tugs Sukuna down towards him, until he reluctantly lays his head on one of the black satin pillows, and Touma hugs him around the neck.

“Who’s clingier, you or the kid?” He looks over Touma’s head at you, you lay down now as well, an arm around Touma, resting on Sukuna’s waist over the soft, weighted blanket.

“It’s a toss up.” You press a kiss on Touma’s head, brushing his hair back to see his adorable face, already content with a smile. “Do you like Papa Kuna better than Mama!?”

“No, but he’s so comfy!”

“Tch. Comfy.”

“He is comfy, huh?” You wink at Sukuna, whose hands are just awkwardly up as the kid snuggles against his chest.

“Your hands are cold, shit!”

“Sorry Papa.” He just hums and snuggles closer, the moment making you fall ever deeper in love, Sukuna’s got his arm around you both then, with an annoyed sigh, the three of you snuggled in the enormous bed. It feels…

Perfect.

“Kid, ya wanna go on a plane ride?” He asks, and Touma yawns, nodding.

“A plane!? Planes are cool!”

“There you go, we’re going to Fiji.” Sukuna smirks, clearly happy he has won, as Touma now turns and cuddles over to you, looking up at you and smiling happily.

“A plane!” He’s so excited, but so tired, precious as you stroke his cheek. “Mama, we'll have fun on a plane.”

“Then I guess we will have to all go, hmm? And bring Miwa?” Your words just excite Touma more, you watch Sukuna’s full lips twitch in amusement.

“Miwa too, it’s going to be so fun. When will we go?” He turns his head to Sukuna, as he snuggles closer, and Sukuna’s hand is gently brushing your hair back off your face.

“What about this weekend?”

“That soon?” You ask softly, as Touma is dozing off, little fingers gripping your pajama top, you rest your chin on his head, eyeing Sukuna now. “We don’t have to go right now, we have all the time in the world.”

“I need… a break.” You see then, how exhausted he really is, and shit, so are you after all of this. “And I want to take my girl out.”

“Your girl.” Your whisper is met with his kiss, he is dying to hold you in his arms, but the little kid in the middle doesn’t bother him honestly, in fact he enjoys watching his face smile in his sleep more than he’d admit, affection flowing for the extension of you. His gaze goes back to you, your lashes lowering, casting shadows against your cheeks. “I like that.”

“Being my girl? Of course you do.” He kisses you once more, relaxing more and eyeing Touma now. “Does he… ever bring him up?”

You tense a bit, shaking your head. “He did a little before, but not since we’ve been with you. He doesn’t really know him. But now he has you, we both do. Papa Kuna.”

“Ugh.” You’re laughing softly as he kisses you again, sweeter. “Only once is he sleeping in my bed.”

“Only once, sure.” Sukuna’s half assed glare just makes you smile, as you stroke his soft pink locks back. “I’m excited for Fiji.”

“You better be. Now, get to sleep.”

“Work tomorrow?”

“Change of position for you.”

*****

One Week Later

“Look at Pookie, she’s a baddie.” Satoru’s husky voice hits you as you’re counting money in Sukuna’s office later that day, legs crossed in a little black business outfit that Sukuna must have custom made, because it’s just too slutty honestly, and fits you far too well. When he’d seen you in it, he’d about lost his mind, the memory makes your cheeks heat up.

“Hey, Satoru.” You smile now, standing up and hugging him, you touch his cheek with a frown, seeing the blooming purple bruise along his cheek. “You okay?”

“I’m good, promise. My girl said I’m hot with this apparently.” You giggle then, shaking your head as he presses a kiss on the backs of your fingers.

“Of course you are, I heard you bought her a boat for a date huh?” He grins, wiggling his brows now, as the two of you walk over to Sukuna’s desk, and you divvy out a huge stack, handing it over.

“Of course I bought a boat, I needed to one up your date, no offense. Ah, thank you for the money, mommy.”

“You’re ridiculous.” You snort in laughter at him, sitting back down, taking out your pen and scribbling information down. “That’s your cut for the most recent run, not that your little rich ass needs any.”

“Hey now, you’re getting mean, don’t let Kuna make you too bratty.”

“What now?” You glare at him as he leans back, lowering his shades, crossing his leg at the ankle. “You’re the only brat here.”

“Meanie!”

“Arguing, huh?” Toji walks in now, winking a dark green eye at you, taking the huge stack from your hands. “Thanks doll.”

“Of course.” You’re scribbling more down now, as Suguru walks in, yawning, and you study the men’s faces, still bruised and cut, making you sigh.

“Hello, love.” Suguru takes the stack as you hand it out, frowning at you. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel you’re all hurt because of me.” You bury your face in your hands now, taking a shaky breath as the men frown, looking at you.

“No, it’s not you, it’s the shit Zenin, okay?” Toji’s hand comes to your shoulder, warm and comforting.

“Still, you’re all beat up.” You lift your head, tears falling when Choso walks in, you’re sniffling as you go to hand him his cut.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, violet eyes glimmering, as if he feels your emotions. You nod with a tremulous smile.

“We get beat up all the time, part of the job description, sweets.” Satoru tries to ease your worries, but it just doesn’t sink in.

“You’re promoted, look at you.” Choso’s words make you smile a little more firmly, dabbing at your eyes now.

“I am, from now on I’ll be handling all of the money, I actually took accounting believe it or not.”

“A stripper accountant? Hot.” Suguru makes you giggle, when Sukuna walks in, you realize then you’re in a room full of mobsters over six feet tall, all with bruised knuckles and abrasions, and you’re the one holding all their money. There’s some power to it, what Sukuna’s given you, as he eyes all of the men, too close for his comfort.

“She’s not stripping anymore, she can manage the girls and the money.” He strides forward, walking around the desk now, lifting you from the seat to sit in the chair instead, yanking you down on his lap.

“Then why am I wearing office strip clothes?” You tease, he grins, eyeing the amount of cleavage hungrily.

“It’s the uniform, brat.”

“Uh huh! Anyway, they were just trying to make me feel better.” Sukuna’s hand comes to grip your waist, as he eyes the ledger you’ve been filling.

“She thinks it’s her fault, you should make her feel better, Kuna.”

“I swear to god, Satoru.” Satoru’s laughing as he wiggles his fingers in a farewell, and Sukuna’s alone with you now, in the big office he’s basically now set up for you as well, the door clicking quietly, when his thumb swipes a tear on your cheek. “You know how to make me jealous.”

“Oh stop, they were just being sweet.”

“Psh, sweet mobsters, what’s next?”

“You’re the sweetest.”

“That’s it.” You gasp when he’s got you bent over, yanking up the mini skirt that is barely covering your ass, watching it bounce and caressing your ass over the dark fishnets you wear, before smacking the fuck out of it.

“Ah!”

“Calling me sweet, brat? How sweet am I?” He’s smacking your other cheek, stinging so bad, but you feel the wetness drooling against your panties, biting your lower lip to hold back a cry.

“I’m an account manager now, Mr. Sukuna. I’m complaining to HR.” You tease, grinning over your shoulder, he raises one of those brows, leaning over you now, one hand gripping yours over the cool wood of the desk.

“Toji is HR. What’s he gonna say?” You giggle, but it’s cut off when he’s smacking you right between your thighs, exhaling against your neck, and the sweet ache dulls to a throbbing need.

“Toji cannot be HR, maybe Choso. He’s so cute you know- ow!”

“That’s it. I’m breaking out the whip.”

“Kuna!”

“You’re a brat - f-fuck…” He’s trailing off when you’re arching your ass up, pressing against his growing length, eyeing him.

“No one’s as sexy as my Kuna. Papa Kuna.”

“I’m done.” Sukuna pulls open a drawer, you flush when you see it, a little black leather flogger, then you glare.

“Who’d you use that on, Candy?” He grins now, standing tall and pressing you down by the back of your neck.

“Arch your ass up, brat.” His murmur is met with your immediate response, arching for him, despite you running your mouth, you want it. “Jealous of Candy, how can you be? Have you seen yourself?”

“If the whip touched her I swear- mnh!” He taps you with it gently, a low throaty laugh, wrapping his hand around your neck as he gently smacks the other side of your ass cheek, making your tummy clench.

“I like you jealous, it’s sexy… just like this outfit is ending me, look too fucking good in it, brat.”

“You want me all slutty, hmm?”

“Just for me.” His possessive tone sends shivers through you, he’s smacking your cunt lightly, stinging and making you wetter, before he presses the leather against your clit over dripping wet panties, just when the door knocks and he groans out his frustration, your little giggle earns you a sharp bite on your neck. “I’ll finish this later, just wait.”

“I’m terrified, Papa Kuna.” He puts the whip up, adjusting your skirt before he sits back down, pulling you right on his thigh, exhaling at the heat he feels, his arm wrapping around your waist, hand right on your tummy.

“Gonna have you so full of me.” His whisper in your ear has you shivering, biting your lip, he watches with a cocky grin as the knock starts again. “Come on in, then, shit.”

“You’re so friendly, you know.” Toji walks in then, frowning over at Sukuna, and you feel the energy shift.

“What’s wrong?” You ask softly, Toji sighs then.

“I may need some help with something.” You look at Sukuna, nodding and walking away, touching Toji’s shoulder gently, earning his little smile.

“It better be good, just had my girl bent over my desk.” Sukuna leans back, crossing his arms, legs spread, as Toji shuts the door behind him, staring at it for a moment.

“That shot girl…”

“You think she’s hot?”

“She’s… I need to know… about her.” Sukuna snorts a bit then, leaning forward on his hand. “Yeah she’s hot, okay?”

“I didn’t realize I’m running a matchmaking service. I should charge you.” Toji snorts, sitting down across from him now. “Shit you’re serious?”

“Just want info. I helped you plenty, ya owe me something.”

“Shit, alright, but I swear if you interrupt me fucking again, I’m gonna take you the fuck out.” Toji chuckles, and Sukuna starts wrapping up the rest of the money. “What did you wanna know?”

Later on, as you both are overseeing the club, Sukuna finds you again, with the strobing lights going, the music reverberating through your bodies. There are dancers everywhere, in various stages of undress, cocaine being sold with every fucking shot, this is not ordinary life, but it is your ordinary life now, the hustle of it all, the thrill when his hands are on your waist.

“Toji’s down bad.” He says, and your brows raise in surprise.

“Toji Fushiguro!?”

“Mmhmm. He’s gonna be the next lovesick fool. God, look at Gojo.” You giggle as you see him, cupping his girl’s face, looks so intense they could fill an entire fucking room.

“Let them be happy, you crab.”

“Crab!?”

“Mmhmm. We’re happy. Yeah?” Your pretty smile ends him, as he pictures just everything he wants from you.

A whole fucking life with you.

“Ready for that trip tomorrow?” He asks, hand entwining with yours, turning your chin up as he hugs you from behind.

“I can’t wait, Kuna.”

A/N- Toji's story is up nextttt - preview here. And ofc we will get mob Gojo chap 4 Next (Losing Control Now) Next chap is the last of their storyyy, I've really had fun, ty for those who have loved on this story with me! <3

Taglist #1- @naina326 @1worm1 @yenayaps @shokosbunny @sukubusss @msniks @kittyyyyykats @nyxly1412 @trashsuarecan @dumbbunny98 @monster-effer @tojis-ball-sack @tangsakura @friesnkwtchup @lhhlver @attackonnat @moonchhu @mat-mat-mat @cherryjain17 @havkjhdecs @stargirl-mayaa @the-dark-creature @lulunx @saitamaswifey @spacefae-x @deitysdream @sorahatake @gojoscumslut @stainednailpolishremover @kidd3ath @clp-84 @rinkomei @catastayy @oneirataxiaa @inthedarkshadows000 @travistheaussie @cold-blooded-girls @emi311 @blublublubby @fluttershyfangs @actuallynarii @7thsthings @ilovemeni @erluu @for-hearthand-home @angellliqua @mai-505 @suguru-nugget

#sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna x you #strip club owner sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen smut #ryomen sukuna #ryomen x reader #jjk smut #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x female reader #sukuna x fem!reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #divider by cafekitsune #sukuna fluff

701 notes · View notes

urdreamydoodles · 3 days ago

Note

Hi hi!! Hope your day’s going well!!

I adore the krakoa headcanons you have for the x-men, how willing would you be to do something similar for mcu characters?? Idk if there’s an equivalent though, if not it’s no problem ❤️

MCU CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

A year after your death, you are resurrected and reunited with your lover

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker (Tom H.), Stephen Strange, Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, T'Challa, Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley, Scott Lang, Wade Wilson, Logan Howlett, Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff & Erik Lehnsherr

Requests are reopened since I'm going to have surgery for my scoliosis...yes, it's bad news, it's a major operation, so I need your requests to feel better. PLEASE SEND ME REQUEST. I don't have surgery for another four months so I have plenty of time since I'm at home! I can't wait to see all your ideas, I LOVE YOU <3

Tony Stark

- Tony Stark, the man who could build a new world with his hands but could not stop them from shaking when they lost you. He spent a year in ruins, laughing too loudly at parties that could not fill the silence you left behind, drowning in half-finished projects where your ghost lingered in the curve of every wire. He never stopped talking about you—not to his friends, not to himself, not to the night. You were the equation he could not solve, the loss he could not engineer his way out of.

- When he sees you again, standing in the flickering light of his workshop, the wrench in his hand slips, clattering to the floor. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. His mind, sharp as ever, gives him ten different explanations, each more impossible than the last, but his heart—his battered, grieving heart—gives him only one. “Tell me I’m dreaming,” he says, voice hoarse, because the alternative is something he cannot afford to believe.

- And then you speak, and the walls he built to keep himself from shattering crumble in an instant. He is across the room before he knows it, hands gripping your arms, your face, tracing the proof of you. The ache in his chest is unbearable, but not from pain—it is the sheer weight of having you again. “They told me I was crazy,” he murmurs against your lips, against your skin. “Guess they were right.”

- You are back, but time has moved without you, carving deeper lines into Tony’s face, dulling the arrogance that once carried him like armor. He watches you like you might disappear again, fingers always brushing your wrist, your hip, the pulse at your throat. He doesn’t sleep much—he never did—but now, when you wake in the night, he is already awake, watching the rise and fall of your breath as if it is the only thing tethering him to reality.

- He brings you everywhere, makes no excuses for it. “My ghost, my rules,” he says when someone questions it. He builds new suits and doesn’t let you out of his sight, not when danger is near, not when a single misstep could take you away again. He has never been a man who believed in second chances, but for you, he will believe in anything.

- The world thinks he is Iron Man, but you know the truth: Tony Stark is just a man who loved and lost and refused to let death win. He holds you like a miracle, like proof that he was right to fight for the impossible. And for the first time in a long time, he is not afraid.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers has always known loss—has carried it like a second skin, worn it like a name he could never leave behind. But losing you was different. It was not the cold silence of the ice, nor the distant ache of time slipping through his fingers. It was immediate, brutal. It was your blood on his hands, your last breath against his cheek. A year passed, and he carried on because that was what he did, because that was what you would have wanted. But he stopped looking at sunsets. Stopped drinking coffee the way you used to make it. Stopped believing that the world could ever feel warm again.

- When he sees you again, standing in the doorway of the safe house, the shield strapped to his back feels heavier than ever. His breath catches, his heart stumbles, and for a moment, he wonders if this is some cruel trick played by an enemy who knows exactly where to cut him open. But then your lips part, and you say his name, and the sound of it is like the first breath after drowning.

- He moves toward you slowly, hesitantly, as if one wrong step will shatter the illusion. His hands hover over your face, your shoulders, trembling with the unbearable need to touch, to feel, to know. And when you don’t disappear, when you are warm and real beneath his fingers, something inside him breaks. His arms crush you to him, his breath shaking as he buries his face in your hair. He is crying, but he doesn’t care. “I held you,” he whispers. “I held you.”

- After that, he does not let you go. The world calls him Captain America, but to you, he is just Steve—the man who wakes up in the middle of the night just to press his forehead against yours, the man whose grip tightens every time you reach for his hand, as if to reassure himself that you are not a dream. He does not know how to make peace with this miracle, so he does not try. He simply loves you harder, holds you closer, refuses to waste a second of the time he was so cruelly robbed of.

- He is more protective now, but it is not the suffocating kind. It is the quiet, steadfast kind, the way he always positions himself between you and an open door, the way he memorizes the sound of your breathing while you sleep. He does not speak of the past year unless you ask, but when you do, the grief in his eyes is something ancient, something that will never fully fade.

- Steve Rogers has always carried the weight of the world, but with you beside him, it is lighter. You are proof that even after all the battles, all the sacrifices, the universe still has kindness left to give. And he will spend the rest of his life earning it.

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha Romanoff has survived on borrowed time for as long as she can remember. She has lost, she has bled, she has walked away from battlefields without looking back. But losing you was different. It was the one wound that did not heal, the one loss she could not turn into fuel. She did not cry. Did not speak of you. She simply moved forward, faster, harder, with reckless abandon—because if she slowed down, even for a second, she would have to feel the hollow space you left behind.

- When she sees you again, standing in the shadows of a dimly lit alley, her knife is in her hand before she even registers what she is seeing. Her body reacts the way it was trained to, but her heart—her traitorous, fragile heart—stutters in her chest. “No,” she breathes, shaking her head as if denying it will make it any less real. “No, I buried you.”

- And then you step closer, into the light, and she sees the familiar curve of your smile, the warmth in your eyes. She drops the knife. It clatters against the pavement, forgotten, as she crosses the space between you in two strides, her hands fisting in the fabric of your jacket. Her lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if she can taste the truth in the way you breathe against her mouth.

- After that, she is different. Softer, in ways only you will ever see. She touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reverence. A hand at the small of your back, fingers trailing over your wrist, knuckles brushing against yours as if reminding herself that you are here. The world may question, but Natasha has never cared for the world's judgment. You are hers, and she is yours, and that is all that matters.

- She does not let you fight alone anymore. Not because she doubts your strength, but because she refuses to feel that kind of loss again. She watches you when you sleep, when you move through a room, when you laugh. She memorizes the details she once took for granted—the exact color of your eyes in the morning light, the rhythm of your voice when you call her name.

- Natasha Romanoff has spent a lifetime making peace with ghosts, but you are not one. You are flesh and blood, a heartbeat beneath her palm, a warmth she never thought she would feel again. And this time, she will not let you go.

Bruce Banner

- Grief is not an emotion Bruce Banner can afford. He has spent a lifetime suppressing, locking away the parts of himself that feel too deeply, because feeling too much is dangerous, and losing you nearly ended the world. The Hulk roared in agony that day, the earth itself trembling beneath his wrath, but even in his most furious state, even as he destroyed everything in his path, you were gone. And no amount of strength, no amount of science, could bring you back.

- He stopped fighting after that. Retreated. Isolated himself in a place where no one could see the way his hands trembled when they weren’t balled into fists, where no one could hear him whisper your name like a prayer, a question, a plea. He stopped shifting into the Hulk—not because he was afraid, but because the monster within him had nothing left to fight for. There was only silence, only the ghost of your touch, only the unbearable weight of having lived when you did not.

- So when you return, standing before him in the quiet of his lab, he does not react at first. His mind, trained to doubt, to question, to disassemble and understand, tells him it cannot be real. That the chemicals in his brain are firing incorrectly, that his grief has finally shattered him in a way no transformation ever could. But then you say his name, and it is not just sound—it is gravity, it is a force pulling him from the abyss.

- He crosses the room in a single breath, hands hovering over your face, your shoulders, your waist, unable to trust his own touch. He is afraid to break you, afraid to break himself. And then your fingers slip into his, grounding him, reminding him that this is not a hallucination, not a cruel trick of his subconscious. You are warm, real, here. And just like that, the weight he has carried for a year crumbles to dust.

- After that, he does not leave your side. He watches you sleep, not because he doubts, but because he cannot waste another second of the time he was so certain he had lost. He builds new defenses, new protections, because if death could not keep you, then neither will any enemy foolish enough to try. He teaches himself to trust happiness again, to allow himself to feel, because with you beside him, it is no longer a danger—it is a gift.

- Bruce Banner has always been afraid of his own power, but with you, he is not afraid. He is a man, not just a monster, and for the first time in a long time, he believes in the possibility of a future. A future where he is not alone. A future where he is not running. A future where you, against all odds, are still his.

Clint Barton

- Clint Barton has never been one to dwell. The life he leads does not allow for it—grief is a luxury, mourning a weakness, and the only way to survive is to keep moving. But when he held you in his arms, felt the last shudder of breath against his skin, something inside him shattered. And he did not put the pieces back together. He let them fall, let them burn, let the silence swallow him whole.

- The others saw him continue—heard his sharp wit, watched him loose arrows with deadly precision, saw the same easy smirk that had always been there. But they did not see the empty spaces where you used to be. Did not see the way he avoided the places you had loved, the way he drank in solitude, the way his hands curled into fists whenever someone mentioned your name.

- So when you return—when you step into the dim light of his hideout, when your voice cuts through the silence he has lived in for a year—he does not believe it. He grips the bow at his side, tension in every muscle, because this is a trick, a trap, an illusion designed to destroy him completely. But then you move closer, and the way you look at him—the way only you ever have—makes the doubt in his mind fracture.

- And then he is there, hands gripping your waist, your arms, his forehead pressed to yours as he exhales a breath he did not know he had been holding. He does not ask how, does not ask why. He only pulls you closer, lets himself collapse into the only thing that has ever truly felt like home. His fingers are tight against your skin, unwilling to let go, unwilling to lose you a second time.

- After that, he is different. Lighter, in ways only you will notice. He is still Clint—still sharp, still reckless, still throwing himself into danger without hesitation—but there is a warmth now, a flicker of something that had long been extinguished. He touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reassurance. His hand on the small of your back, his fingers brushing against yours, a quiet, wordless promise that he will not take a second of this for granted.

- Clint Barton has always been a survivor, but he did not truly live until you returned. And now, with you beside him, he has no intention of losing that again. He is yours, wholly and completely, and this time, no force in the universe will take you from him.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky Barnes knows the taste of loss better than most. He has drowned in it, clawed his way through decades of it, watched everyone he has ever loved slip through his fingers like sand. But losing you was different. Losing you was not the slow, creeping erosion of time. It was a blade to the gut, a wound that never closed, an ache that settled deep in his bones and refused to let go.

- He did not grieve the way others did. He did not cry, did not rage, did not seek solace in memories. He simply stopped. Stopped talking, stopped trying, stopped allowing himself to feel anything at all. Because feeling meant acknowledging the gaping wound your absence had left behind, and that was not something he could survive.

- So when he sees you again, standing in the doorway of his apartment, he does not move. Does not breathe. His mind—trained to expect deception, to anticipate betrayal—tells him this is a trick. But then you step forward, and the way your eyes soften when they meet his, the way your lips part in a quiet whisper of his name, makes the world tilt beneath his feet.

- And then he is there, crossing the space between you with the kind of desperation that only comes from losing something you thought was gone forever. His hands tremble as they frame your face, his breath shuddering as he drinks in the impossible reality of you. He does not trust words, does not trust his voice to hold steady, so he simply presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in, grounding himself in the proof of your existence.

- After that, he does not let you go. He does not speak of the past year, does not tell you how empty it was, how he spent every night staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that never came. He only shows you in the way he touches you, in the way he holds you closer at night, in the way his fingers linger on yours as if afraid you might vanish again.

- Bucky Barnes has spent a lifetime being taken, being controlled, being used. But you are the one thing that was his, the one thing that was real, and now that you are here, he will fight for you with everything he has. You are his salvation, his anchor, his second chance at something he never thought he deserved. And this time, he is never letting go.

Sam Wilson

- Grief is a weight Sam Wilson carries well, but carrying it does not mean it is light. It sits in his chest, heavy and unmoving, an ache that never quite fades. Losing you was not a clean wound—it was jagged, raw, a battlefield farewell written in blood and breathless whispers. He held you, watched the life slip from your eyes, and still, somehow, he had to stand up. He had to keep fighting. Because that’s what you would have done. That’s what you would want.

- But wanting and doing are not the same thing. He laughed in public, told stories that made others grin, carried himself with the same easy confidence. But alone? Alone, it was different. He spoke to you sometimes when the night was too quiet, when the wind sounded too much like your voice. He ran until his lungs burned, trying to chase the memory of you, knowing he never really could.

- So when you stand before him, alive, breathing, real, the world does not feel like the one he left behind. His first instinct is denial—a trick, an illusion, a cruel joke played by something with too much power and not enough mercy. But you look at him, and there’s something there, something he recognizes too well. Love. History. You. And suddenly, the weight in his chest is gone.

- He moves before he can think. One step, then two, then his arms are around you, his head buried in your shoulder, a shuddering breath breaking from his lips. His grip is tight—too tight, maybe—but he doesn’t care. He needs to feel you, needs to know this isn’t a dream he’ll wake from. He says your name like it’s the only word he remembers, his voice thick with everything he couldn’t say when you were gone.

- After that, Sam is different. Lighter, freer. He still fights, still leads, still carries the burdens of the world on his back—but he does it with you at his side, and that changes everything. He touches you constantly, a hand on your back, fingers brushing against yours, small, quiet reassurances that you are here, that he did not imagine this.

- Sam Wilson has lost many things. He has seen friends fall, watched the world tear itself apart. But this? This is something he never thought he’d get back. And now that he has you, he swears to himself—he’s not losing you again. Not now. Not ever.

Peter Parker (Tom Holland)

- Peter Parker does not know how to exist in a world where you do not. The pain is not sharp, not a clean wound he can stitch together with time. It is suffocating. Slow. A weight pressing down on him, stealing the air from his lungs, making every step feel heavier than the last. He was holding you, talking to you, and then you were just… gone. And nothing he did, no amount of strength, no web-slinging through the city, no late-night patrols could change that.

- He keeps going. He has to. That’s what Spider-Man does. That’s what you would have wanted. But some nights, when he is alone, when the mask is off and the world is quiet, he feels like a boy again—small, lost, powerless. He whispers apologies into the dark, tracing the memory of your touch, trying to pretend he still remembers exactly what your voice sounded like. Because he’s terrified he’s forgetting.

- And then, one day, you are there. Standing in the shadow of a flickering streetlamp, watching him with the same eyes he never thought he’d see again. At first, he doesn’t move. He can’t. His brain refuses to process it, refuses to accept this impossible, beautiful reality. And then you smile—small, hesitant, you—and he breaks.

- He crashes into you, arms wrapping around you so tightly it almost hurts. His breath stutters, hands shaking as they press against your skin, your hair, anything that proves you are real. “You—” His voice cracks. “You died.” And it’s not an accusation. It’s a question, a plea, a broken whisper of disbelief. But you are warm, solid, here, and he holds onto that with everything he has.

- After that, Peter is clingy. He doesn’t mean to be, but he is. His fingers find yours without thinking, his arm curls around your waist at every opportunity, his webbing pulls you to him when you step too far away. He is afraid—afraid this is temporary, afraid that one day he’ll wake up and you’ll be gone again. But he also smiles more, laughs louder, lives in a way he hasn’t since he lost you.

- Peter Parker has lost so much. But this? This is a miracle. And Peter—Peter is going to make sure he cherishes every single second of it. Because this time, he has you. And that? That is everything.

Stephen Strange

- Stephen Strange is no stranger to loss. He has lived through pain, through heartbreak, through the destruction of things he once believed unshakable. But losing you—that was something else entirely. That was not just loss. That was devastation. It was the kind of pain that settled into his bones, that made the world feel quieter, colder, less.

- He did not weep. Did not rage. Did not crumble beneath the weight of it. Instead, he buried himself in his work, in his magic, in the relentless pursuit of something—anything—that could fill the void you left behind. He scoured the multiverse, searching for answers, but found only silence. Death, it seemed, was absolute. Even for you.

- So when you stand before him, alive, whole, untouched by the grave, he does not react at first. His hands twitch at his sides, eyes sharp, mind racing through a thousand possibilities, a thousand explanations. This must be a trick, a deception, some cruel game played by forces beyond his understanding. But then you speak his name, and the way you say it—the way only you say it—breaks him.

- He crosses the room in three steps, hands cupping your face, searching for any sign of illusion. But there is none. There is only warmth, only life, only you. His breath stutters, his fingers tighten, and for the first time in a long, long time, Stephen Strange allows himself to feel. His lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if trying to convince himself that this moment is not slipping through his fingers.

- After that, he is possessive. Not in a way that is suffocating, but in a way that is unmistakable. His cloak wraps around you when you are cold, his hands find yours beneath temple robes, his magic lingers in the air around you like a silent guardian. He does not say it—not outright, not often—but you know. You have always known. He cannot lose you again. He will not.

- Stephen Strange has faced the impossible, has bent time and reality to his will. But this? This is the greatest miracle of all. And he, a man who once scoffed at faith, finds himself believing in something again. Because if the universe had any mercy, any kindness at all, it would let him keep you. And this time, he will fight for that with everything he has.

Thor Odinson

- Grief and gods have never mixed well. Mortals mourn with time, with rituals, with whispered prayers to the sky. But Thor? Thor does not know how to grieve in a way that does not tear the world apart. He held you as you died, cradled you against his chest, his hands helpless against the tide of fate. The sky wept with him that day—thunder cracking, the heavens splitting open in rage, the storm inside him unfurling with no battle left to fight.

- He left Earth after that. It was too loud, too full of life, too painfully real in your absence. He searched for answers in the stars, in old myths and forgotten magic, in the whispered promises of gods who had lost more than he had. But the truth was simple: not even the might of Thor, not even the power of Asgard, could bring back the one thing he truly wanted. So he drank, and he fought, and he laughed too loudly to hide the fact that he was breaking.

- And then, one day, he turns, and you are there. Standing in the golden light of the Bifrost, impossibly, beautifully alive. His breath catches in his throat, Mjolnir slipping from his fingers, his entire body frozen between disbelief and desperate hope. “This is a trick,” he says, but his voice is hoarse, unsteady, as if saying the words out loud might make them false. But then you smile, and he is undone.

- He crosses the space between you in an instant, crushing you against him with a force that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. His hands tangle in your hair, his forehead pressing against yours, and his chest heaves with something between laughter and a sob. “You have returned to me,” he whispers, reverence in every syllable. And then he is kissing you, fierce and unrelenting, as if proving to himself that this is not some cruel jest of fate.

- After that, Thor does not let you go. Not truly. His arm is always around your waist, his hand always at the small of your back, his eyes watching you as if you might disappear the moment he looks away. He tells you, constantly, in grand declarations and quiet murmurs, how much he loves you, how he will never lose you again. You are his greatest treasure, more precious than any throne, any kingdom, any power the cosmos could offer.

- The God of Thunder has lost much—his home, his family, pieces of himself that may never fully return. But you—you are here, in his arms, alive once more. And Thor, a warrior who has fought countless battles, swears that he will fight against gods and monsters alike to keep you at his side.

Loki Laufeyson

- Loki knows loss better than he knows himself. He has lost love, trust, family. But losing you—that was different. That was a wound he could not charm away with silver-tongued words, a pain he could not outwit or outmaneuver. You died in his arms, your fingers curling weakly around his wrist as the light in your eyes faded. And for the first time in his life, Loki Laufeyson was powerless.

- He did not rage. He did not scream. Instead, he withdrew, wrapping himself in silence and solitude, retreating into the shadows where grief could not be seen. The world continued without you, and he played his part well—smirking, deceiving, spinning tales as if he were not hollow inside. But in the quiet moments, when no one was looking, he traced the ghost of your touch on his skin and whispered your name like a prayer.

- So when he sees you again, standing before him in the flickering candlelight of some forgotten sanctuary, he does not react—not at first. His body stills, his breath catches, and his mind races through every possibility, every cruel illusion that could explain this. But then you speak his name, soft and familiar, and something in him shatters.

- He reaches for you hesitantly, his fingers brushing over your cheek as if expecting you to dissolve beneath his touch. And when you do not—when you are warm, and real, and here—a sharp breath leaves his lips, and he pulls you against him with all the desperation of a man drowning. His grip is tight, unyielding, as if trying to convince himself that you will not be stolen from him again.

- After that, Loki is different. Not softer, not weaker—if anything, he is more dangerous, more cunning, more willing to do anything to ensure you remain by his side. He keeps you close, always within reach, his sharp wit reserved for those who dare to threaten what is his. There is no force in the universe he fears, no power he will not challenge, if it means keeping you safe.

- Loki Laufeyson has never believed in fate, in mercy, in second chances. But you? You are proof that even the most broken of men can find something worth living for. And this time, he will not lose you. Not to death. Not to gods. Not to anything.

T’Challa

- T’Challa was a king before he was a man, a warrior before he was a lover. But you—you—were the one thing that belonged solely to him. With you, he was not a ruler, not the Black Panther, not the protector of a nation. He was simply a man in love. And then, in a single moment, in the chaos of war, you were gone. And he—T’Challa, the unshakable, the wise, the just—fell to his knees, holding you as the life slipped from your body.

- He did not mourn in ways the world could see. There were no public displays of grief, no speeches of loss. He carried the weight of your death in silence, bearing it with the same quiet dignity that he bore every burden. But in the stillness of his chambers, when no one was watching, he let the sorrow take him. He traced the last place he had held you, whispered your name to the night, and wondered if he would ever learn to breathe without you.

- So when he sees you again, standing beneath the glow of Wakanda’s golden lights, his heart stops. His breath catches. And for a moment, he is afraid to move—to hope. But you step forward, your eyes locking onto his, and everything else ceases to matter. The world falls away, and there is only you.

- He crosses the distance between you in a single step, his hands cupping your face with reverence, with disbelief, with a depth of emotion he has never let himself show before. He does not ask how or why. He only whispers, “My love,” as if speaking the words aloud will make them real. And then he kisses you—slow, deep, a promise, a prayer, a thousand unspoken words pressed into your skin.

- After that, T’Challa is your shadow, your shield, your unwavering protector. He does not smother you—he respects you too much for that—but he watches, always. His fingers linger against yours in quiet moments, his gaze softens whenever you speak, and when he holds you at night, it is with the quiet, unyielding certainty that he will never let go again.

- T’Challa has lost many things—his father, his home, pieces of himself in battles fought for the greater good. But this? This is something sacred. And a king who has been given back his heart will protect it with everything he has.

Marc Spector

- Marc Spector has never been good at losing people. He has lost too much, buried too many, carried ghosts in the hollows of his ribs and the shadows of his mind. But losing you—watching you die in his arms, feeling your body grow cold as his own blood soaked into the ground—was something else entirely. It didn’t break him. It obliterated him.

- He stopped pretending after that. Stopped holding himself together, stopped fighting for anything beyond survival. He threw himself into missions with reckless abandon, took every fight as if he was begging for someone to land a fatal hit. He couldn’t sleep in your bed, couldn’t bear to hear your name spoken aloud. He tried—Khonshu knows, he tried—to find a way to bring you back. Bargained with gods, hunted down forbidden magic, but nothing, nothing, worked. So he gave up. He accepted that this was his punishment, his curse, to keep losing the things he loved until there was nothing left of him.

- And then—then—you were there. Standing in the doorway, alive, whole, looking at him like you weren’t a phantom haunting his grief. He didn’t move at first, didn’t breathe, convinced you were another trick of his fractured mind. But then you spoke—soft, hesitant, like you weren’t sure if he would even want you back. And the moment your voice reached him, Marc snapped.

- He was on you in an instant, his hands on your face, your shoulders, your arms—anywhere he could touch, anywhere he could convince himself you were real. “Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he whispered, voice shaking, breath unsteady. And when you smiled, when you nodded, he kissed you—desperate, bruising, like a man drowning who had finally found air.

- After that, Marc is different. Not softer, not gentler—he has never been those things—but determined. He refuses to let you out of his sight for too long, refuses to take a single moment for granted. The nightmares don’t go away—sometimes he wakes up reaching for you, convinced he’s lost you all over again—but you are always there, grounding him, reminding him that miracles exist.

- He still fights, still follows the path Khonshu carved for him, but now, there’s something else driving him. Not vengeance. Not guilt. You. You, alive and breathing, laughing in the golden light of morning, rolling your eyes when he gets in one of his moods. And if he has to fight every god, every monster, every force in the universe to keep you by his side? So be it.

Steven Grant

- Grief is a lonely thing. And for Steven, it was lonelier than most. He didn’t have Marc’s rage or Jake’s cold detachment—he just had absence, an empty space beside him where you used to be. You had been his bright thing, his sunbeam, the warmth in his life he never thought he deserved. And then, in a moment of violence and blood, you were gone.

- The flat was too quiet after that. He still made tea for two, still caught himself turning to tell you something, still found little reminders of you everywhere. Your books on the shelf. Your perfume lingering in the air. A sweater you’d stolen from him, draped over the back of a chair. He couldn’t let go, couldn’t move—just existed, stumbling through the days with a polite smile and eyes that held too much grief.

- And then, one evening, as he shuffled into the flat with the exhaustion of another day spent pretending he was okay, he saw you. Standing there, real as anything, watching him with that soft, hesitant look you always had when you weren’t sure how he’d react. He didn’t even think. Didn’t question. Just dropped whatever was in his hands and ran to you.

- “Oh, love,” he breathed, his voice cracking as he cupped your face, pressing his forehead to yours. He was crying—of course he was crying—but he didn’t care, didn’t even try to stop. “I—I thought—oh God, I thought I lost you.” His hands trembled as he touched you, as if afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful. But you didn’t disappear. You were here. And when you kissed him—gentle, reassuring—he let out a broken, disbelieving laugh.

- After that, Steven becomes more himself again. The light comes back into his eyes, the warmth into his voice. He tells you every day how much he loves you, how grateful he is that you came back. He holds you for hours sometimes, murmuring little things against your skin, afraid that if he lets go, the universe will take you away again.

- You are his miracle, his impossible, wonderful second chance. And Steven, the man who never thought he was enough, now knows one thing with absolute certainty—he will never take you for granted again.

Jake Lockley

- Jake doesn’t grieve the way others do. He doesn’t sit in sorrow, doesn’t cry himself to sleep. He compartmentalizes, shoves it all into a locked box in the back of his mind and throws away the key. When you died, he didn’t break down. He didn’t scream. He just acted. Found the ones responsible. Made them pay. Made everyone pay.

- He convinced himself that was enough. That revenge was all he had left to give you. But when the dust settled, when the blood was washed from his hands, there was nothing. Just an emptiness so vast it threatened to swallow him whole. He became a ghost, slipping through the world unnoticed, unseen. He only spoke when necessary, only acted when called upon. If Marc and Steven noticed how much darker he’d become, they didn’t say anything.

- And then—then—you were there. Sitting in the backseat of his car like you belonged there, like you hadn’t died in his arms a year ago. He slammed on the brakes so hard the tires screeched, his pulse roaring in his ears. He didn’t turn around at first. Couldn’t. His hands gripped the steering wheel like a vice, his knuckles white with tension. “Not funny,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous. “Not a game I wanna play.”

- “It’s not a trick, Jake,” you whispered. And that was all it took. He turned, his breath catching as he finally let himself look. Let himself believe. And the moment he did, something inside him snapped. He surged toward you, pulling you into his arms with a desperation he rarely let himself show. His face buried in your neck, his breath shaky and uneven, his body trembling as if the entire world had just shifted beneath his feet.

- After that, Jake is ruthless about keeping you safe. He doesn’t care how you came back—only that you did, and that nothing will take you from him again. He’s always watching, always waiting, always a step ahead of any potential threat. He doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s in the way he tucks you close against him in crowds, in the way his fingers ghost over your pulse like he’s memorizing it.

- Jake Lockley is not a good man. He never claimed to be. But you—you are the one thing that makes him want to be. And if death couldn’t keep you from him, nothing else will either.

Scott Lang

- Scott never truly believed in happy endings, but he believed in you. He believed in the way your laughter could turn an ordinary day into something extraordinary, the way your hand in his made him feel like maybe—just maybe—he was enough. Losing you shattered him in ways he didn’t even know were possible. You died in his arms, your blood on his hands, and in that moment, he stopped believing in miracles.

- He tried to hold it together for Cassie. He smiled, told jokes, did his best to pretend he was okay. But he wasn’t. His apartment felt too big without you, the bed too cold. He found himself talking to the empty air, half-expecting you to answer. The worst part was the moments right before he woke up, when his brain still tricked him into thinking you were next to him, breathing softly in sleep. And then he’d open his eyes and reality would sink in like a knife to the gut.

- When he sees you again, it’s like the universe plays a cruel trick on him. He blinks, rubs his eyes, thinks he’s hallucinating. But then you smile, that soft, knowing smile he dreamed about, and everything collapses. He doesn’t think—just moves, just grabs you, just feels. “Oh my God,” he breathes, his voice shaking, his arms wrapping around you so tightly he might never let go. “Tell me this is real. Please tell me this is real.” And when you nod, when you whisper his name, he lets out a half-laugh, half-sob against your shoulder.

- Scott becomes clingy after that—not in an overbearing way, but in a you-can’t-leave-me-again way. He constantly reaches for you, constantly checks if you’re still there. He makes up for lost time—cooking you breakfast (badly), taking you on spontaneous road trips, making you laugh until you can’t breathe. Every moment is precious now, every second a gift. He refuses to waste a single one.

- He tells you everything he couldn’t before. How much he missed you, how much it hurt, how many times he caught himself looking for you in a crowded room. He never wants to take you for granted again. Every night, he holds you like you might disappear in the morning, presses kisses to your skin as if he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

- Scott Lang doesn’t know why the universe gave you back to him, but he doesn’t care. All he knows is that this time, no force in the world—no villain, no bad luck, no cosmic cruelty—is going to take you away from him again.

Wade Wilson (Fox)

- Wade doesn’t mourn like other people. He doesn’t wear black, doesn’t cry softly in the night. No, Wade’s grief is ugly, loud, chaotic. After you died, he became worse—more violent, more reckless, more unhinged. He threw himself into fights he knew he couldn’t win, hoping—praying—someone would finally land the killing blow. But they never did. His healing factor cursed him to keep living, to keep hurting.

- He talked to you like you were still there. Made jokes to the empty side of the bed. Left your favorite snacks untouched in the cabinet. The others tried to check on him—Weasel, Domino—but he just shoved them away with a laugh, a joke, a bloody fight he walked away from without a scratch. “I’m fine,” he’d say, voice hollow behind the mask. “Totally normal levels of depression. Probably a seven out of ten. Maybe an eight. Who’s to say?”

- And then, one day, you walked through his door. Just like that. No fanfare, no dramatic music—just you, standing there, looking at him with that same familiar amusement in your eyes. He froze. Blinked. Looked down at the bottle of vodka in his hand. “Oh,” he muttered. “Guess I finally drank myself into hallucinations. Took long enough.” But then you said his name, your voice real, and everything inside him broke.

- He tackled you before you could even take a step closer. Knocked you onto the couch, onto the floor, onto him, his arms squeezing so tight it was a miracle you could still breathe. “If this is a dream, I swear to Ryan Reynolds’ beautiful abs, I will murder my subconscious,” he babbled, his voice cracking. He touched your face, your arms, every inch of you, just to be sure. And when you laughed—when you really laughed—he just lost it. Full-on ugly sobs, face buried in your neck, refusing to ever let go.

- After that, Wade is worse—but in a different way. He never shuts up about how lucky he is. Clings to you, wraps himself around you like a human (questionably clean) blanket, dramatically declares that if you ever die on him again, he’ll personally go to hell and drag you back himself. He texts you every five minutes when you’re not around. If you so much as sneeze, he’s already googling life-threatening illnesses.

- But beneath all the jokes, the over-the-top antics, there’s something soft there. Something raw. Wade Wilson doesn’t believe in happy endings. But he believes in you. And if the universe was kind enough to give you back to him, then maybe—just maybe—he’ll finally start believing in second chances too.

Logan Howlett (Fox)

- Logan is no stranger to grief. He has lost more people than he can count, buried more loved ones than he dares to remember. But losing you—you—was different. It wasn’t just another loss, another name on the long list of people the world had taken from him. It was the loss. The one that finally made him want to lay down and never get up again.

- He disappeared after that. Vanished into the wilderness, into the places where no one could find him. He drank himself into oblivion, picked fights with men twice his size just for the chance to feel something. The nightmares were worse—your face, your voice, the way you reached for him as you died in his arms. He could still feel your blood on his hands, still hear your last breath. There was no escaping it. No running fast enough.

- When he sees you again, it’s not dramatic. It’s not loud. It’s silent. He turns, expecting an enemy, a threat—only to see you. Standing there. Alive. His breath catches in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs like it’s trying to break free. For a long moment, he just stares, his jaw clenched so tight it aches. “No,” he finally rasps. “No, that ain’t possible.” But you just step closer, your hands trembling, your eyes pleading. “Logan,” you whisper. And something inside him snaps.

- He moves before he can think, his arms wrapping around you with the force of a man drowning who has finally found solid ground. He buries his face in your hair, breathes you in, his whole body shaking. “If this is some kinda sick joke,” he growls against your skin, “I swear to God—” But you just hold him tighter, and he finally—finally—lets himself believe it.

- After that, Logan is fiercely protective. More than before. You are his second chance, his proof that maybe—just maybe—the world hasn’t taken everything from him. He keeps you close, always within reach. He doesn’t talk about the time you were gone, doesn’t say how lost he was without you—but you see it in the way he touches you, like he’s making sure you’re still real.

- Logan has lived a long life, filled with too much pain, too much loss. But now, with you back in his arms, he thinks—just for a moment—that maybe, maybe, he finally has something worth fighting for again.

Matt Murdock

- Grief became a quiet shadow in Matt’s life, a presence that never left. He carried it with him in the way he adjusted his tie, in the way he spoke to Foggy and Karen like he was fine when he wasn’t. He still went out at night, still fought in the streets, but the fire inside him had dimmed. He no longer fought to save the city—he fought because it was the only thing that numbed the ache of losing you.

- He whispered your name in his prayers, his voice breaking over the syllables. In his apartment, your absence was louder than anything else. He reached for you in his sleep, his hands closing around nothing, waking up with an emptiness so heavy it stole his breath. He let the guilt drown him—because you died in his arms, and no matter how many bones he broke or how much blood he spilled, he couldn’t change that.

- When you return, he knows it’s you before you even speak. The world is full of sound, full of heartbeats, full of voices—but yours? Yours has always been different. His entire body stills, his breath hitching in his throat. He listens, waiting for the trick, the deception, because he knows what death feels like. But then you say his name, and the world tilts sideways.

- He moves without thinking, reaching for you, his hands trembling as they trace over your face, your hair, your lips. “You’re real,” he breathes, almost afraid to say it. “You’re real.” And when he finally lets himself believe it, when he pulls you into his arms and holds you so tightly it aches, he lets out a broken sound—somewhere between a sob and a prayer.

- After that, Matt is different. He refuses to let you go alone anywhere, his protectiveness manifesting in quiet touches, in the way his fingers always seek yours. He’s softer now, more open with his emotions, because he’s lost you once and he won’t make the mistake of taking any second for granted.

- At night, when the city is quiet and his scars ache, he traces over your skin as if memorizing every inch of you all over again. “I don’t know how I deserve this,” he whispers against your hair, his voice raw with devotion. “But I’m never letting you go again.”

Frank Castle

- Frank has always been good at loss. Not because he accepts it, but because he survives it. Losing you, though? It was a different kind of wound, one that never stopped bleeding. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just became colder. The world lost all color, all meaning. He didn’t live after you were gone—he just existed, a weapon with no purpose but destruction.

- He stopped talking. Stopped caring. The men he hunted became nothing more than names on a list, their deaths nothing more than numbers. He never said your name, never spoke of you, because acknowledging you were gone would break something inside him that even he couldn’t put back together.

- And then, one night, you stand in front of him, breathing, alive, looking at him like he’s still the man you loved. He doesn’t believe it at first. His grip tightens around his gun, his entire body coiled and ready for a fight because this? This is cruel. And yet—your eyes. Your heartbeat. The way you whisper, “Frank?” like it’s his name that brings you back to life.

- His hands shake as he reaches for you. He touches your face like it’s something fragile, something that might disappear if he presses too hard. And when you don’t, when you lean into his touch with a softness he thought he’d never feel again, something inside him shatters. He pulls you against him, his grip almost desperate, his breath ragged. “I lost you,” he rasps against your hair. “I lost you, and I didn’t—I didn’t know how to keep going.”

- Frank becomes your shadow after that. He’s gentler with you than he’s ever been with anyone, but that protectiveness? That fire? It’s stronger than ever. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, they won’t live to make the mistake twice. But with you? With you, he is something softer, something almost human again.

- He doesn’t pray, doesn’t believe in fate. But at night, when you sleep beside him, warm and real, he presses a silent kiss to your forehead and whispers, Thank you. He doesn’t know who he’s thanking. Maybe the universe. Maybe you. All he knows is that this time, he won’t waste a single second.

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter

- Losing you broke Dex. And when Dex breaks, he destroys. He tried to keep it together—tried to pretend he could move on, that he could keep living without you—but the anger, the madness, the unbearable emptiness inside him only grew. The world felt wrong without you. He felt wrong. He stopped sleeping, stopped feeling anything but the burning need to punish whatever took you away from him.

- He lost control after that. Killed without hesitation, without remorse. Let his mind spiral, let his demons win, because what was the point of fighting them without you? You were his anchor, the one person who made him believe he could be more than the monster inside him. Without you, he had no reason to pretend anymore.

- When he sees you again, he doesn’t react the way most people would. No tears, no disbelief. He stalks toward you, his entire body trembling, his breath uneven. His fingers twitch like they’re reaching for a weapon—like he can’t decide if you’re a dream, a trick, or something worse. “You’re dead,” he says, voice flat, empty. “I held you while you died.” And then, quieter, almost desperate—“Tell me this is real.”

- The second you touch him, the second your fingers brush over his, he breaks. He surges forward, his arms crushing around you, his breathing ragged against your skin. “Don’t leave me again,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “Please. I can’t—I can’t do this without you.” And for the first time in a year, his mind is quiet. The rage, the spiraling thoughts, the unbearable emptiness—it all stops the moment you’re back in his arms.

- After that, Dex is obsessive. He always had that trait in him, but now? Now it’s even worse. You are his, and he refuses to let anything take you away from him again. He follows you like a shadow, sleeps with his arms locked around you, memorizes every detail of your body just in case the universe dares to rip you away from him again.

- There’s a darkness inside him, one that never truly fades. But with you alive, with you real, that darkness is tempered by something softer. Something dangerous. He’s not just a killer anymore. He’s yours. And if anyone tries to take you from him again? He’ll burn the whole world to the ground.

Wanda Maximoff

- Grief clung to Wanda like an old, tattered shawl, woven with the ghosts of everyone she had ever lost. She had thought she had reached her limit—that the universe could take no more from her than it already had. But then it took you. And that, she realized, was the cruelest cut of all. She had survived wars, watched cities crumble, lost her family, her brother, her home. But losing you? That was the first time she felt herself break.

- She became something else after you died. A ghost walking through her own life, untethered from the world. The wind carried whispers of you—the echo of your laughter in a marketplace, the ghost of your breath against her skin in the moments before she woke up alone. And the anger—God, the anger. She lashed out when she fought, red energy sparking at her fingertips with a ferocity she couldn’t contain. She wanted to hurt the universe the way it had hurt her.

- And then, like an answer to a prayer she had never dared to whisper, you stood before her again. At first, she thought it was another cruel trick, another illusion meant to unravel what little remained of her sanity. But then—then she felt you. Your heartbeat, your warmth, the undeniable reality of you. And the moment that truth settled into her bones, she collapsed into you, shaking, weeping, hands clutching desperately at your arms, your shoulders, your face.

- “You were gone,” she sobbed, burying herself in you like she could merge her soul with yours. “I—I felt you leave me.” And for the first time in a year, her magic did not rage. It did not spark and burn with untamed grief. It simply was. It curled around the two of you like a shield, like a silent promise that she would never let you be taken from her again.

- After that, Wanda became something softer, but not weaker. She still held the storm inside her, but now, it had purpose. Now, it had you. She held you like she was afraid the wind might steal you away again, always touching—fingers brushing over yours, arms wrapping around you in sleep, a protective hand against the small of your back in public. She had lost everything before. She would not lose you again.

- At night, when the world was still and your breath rose and fell against her chest, she whispered things she could never say in the daylight. Apologies, promises, prayers in a language she had almost forgotten. And when you stirred, murmuring her name, she simply kissed you—deep and slow, like she could pour her very soul into you, like she could make you stay this time.

Pietro Maximoff

- The world never felt fast enough after you were gone. Time slowed into something unbearable, something suffocating. Pietro had always outrun grief before, always left it in the dust, but your death? That was a weight even he couldn’t shake. He stopped joking. Stopped running for fun. The world lost its color, its spark, its meaning. What was the point of moving quickly when you weren’t at the finish line anymore?

- He tried—he really tried—to pretend. To act like he was okay, to throw on that smirk and tell people, “Eh, I’m fine.” But Wanda knew. She saw it in the way he sat still for too long, the way his hands trembled when he thought no one was looking, the way he lingered in places that reminded him of you. His speed was once his escape, his freedom. Now, every step forward only took him further away from the last time he held you.

- And then—then he sees you. And for the first time in his life, he can’t move. He just stares, his heart a violent drumbeat against his ribs, his breath caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “No,” he whispers, blinking rapidly, because this has to be some sick joke. “This isn’t real.” But you are. And the moment you take a step toward him, he snaps.

- He moves too fast, too desperate, grabbing you like you might vanish if he lets go. His hands cup your face, his lips press against every part of you he can reach—forehead, cheeks, hands, lips. “You’re real,” he gasps between kisses, between shaky laughter and choked sobs. “You’re—you’re real.” And suddenly, the world isn’t slow anymore. You are his new gravity, the only thing keeping him from spinning out of control.

- After that, Pietro is obsessed with feeling you close. He picks you up just to hear you laugh, carries you even when you insist you can walk. He talks more, filling every silence with his voice because silence is what haunted him for a year. And he touches—not just because he wants to, but because he needs to. Holding your hand, leaning against you, brushing his fingers over your cheek just to remind himself you’re here.

- And at night, when he curls around you in bed, his heartbeat thrumming like a song against your skin, he whispers things he’s never said before. “I thought I lost you forever.” “I never stopped looking for you.” “If you ever leave me again, I swear I’ll outrun death itself to bring you back.” And when you tell him you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere, he presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder and finally—finally—lets himself breathe again.

Erik Lehnsherr (Fox)

- Erik was already a man carved from loss, molded by grief, his soul tempered in the fires of tragedy. Losing you was not just another wound—it was the moment he snapped completely. He did not rage. He did not weep. He simply became something else. Harder. Colder. More dangerous. Without you, there was no reason to hold back. No reason to believe in anything but vengeance.

- The world paid for your absence. He became relentless, his war against those he deemed responsible for suffering escalating beyond reason. He did not believe in mercy anymore—because if the world had shown you none, why should he? But in the rare, silent moments when he was alone, when his hands were still for once, he would stare at the space beside him and feel something that terrified him. Emptiness.

- When you return, he does not react as a man should when seeing his lost love brought back to life. He does not run to you. He does not whisper your name like a prayer. He simply stares, cold and unreadable, his mind calculating every possibility—illusion, manipulation, deception. And then—then you reach for him, and the moment your hand touches his, his composure shatters.

- His hands shake as they frame your face. His breathing is shallow, his eyes burning with something unreadable. When he speaks, his voice is low, trembling with something dangerous. “Who did this?” he demands. Because someone had to bring you back. And Erik Lehnsherr does not believe in miracles. But when you smile—when you whisper, “I’m here, Erik”—his fury dissolves into something broken, something human. He kisses you like a dying man gasping for air, his hands gripping you as if afraid the wind might steal you away.

- After that, Erik is ruthless in his protectiveness. He keeps you close, watches you with the sharp gaze of a predator waiting for the world to try and take you again. But in private, in the spaces where no one else can see, he is something else. His hands are reverent as they hold you, his voice is soft when he speaks to you, and his nightmares—the ones filled with loss—fade when you press a kiss to his temple.

- He does not believe in peace. He does not believe in forgiveness. But he believes in you. And that? That is the only thing in this world he will not let go of again.

593 notes · View notes

lilhughesy · 3 days ago

Text

Excuse me, you look like you love me | Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

warnings! mentions of sex (brief! not full smut, just a hint towards it. don't read if it makes you uncomfortable!), angst, panic attacks, cheating (?), fighting/pushing, nicknames (princess, pretty, blue, bluesy, bluey, etc. mentioned!)

word count: 25.7k (oops!)

summary: Y/N is Trevor Zegras' best friend, and he is more than excited to introduce her to his friends Jack and Cole during a house party in the summer before senior year of high school. The four quickly become close, eventually Y/N bonding to Jack the most. After a summer at the Hughes lake house, Jack and Y/N start developing feelings for each other. In attempts to avoid ruining friendships, they try to ignore their feelings but does it hurt the other person when one starts to pull away?

a/n: Hi everyone! I went a little (a lot) overboard with this one, I'm sorry it's so long! I will mention that not everything in this is accurate, I am aware! Thank you for all the positive feedback for my previous fic, and I hope you enjoy this one too!

(not edited!)

-----

Jack remembers the exact moment when he laid eyes on her and knew that she was meant to be his. It was during a house party when he and his best friend, Trevor Zegras, were 17 in the summer. Trevor insisted that Jack and Cole came with him to yet another party since Trevor wanted them to meet a few of his friends from high school.

Of course, neither one of the boys were the types to say “no” to a night of drinking and fun — the three always ended up being the lives of the party. Jack walked through the glass front door with Cole next to him, immediately darting towards the makeshift bar in the kitchen.

The music was blasting off the multiple connected speakers and the LED lights were shining purple. Bodies of teenagers were scattered throughout the main level of the house and the large backyard.

“Hey! You boys made it!” Trevor exclaimed, approaching his friends and giving a firm slap on the back, “Shane said to help yourselves to any drink you want. Beers in the fridge, there’s also a keg outside and a cooler jam packed with drinks.”

“This is a crazy party,” Cole chuckled while handing Jack a Budweiser can, “You know everyone here, Z?”

Trevor only shrugged, “Yeah kinda, bunch of mutuals, y’know? Come on, let’s out outside! I want you to meet a few of my buddies.”

Jack’s eyes scanned the scene outdoors, the fairy lights strung up across the top of the fences and the crowd gathered around the keg. Trevor led the two towards a group mixed of guys and girls that were sitting around the nonexistent fire pit.

“Boys! This is Jack Hughes and Cole Caufield, I told you guys about ‘em” Trevor said to the group, “That’s Shane, he’s the lad hosting this thing. Over there in the green hoodie is Dyl, Kayden, and Stevie. The ladies are Maddy, Linds, and Y/N!”

The group of teens all smiled at the two hockey players, each giving their hellos to them as they were introduced. Jack’s eyes were immediately drawn to Y/N, who seemed more shy in comparison to the other girls. But Jack swore he’s never seen a girl as pretty as her. The way that the golden sun rays hit her hair, the pretty lip gloss she wore, and the way she made it look so effortless. He offered her a small smile, in which she immediately returned — she secretly hoped that he wouldn’t notice the rosiness of her cheeks.

Jack, Trevor, and Cole all sat down to join Trevor’s friends, fitting right into the conversation that was going prior. The group of ten laughing, cracking jokes, and overall enjoying the flow of summer break.

As the night went on, the group started the scatter to socialize with their other friends that came to the party. The three hockey players mostly stayed together although on a few occasions where one would deviate to spark a conversation with a girl.

Jack found himself sitting on the steps of the back patio, sipping away at his beer whilst leaning his elbows on his knees and enjoying people watching. Cole drifted away from him to chat it up with a cute blonde a few feet away, Trevor catching up with his boys since coming back from hockey camp. Jack didn’t mind, it was nice to be a regular teenager and to enjoy parties like this without the stress of morning practice.

His eyes often looking around at the different teens that were dancing or talking or singing, but his line of vision would constantly shift towards Y/N. She stood a ways away from the main crowd with her friend… “What’s her name again?” Jack thought to himself, “Madelyn? Madison? Maddy? Something like that.”

She would often glance up and make a brief second of eye contact with the blue eyed boy before he would instantly look away. Her heart warmed at the idea that he didn’t want her to catch him staring, “He’s really cute.” She smiled to herself at the, what felt like, fifteenth time of the two catching eyes.

Every time, she would feel the blush rise up on her face and her attention shifting away from the conversation that she was holding with Maddy.

“Girl, did you even hear what I just said?” Maddy asked jokingly after snapping her fingers in Y/N’s face. She blinked out of her train of thought, looking back to Maddy,

“Y- Yeah, of course I did!” She stuttered, covering her embarrassment. Maddy playfully rolled her eyes,

“Did you really or are you too busy playing eye-tag with Jack?” Maddy teased, “He’s really fucking cute, you should go talk to him!”

Y/N shook her head in response, “No way, I couldn’t.”

“Why not? He keeps looking at you when you’re talking to me. Like, he’s seriously staring!” Maddy giggled as Y/N lightly shoved her shoulder, “He looks like he’s in love with you!”

“What would I even say? I never approach guys,” She sighed, glancing over to where Jack was seated. Only for her to lock eyes with his yet again.

Her friend smiled at her, knowing that Y/N wasn’t ever the type to approach a guy she thought was cute.

“Just walk your gorgeous ass over there and say ‘excuse me, you look like you love me’!” Maddy told her, “If you want to be bold of course but you can play it off as a joke. If not, then maybe something about his staring problem?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “I don’t want to start a conversation like that. It sounds like I’m full of myself or something.”

“Just go over there! If shit goes downhill, at least you’ll never see him again,” Maddy reasoned, “He doesn’t go to our school or anything. Just shoot your shot! If you don’t, I know you’re going to regret it for the next month straight.”

She could only sigh, fully aware that Maddy had good points regarding the fact that she would never have to face him again if it didn’t go her way. Also, the idea of her regretting not speaking to Jack, who in her mind was the prettiest boy she’s ever seen, would likely haunt her forever.

Y/N looked over to Jack as he tossed his empty can perfectly into the nearby trash bin. Her stomach doing multiple flips at the sight of him adjusting his hat to sit backwards on his head, “Wow, could he be any more perfect?”

Maddy squeezed her hand, “You got this! I believe in you!”

Y/N nodded at her friend, absorbing the positive vibes that Maddy was giving her. With that she threw out her empty Twisted and went over to the outdoors cooler. She grabbed herself a bottle of Smirnoff Ice and another beer for Jack.

She stood next to the cooler after closing it, giving her a moment to collect her thoughts with a deep breath. “I can do this.” She thought to herself, and began walking towards Jack. Maybe the sudden surge of confidence was from the few drinks she had or her best friend’s words, she couldn’t quite grasp which one it was.

Y/N sat down next to him, a foot or two in between them, “Excuse me, you look like you love me.”

His head darted up and he looked over to her, a surprised yet amused expression painted across his face, “Wh- What?”

She laughed, shaking her head in disbelief that she actually used the line Maddy gave her, “I’m kidding, but your hands look empty.” She told him and offered him another beer.

Jack chuckled, trying to wrap his head around the fact that this cute girl was now next to him. He gratefully accepted the drink, “Thanks, Y/N - I appreciate it.”

“You enjoying the party?” Y/N asked him, a small strand of hair falling in her face, “There’s so many people, I would be stressed if I was in your position. So many strangers and all.”

“Yeah, this is great,” He smiled, “It’s pretty cool to see a bit of Trev’s life outside of hockey.”

It was only getting louder outside with more people moving to the backyard since the fire pit was starting. Y/N moved slightly closer towards Jack to avoid being stepped on by the individuals that stumbled past her. On occasion, nearly toppling over the girl.

“He just eats, sleeps, and breathes hockey I swear,” Y/N said to Jack, “Even at school, all he thinks and talks about is hockey.”

Jack had to inch closer to her to hear her voice properly, “Do you maybe want to move somewhere quieter? You know, to avoid you getting stomped on?”

She laughed and Jack swore it was the best thing that he’s ever heard, it was magical and magnetic.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

He rose to his feet and offered her a hand, which she gladly took. Jack led her back into the house, hand in hand, which the indoors still remained relatively noisy. He leaned down towards her ear, “I don’t know my way around this place, you know any place we can go where we don’t have to shout?”

Y/N nodded with a soft smile shining on her face, “Yeah, but does it matter to you if we leave the party?”

“Doesn’t matter to me, just gotta swing back so Cole and I can leave together.”

“Come with me!”

She and Jack weaved through the teenagers and towards the front door. Y/N guided him towards the sidewalk where it was finally more quiet, “There’s a park about a block away we can go to.”

“Yeah, sounds perfect.”

They sat on the swings, both barely swinging back and forth as they engaged in a conversation.

“So how did you and Trevor meet? He’s so loud and extroverted, and you seem more like the quiet type.” Jack asked her, watching her kick her feet back and forth against the sand, “No offence, of course.”

“None taken. We met when we were younger because he hit me in the head with a soccer ball during P.E. and I don’t know, we just stuck together after that.” She chuckled at the memory, “He typically does the talking for me, I’m more of the observing friend.”

“Sounds like something he would do, that lil fucker.” Jack joked, “Hm, tell me something that no one else knows, pretty girl.”

“Pretty girl?” Her eyebrows raised slightly in pique of curiosity, “Alright, let me think,” Y/N started in attempts to ignore the flush climbing up her neck and ears at the nickname that Jack had given her.

“I think that I’m absolutely terrified of growing up… Like, don’t get me wrong, I am so excited for college and moving out and exploring everything life has to offer but I can’t help but feel so scared too.” She sighs, melting a bit into the seat of the swing and her hands slowly grazing up and down the cold of the metal chains, “The fact that I’m closer to being twenty and having to be an adult with all the responsibilities than being a kid again is so, so scary… I like the parties and stuff,” Y/N continues while lazily waving her hands in the direction of the house party that they ditched,

“But sometimes I wish I could go back to being like eleven years old and my only worries are making sure I’m back home before sun down when I played soccer with my friends.” She added, giving Jack a sheepish smile, “I guess it’s the fear of the unknown and having to face it alone, you know?”

Jack stares in awe at the girl; for someone he assumed was shy and quiet, he was surprised how deep she went into detail. He anticipated a response amongst something along the line of having to act sober in front of parents or shoplifting an item. Though he was surprised, he felt even closer to the girl than ever before.

“Wow, I was expecting something stupid like accidentally greeting a stranger you thought was your friend or something. But, I know exactly what you mean,” He replied, reaching over to Y/N to give her shoulder reassuring squeeze, “I hate to bring up hockey, but the idea of getting drafted and playing for the NHL is something I’ve always dreamed about. But I agree, sometimes I miss just being able to play with my brothers on the ice or streets without a care in the world. No pressure from anyone, just having fun and being a kid.”

Her face softened as he spoke, “Who would’ve thought that the hotshot hockey player could also miss being a kid,” She lightly giggled, “But for something stupid that I’ve never told anyone, I once had a hickey on my neck and I couldn’t get rid of it. So I told everyone for a week straight that I burned myself with a hair curler… even though I wore my hair natural the entire time. Though, now I think of it, I don’t think anyone believed me.”

Jack let out a loud laugh, his eyes having small creases at the edges. It warmed her entire body as he held eye contact the entire time they were together,

“You little rebel.”

“What can I say?” She giggled with a shrug, “We should probably head back, it’s sort of getting late.”

A small frown tugged at his lips, “Yeah, I guess so. Don’t want to keep Cole waiting, he’s one of the most inpatient guys I’ve ever met.”

The two slowly started walking towards the house, their shoulders lightly bumping against one another. Each time they did, they would look at each other with amusement evident in their eyes. The cool summer breeze brushed against them, making Y/N shiver with only wearing a tank top and shorts.

“Are you cold?” He questioned, slowly peeling off his Team USA hoodie that he wore the entire evening — leaving him in a plain black t-shirt and athletic shorts, “Here, wear this.”

Y/N glanced at him and his sweater, waiting to see if he was going to retract the item of clothing. He seemed insistent, eventually placing it in her hands,

“Are you sure?” Y/N looked up at his face, “It’s a special hoodie, I don’t want to take it from you.”

“I don’t mind, besides I have plenty of others at home.” He grinned, “If you’re that concerned, you can give it back when we get inside but seriously just put it on, you’re shivering.”

With that, Y/N slid on the navy Team USA hoodie, sighing in relief at the warmth from Jack wearing it the whole time alongside the softness of the material and the mixture between laundry detergent and his cologne. She adjusted it on her before looking back at him and raising her arms slightly, “How do I look?”

“You look… absolutely perfect.” He breathed out, his ears and apples of his cheeks turning a light shade of pink, “It looks so much better on you.”

Jack took a mental photo of the sight of Y/N, who stood shorter than him, wearing his hoodie. It was oversized on her, the ends of the sleeves running over the length of her hands. He knew that she was pretty, but in that moment, he didn’t think that she could be any more beautiful. The dim light from the lamppost shining over her, shining her features and the fact that she was wearing his hoodie. His last name on the back with his jersey number. Jack’s entire life revolved around hockey, all he thought about was hockey but in this exact situation where he stood in front of her — holding her precious eye contact. He thought, maybe there is a future that isn’t just hockey. Maybe the future that waits for him wouldn’t be as intimidating if he had Y/N at his side. Maybe this was what he was made for, to be here with this amazing girl, giving him the cutest and sweetest smile.

“Jack?” She repeated, causing him to snap out of his trance, “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m good!” He sputtered, trying to push the flood of thoughts out of his head, “Come on, pretty girl.”

Jack offered her his hand which she shyly accepted, their fingers intertwined. He briefly looked at their hands, and how they fit perfectly in one another, “Nothing has ever felt this right before” He thought to himself before giving her a gentle squeeze which she returned back.

When they returned to the backyard of the party, they saw everyone standing or dancing near the fire. Trevor and Cole were actively animating a story out loud, over-exaggerating their actions — causing those listening to laugh in response. They were the lives of the party.

Jack and Y/N stood side by side, his arm loosely over her shoulders and they watched the two boys reenact the amusing memory. Jack on occasion chiming in with a comment or two to egg on his friends and their ridiculous but entertaining banter.

The party started to die down slowly, people filtering out with their friends and finding their rides home. Jack stood by Cole and Trevor whilst Y/N was assisting Shane and Lindsay by picking up the leftover trash that was scattered around the yard.

“So, Y/N eh Rowdy?” Cole teased, wiggling his eyebrows at the brunette, “I see her wearing your hoodie.”

Jack rolled his eyes and chuckled, “Yeah, she’s pretty cool.”

“She’s pretty awesome, I’ve known her for years,” Trevor told him, “One of my oldest friends I would say. Bluey’s always been there for me and had my back, she’s quiet but so unbelievably loyal and way too nice for her own good.”

“Bluey?” Jack asked, with a raised look.

“Yeah, we all call her that because she always is wearing something blue and Linds says she only ever wears some sort of blue nail polish.” Trevor explained to his friends, “Just don’t hurt her, Hughes, if you’re planning on doing anything with her. I love you brother, but she’s a day one.”

“All your friends are great, Z,” Cole added, tapping his can against Trevor’s, “It would be great to hang around them more often.”

“Yeah, love ‘em all. Some of them like Dyl and Kayden, I’ve had a rocky history with but we all go to school together, so not much I can do about that.” Trevor shrugged, “There’s a few that I’m ready to leave behind once we graduate.”

“What time should we head out?” Jack questioned, while typing into his phone, “I can get Q to come get us.”

“I’m cool with whenever, Rowdy.” Cole said back to him, “Z, are you coming with?”

“Yeah, yeah I will. I just told Bluey that I would drop her home.”

“We can drop her off when Q gets here.” Jack told Trevor, “He won’t mind, don’t worry.”

“Yo, Blues!” Trevor shouted over to the girl, she looked up at the direction of her nickname and straightened her stance, “Yeah, Trev?”

He waved her over which she quickly tied up the filled trash bag and jogged over to her friend,

“What’s up?” She asked as she wiped the palms of her hands against her denim shorts.

“His brother is coming to get us and he can drop you at home if you’d like.” Trevor replied, motioning over to Jack, who glanced up from the illuminated screen of his phone.

“Are you sure?” Y/N said to Jack, “I hate to be out of the way.”

“It’s not an issue, don’t sweat it,” Jack reassured her, “My older brother, Quinn, already said it’s fine.” He added while showing her his text conversation between himself and his brother.

“Okay, thank you. I appreciate it a ton.” She grinned.

Quinn’s car eventually pulled up on the driveway, Y/N giving Shane a quick side hug as a goodbye. Trevor called shot gun as they approached the vehicle, cackling as he climbed into the seat and greeting the eldest Hughes brother,

“Q, this is Y/N! She’s a friend of mine.” Trevor quickly introduced him to her as she squeezed into the middle seat between Jack and Cole.

“Hey, Y/N! I’m Quinn, Jack’s older brother.” Quinn smiled back at the girl, who gave him a shy wave,

“Nice to meet you! Thank you for the drive, I really appreciate it.”

“What if Bluey comes to our place?” Cole asked, looking over to Jack, “If Ms. Ellen doesn’t mind of course.” As Cole and the rest of the Hughes family were renting a home for the week following their training camp, to allow the boys to hang out together outside of just practice.

“Mom would be fine with it,” Quinn chimed in, “If anything, she’d be grateful that there’s another girl in the house.”

The rest of the living resulted in the three boys and Y/N whispering and letting out quiet giggles while lounging in the living room after Quinn bid them goodnight. The group of four bonded together, the boys’ group of three now expanding to be a group of four. Trevor and her passed out on one couch together while Jack took the other, leaving Cole knocked out on the carpet.

Y/N was included more with group hang outs and activities — due to not only Jack and Cole appreciating her presence but also because of Trevor wanting to slowly pull away from their high school friends. Which he had deemed to be more toxic than he anticipated and was getting tired of dealing with unnecessary bullshit. Since him and Y/N were friends first and the two being significantly closer with each other in comparison to their other friends, he decided to pull her more towards his hockey friends.

Trevor watched his best friend open up more and more around Cole and Jack over the following months, which he was beyond thrilled about. His favourite people growing closer together, why would he ever complain. For their last spring break of high school, the Hughes family was kind enough to invite the three over to spend their time off together. He laughed from the opposite side of the kitchen counter as Cole chased Y/N with a spoonful of wet pancake mix. While she was screaming for Trevor’s help,

“Cole! Get away from me!” She squealed, tucking herself into Trevor to avoid the boy.

“Oh c’mon, Blues! I thought you loved me!” Cole pouted, jokingly, trying to pull her away from Trevor, “Don’t run away!”

“Actually, Bluesy, maybe you should try a new hair colour?” Trevor smiled sweetly, petting the top of her hair and twirling a strand of it around his finger, “I honestly think this colour that Cole is so graciously chosen would be absolutely stunning on you!”

“Trevor!” Y/N cried out as she ducked from Cole and running straight into a solid wall. She collapsed on impact, letting out an audible ‘oof!’ when she landed. She looked up to see Jack, who was seriously trying to hold in his laughter, standing over her.

“Falling for me already?” He smirked, “I thought you would have at least made it a bit more secretive, pretty. Hey Cole, I think our girl here needs a helping hand, don’t you think?”

Y/N rolled her eyes at his comment before scrambling when she saw Cole approaching her. A mischievous glint in his eyes as he proudly held up the weapon, “Sorry, Prince Charming isn’t saving you from your fate!”

“Yeah, definitely not…” She sighed, “But Luke will!” Y/N beamed as the youngest Hughes walked into the kitchen, clearly confused at the commotion.

“What?” He said, lowering his phone while Y/N hid behind him.

“Lukey, they’re all plotting against me!” She told him, pointing at the three boys, “Please!”

He laughed at the way Trevor, Cole, and Jack all stood in the kitchen. Luke looked down to see the terror in her eyes. Even though he loved some chaos, he also didn’t want Y/N to hate him for sabotaging her. So, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to his room.

The two giggling like crazy as they ran to the safety of his room. Luke immediately shutting the door and twisting the lock, “I think you’re safe now.”

“My saviour!” She exclaimed, “You have no idea what they were putting me through. Trevor and Jack both sold me to Cole! I thought they would’ve had my back.” Y/N joked as she made herself comfortable in Luke’s bedroom. It wasn’t the first time she was in his room, the two of them often hanging out when the other boys got too rowdy and loud. Often watching TV shows together or scrolling through TikTok while quiet country music played in the background.

“Yeah, can’t ever trust those three” He teased, “I’m glad to be your saviour then.”

Luke flopped onto his unmade bed, reaching over to his nightstand to retrieve the remote, “Wanna continue The Office?”

She grinned, “What kind of question is that?”

He was quick to pull up their current show while the two made themselves comfortable on his bed. Their upper backs against the cushioned headboard. They watched in a comfortable silence as they typically did, before being interrupted by loud knocking against the door.

“Oi Rusty! Open up! Promise we’re done with the whole batter thing,” They could hear Trevor shout from the other side, the handle of the door shaking as he tried opening the locked door, “Hey! Why is this shit locked? I swear to god, Lukey! Your pants better be on and you better not be hooking up with Blues, she’s off limits! You know that!”

Luke’s entire face and ears turned a brilliant shade of red as Y/N laughed at Trevor’s panicked voice. She swiftly got off the bed and went to unlock the door, causing Trevor to nearly fall over the second the door swung open.

“I swear to God! Oh-” He looked at Y/N, who stood with her arms crossed, “You are fully clothed.”

“Nice observation, Trev. Can I help you?” She asked with a brow raised, “Or can Luke and I go back to watching our show in peace?”

“Oh, man! I seriously thought that you two were fucking for a minute!” Trevor cackled, “Ouch Blues, the hell?” He winced as she smacked the back of his head.

“That’s for having your stupid head in the gutter, you freak.”

“Hey! The door was locked and y’all were weirdly quiet okay? Not my fault!” He defended, raising his hands up in surrender, “Pancakes are ready by the way.”

“Oh shit, foods ready?” Luke asked, standing up from his bed, “Yeah okay we’re coming.”

The three slowly made their way towards the kitchen where Jack and Cole sat eating their stacks of pancakes and eggs. Both looking up as they entered the room.

“Doors locked ‘n everything to watch TV is crazy work” Trevor scolded, “Why was the door locked?”

“Since when did you become my mother?” Y/N was quick to respond to her best friend, “Plus, you guys were the one threatening to put pancake batter in my hair. It was for defence.”

“His room was locked?” Jack asked, his eyebrows furrowed slightly at their conversation. His expression was unreadable as Y/N turned to look at him.

“Whose room was locked?” Another voice chimed in, Quinn’s, as he walked up behind the three.

“We were literally just watching the Office.” Luke explained, putting food onto his plate, “You guys are making this a bigger deal than it is.”

“Why was it locked though?” Cole added, “And at ten in the morning is crazy! Lukey’s gone crazy!”

“Guys” Luke whined, “Come on!”

“With his brother’s best friend too?” Quinn teased as Luke and Y/N both shot him warning looks, “We’re just joking, we don’t care that much. Don’t stress, Rusty — Guys, leave them alone.”

Quinn, always the mediator in these situations. Y/N gave him a small smile as a silent ‘thank you’ before going to get her plate for breakfast.

“I care!” Trevor commented to Quinn’s words, “I legit told you boys that Bluey is off limits.”

Everyone seemed to dismiss Trevor as they were all focused on eating, thankfully. Y/N sat in between Trevor and Jack at the table, the rest of the boys falling quickly into an easy conversation about hockey and the results of last night’s games.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about?” Jack perked, catching the attention of everyone at the table. Like always, Jack had something magnetizing about him. Whenever he entered or room or spoke, people were always drawn to him.

It’s hard to not be drawn in by Jack, his charismatic personality, sparkling blue eyes, addicting sounds of his laughter, and his picture perfect smile. He could easily win hearts with just a flash of his grin.

“What?” Cole replied, a mouthful of food whilst looking at his friend.

“I think you three should come up to the lake house this summer,” He stated, glancing at the three guests at the Hughes household, “You guys get along with everyone in the family and I think it’ll be one hell of a time.”

“That’s actually not a terrible idea,” Quinn said as he placed his fork down and shows a look of thoughtfulness, “They’re practically always here and it could make the summer really fun.”

Luke nodded as his eldest brother spoke, “Yeah, and we definitely have the space too at the house.”

“Hey, I ain’t ever the one to turn down a trip.” Trevor laughed, “Plus more time to spend with Huggy and Rusty? Can’t complain!”

“I mean, I’m down if you guys are down,” Cole added, lifting his hands up as if he was saying ‘this was your idea, not mine’.

“What do you think, Bluesy?” Quinn asked as he turned his head slightly to look at the girl,

“If your parents are okay with it, then I don’t mind.” She said with a smile, “I just don’t want us to be a burden for your family or disrupt any family time.”

Ellen and Jim were more than happy to have Cole, Trevor, and Y/N stay with them at the lake house for the summer. Claiming that it would be nice for them to spend time together before the boys were to be drafted to the NHL — and spending quality time together may become significantly more limited. Including the fact that Y/N committed to UMich for her bachelors. Although the boys could get loud and competitive, they raised three boys themselves and found it rather normal to hear constant banter. All the kids got along very well and were very much capable of keeping each other company.

LAKE HOUSEEE

Huggy 🧸

11:23AM | When are you guys coming?

Rustyy

11:25AM | Plz we been waiting alllllll day

Blues 🫐

11:25AM | we’re otw 🕺🕺

Rustyy

11:26AM | YESSS FINALLY

Coleee

11:28AM | ETA says 15 mins

Z 🔥

11:29AM | Yessuh

Huggy 🧸

11:31AM | Who’s driving

Coleee

11:32AM | Z

Blues 🫐

11:32AM | Trev

Rowdy 🤠

11:35AM | Lord tell him to stop texting and driving

11:35AM | That’s illegal

Z 🔥

11:36AM | 👍

Coleee

11:40AM | We karaoke 🎤

11:40AM | Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone

11:41 AM | I’ll be waitinggg all you have to do is run

Blues 🫐

11:41AM | u be the prince and i’ll be the princess

Z 🔥

11:41AM | ITS A LOVE STORY BABY JUS SAY YESSSSSS

Rowdy 🤠

11:42AM | What did I just say🤦‍♂️

Huggy 🧸

11:42AM | You’re all gonna die before getting here

Rustyy

11:44AM | Man wish I could join in😔

Trevor and Cole were basically bouncing out of their seats the second they parked their car on the Hughes’ lake house driveway. Y/N jumped out of the car, taking down her messy bun which she wore the entire drive up. The two guys opened the trunk to unload their suitcases as Luke and Quinn came out the front door.

“Hey!” Quinn shouted, “You guys made it.”

The two brothers jogged towards the car, “Finally!” Luke exclaimed, pulling Y/N into a tight embrace, “How was the drive?”

“It was good, lots of karaoke.” She laughed, returning the hug.

“Except for when she got car sick from reading her kindle.” Cole commented, shaking his head lowly.

Quinn’s lip tugged into a small frown, “That sucks, I’m sorry to hear. Are you feeling better?”

Y/N nodded. Luke went over to Trevor to dap him up and give a one armed hug while Quinn got his turn to hug the girl,

“Here, let me take this.” Quinn told her while pulling her backpack off her shoulder and taking her two suitcases.

“I’m so lucky she didn’t yack in my car dude, she’s done it before when we were like fifteen.” Trevor grimaced at the memory. She shot him a look,

“Oh come on,” She groaned, “I thought you said you would let that go.”

“Let’s get inside, we have lunch ready and put on your swim suits ‘cause we’re hitting the lake right after!” Luke urged, already moving towards the house with a suitcase.

Y/N followed Quinn into the home, taking in the decor and the many windows that brought in the summer sunlight. The walls were decorated with lake-themed signs with cheesey quotes alongside many photos of the Hughes family.

Quinn led her up down one of the hallways on the main floor and used his foot to open the door, “This is the guest room you’ll be staying in.” He explained to her as he dropped off her backpack onto the chair in front of a desk, “You get your own room since you need your own privacy, Trevor and Cole are across the hall. Me, Lukey, and J are upstairs.”

“Thank you,” She offered him a grateful smile.

“Of course.”

He left soon after to let her settle in. She walked around the room to take it all in. There were two large windows that faced the forest that surrounded the home. A queen sized bed with a few decorative pillows and throw blankets. A short hallway with a closet, it led to a private bathroom with a shower, toilet, and a sink along with a large mirror.

Y/N started unpacking her things, hanging up the few sun dresses and hoodies she brought. Placing shorts, t-shirts and swim suits into the dresser alongside her underwear. She left her toiletries and her make up bags on the bathroom counter space.

She put on a baby blue swim set, the top being a triangle bikini and the bottoms being a bit cheeky with ties on the sides. She scanned over her figure in the bathroom mirror, adjusting it to ensure there was no risk of anything slipping out. Y/N quickly touched up her makeup slightly and brushed out the knots in her hair before pulling on an oversized shirt and a pair of denim shorts.

There was a knock on her door, which she answered right away. She opened the door to see Jack standing on the other side with lavender swim trunks, a black t-shirt, and a white backwards baseball cap. His hair was grown out since the last she saw him. He grinned at her,

“Hey pretty,” He said, walking into her room as she pulled the door wider, “Settled in?”

“Yeah, for the most part anyways.” She replied as he turned to face her. The sun shined through the window in her room that made his blue eyes sparkle, her heart beating a bit faster as he looked down at her.

You look heaven sent.

“I missed you,” Jack murmured, his voice significantly softer than before. He took a step closer to her, his hand tucking away a loose strand behind her ear, “You excited for this summer?”

His hand lingered near her face, she prayed that he couldn’t feel the heat radiate off her skin with its close proximity. She could only muster a nod, scared that she would say something that would embarrass her if she were to open her mouth. His hand dropped from the side of her face to graze her upper arm, giving it a little squeeze, “Good, I’m excited too.”

“Yeah?” She asked with her tone just above a whisper.

“Yeah.” He smiled, “Come, lunch is ready and I think Trevor is gonna cause Q to have a heart attack if they’re alone for any longer.”

Y/N giggled as Jack pulled her along with him out the bedroom and towards the kitchen. The other four boys were scattered around the area with Luke sitting on the counter, Cole on one of the bar stools with an open can, Quinn leaning against one of the opposing counters, and Trevor looking inside the fridge.

“Fucking finally!” Cole sighed, throwing his arms up, “Took you long enough, Blues.”

“Yeah, what the fuck were you doing? Unpacking or something?” Trevor joked, cracking open a Twisted while using his elbow to close the fridge.

She rolled her eyes playfully, “Yes, actually. Didn’t you?”

“Nope!” Trevor responded, putting an extra emphasis on the ‘p’.

Luke slid over a plate of food for her, it had a salad, a sandwich, and a handful of fruit, “Lunch for you.”

“Thanks Rusty” She beamed, taking the plate from him and sitting on the barstool next to Cole. He immediately snatched one of the strawberries on her plate and popped it into his mouth.

Jack perched himself up on the kitchen island next to Y/N, scrolling casually on his phone while she ate. Afterwards, they were all quick to run down to the boat, making it a race of who can reach it the fastest. Quinn settled into the drivers seat while Jack and Luke were untying it from the dock.

Trevor took aux and played his country playlist as they drove towards the middle of the lake. The group spent hours on the water, the boys taking turns on the wake board, Y/N enjoying the summer heat while reading her book and listening to the sounds of summer. When Quinn eventually stopped the boat and lowered the anchor so they could swim. Y/N laughed as Trevor shoved Cole into the water, Cole letting out a high pitched scream as he fell. She got up from her seat and peeled off her shirt and threw it towards the front of the boat.

Trevor whistled at her as she shimmied off her shorts, “Looking good, Blue!”

“Oh shut up” She said while putting her sunglasses on top of her kindle.

Quinn, Cole and Luke were already in the water when Trevor flipped off the edge of the boat, smacking his lower back against the surface of the lake. Y/N stood at the top of the boat when she heard from behind her,

“Hold your breath!”

In seconds, she heard Jack’s running feet and felt his muscular arms wrap around her waist as she let out a scream as they contacted the water.

“Jack!” She exclaimed, the second she swam up to the surface, “I was gonna jump in!”

He popped up right next to her, shaking some of the water from his hair. Jack gave her a cheeky grin, “Yeah, but that was more fun.”

“At least he didn’t shove you in!” Cole chirped, swimming towards them, “Blue is definitely your colour, Bluesy”

She could only laugh, feeling immense levels of happiness in the moment. They all swam in the water for a while until their limbs started to get tired. Eventually, they started to return back up onto the boat. Trevor settling down next to Y/N with a loose arm around the back of her seat. She tucked her legs near her chest and laid her head on his shoulder as she typically did and closed her eyes.

“You falling asleep on me?” Trevor questioned in a hushed voice, she hummed, “Alright, sleep well then.”

The rest of the summer looked like this. Quieter mornings with her and Quinn reading out on the porch with a cup of coffee. Everyone on the boat, singing their hearts out to songs and swimming until they got tired. Evenings were bonfires and sharing memories. Their nights either in the basement shooting pool or everyone curled up on the couches and watching a movie together.

It was the perfect routine. Y/N found herself getting even closer with the group of boys she considered her best friends. The lake house feeling like home. She spent her time with Quinn, bonding over their recent reads alongside deeper conversations when they found themselves up late at night in the kitchen. Cole showing her new country songs to add to her playlist and telling her all about the new girl that he had been talking to. Her and Luke being the s’mores connoisseurs and mastering the craft of building the perfect s’more. They also spent the rainy afternoons together, catching up while watching their current TV show together. Her and Trevor were as close as ever, often spending time together in her bathroom as she got ready and he sat on the empty counter space in the smaller room and listening to her while giving her advice — and the other way around, especially when Trevor found out the girl he was seeing before the summer started, was seeing someone new.

Y/N and Jack, though, spent most of their time together. Whether it be making breakfast for the group together and dancing to Zach Bryan or Luke Combs in the kitchen while everyone else was asleep. His hand twirling her around before pulling her into his chest to sway her back and forth to the song. Jack soon took Trevor’s unclaimed seat next to her on the boat, becoming her new pillow when she took her quick nap and basking in the sun. They would be partners for every game, for pool, for pong, for any board game.

At the ungodly hours of the night, when the stars were out, the two would lay on the dock. Y/N pointing out the different constellations to him and explaining the stories behind each. Jack would try to stay focused on the shining stars in the black skies but he would find himself more interested in her as she spoke about them. The way her eyes beamed as she told him different stories, or the way her nose would scrunch for a moment when she realized she made a minor mistake in the tale of the stars. How effortless she made it to be so perfect in those moments.

When it would get too cold, the breeze biting at their skins, they would move indoors and to her room as it was the closest. They would lay on her bed, facing each other and learning more about each other. Stories of their childhoods, or different stories between their friendships with Trevor. Embarrassing moments in their lives, or even their wildest dreams.

At the end of summer, as everyone packed their things into their suitcases. Jack knew Y/N like the back of his hand. He could read her like an open book at all times. Her fingers drumming quietly against the table when she loses focus on the conversation, or how she would crack her knuckles when she started to get nervous. If she found something actually funny, the way she would throw her head backwards as she laughed and covered her mouth. Which comments he would make that would make her cheeks turn into a light shade of pink and her eyes darting away from his to avoid eye contact.

Jack hugged her tightly after he put her luggage into the trunk of Trevor’s car, “Text me whenever you want, okay? I’m never too busy for you.” He whispered into her ear, “Whenever you need me.”

“Same goes to you,” She mumbled back, “Good luck with the combine and with the draft, hotshot.”

They pulled away, her eyes slightly glassy as his hands ran up and down her shoulders, “I’ll see you soon.” He told her, “Promise.”

“Alright, lovebirds!” Trevor announced, clapping his hands together loudly, “We gotta hit the roads!”

Y/N quickly bid her goodbyes to Quinn and Luke, telling them to stay in touch and how she would miss them. She hugged Ellen and Jim, thanking them for letting her stay for the summer and how much she appreciated it.

Cole, Trevor, and Y/N soon got into the car and waved from the windows as they pulled away and drove down the road.

Jack sighed, his shoulders dropping as he watched the car disappear. Quinn placed a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder, “It’s alright, we had an amazing summer with them.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know…” He replied, “I just got really close to Y/N this summer and I don’t know when I’ll see her next.”

“She’s Z’s best friend,” Luke added, “You’ll definitely see her soon.”

Jack’s rookie year came and went, he complained about the lows but celebrated with her on the highs. She would tell him about the drama happening in her circle at UMich. Jack being invested with the business of people he never even met. They would often call each other at the end of their days as they unwinded for bed, catching up on the events that took place. Although Jack felt on multiple occasions that he was drowning or was under-performing in his first year in the NHL, it would give him some peace to know that he would be on the phone with her that night. She would listen to all his problems and his frustrations, and she would reassure him on all these occasions that he was deserving of his position, he was doing his best, and that she was proud of him.

The phone calls with Jack were her escape from the stressors of college. It distracted her from overthinking about her grades or the dilemmas within her social life. But she also found herself, growing more and more fond of Jack. The soft spot in her heart for the blue eyed brunette growing bigger each time she picked up the phone. Every Snapchat that he would send her, she would spend a bit longer admiring. The way a tuff of hair fell perfectly in front of his face that made her pulse race. His smile or his eyes in every photo, being the exact same as she remembered from the summer when she would look at him as she rested on his shoulder.

She found herself lying on her bed in her dorm, late at night, reminiscing about their time together at the lake house. The way his hands fit perfectly in hers and he pulled her towards the boat or how he would spin her around in the kitchen as they danced together. It kept her up at night, wondering if he felt the same way.

And he did.

What she didn’t know was the second that she left the lake house that summer, he changed the lockscreen of his phone to a picture that his mom took of the group during one of their movie nights. Though the sounds of it is friendly, when anyone inspects the picture closer, they would see how Y/N was perfectly tucked into Jack’s side in the corner of the couch. He had an arm around her that kept her close, she was snuggled into him while wearing his USA hockey hoodie. Her head on his chest with a bright smile, his favourite smile, painted across her face. Everyone else in the picture is sprawled out and grinning at the camera, but he was staring down at her when the photo was taken. “You look so cute right now.”

He missed having her only a few rooms away or the way her hair would smell as he held her close. He missed the way her laugh would light up the room, making everyone else smile more or join in on the laughter. The way she would use her drink as a makeshift microphone when she would sing her heart out on the boat.

When he spoke about her to a few of his teammates, they managed to drill in the idea of long distance relationships often not working out. They mentioned how lucky they were that their wives, fiancés, and girlfriends were willing to move with them when they came to the Devils. Others mentioning how they had to break up with past girlfriends over the distance since it was difficult for them to stay on the same page considering how demanding it was to be a professional athlete. Jesper asked Jack about if he were to pursue Y/N, if it could possibly affect their friendships with his brothers or with Cole and Trevor. All in which, Jack never really thought too much about.

“She deserves someone who can be there for her. And not across state lines.”

The idea of Y/N transferring schools to be closer to Jack was basically zero to nothing, he knew how much she loved UMich and her friends there. He could never ask of her to leave it behind. On the contrary, he also knows from past conversations he’s had with Y/N, how they both think that their love languages are physical affection. She even mentioning that she couldn’t ever handle long distance relationships often because of the lack of physical presence.

Jack also wanted the ability to see his hypothetical girlfriend whenever he wanted, most importantly at the end of the day so he could hug and cuddle her before they fell asleep. He would want to have her around at all times, to come to his games and to get coffees together in the morning. He wanted all of that, but it wouldn’t be possible when she’s in Michigan and he’s in New Jersey.

In addition to the hundreds of miles between the two, he knew how deeply she appreciated her friendships with Quinn and Luke. She held her friendships with his brothers very close to her heart. She cherished them as much as she cherished her friendship with Jack. Her childhood best friend was Trevor, who also happened to be one of Jack’s best friends. With that, she was also close with Cole — especially after spending a whole summer with him.

Jack thought to himself how messy things could get if he and Y/N were to get involved. Would Trevor allow it? Or would Trevor push them away and how much it would hurt her to see her best friend leave. It would be so much worse if it didn’t work out for him and Y/N. Trevor and Cole would have to pick sides, Luke and Quinn would very likely take Jack’s side since they’re his brothers but would they resent him? Y/N would lose all of them in some way and did Jack want to be the reason for that?

He wasn’t too sure if he wanted to take this risk anymore. As much as his heart longed to be with her, remembering the way she looked when he first laid eyes on her at the house party ages ago. Did he want to put her friendships with everyone important in her life on the line for it? For the sake of himself?

Jack’s mind would spiral over the multiple possibilities and honestly, he didn’t even know if she liked him as much as he did. He dwelled on the idea but eventually deciding on shoving his feelings away and putting a lock on them. He would let her make the moves and decide, almost refusing to allow himself to act on any emotion he had towards her.

They are just friends.

It’ll be easier this way.

Summer quickly came around, and the lake house was back in full swing. Luke used her lap as a pillow as she explained the story that Jack already heard to the rest of the guys on the boat of when her and her friends experienced their first college homecoming weekend. He loved the way her eyes would sparkle and how her hands moved around as she animated the story, almost similar to how Trevor acted when he retold stories to his friends.

“I was so drunk when I woke up, I literally could not tell if I just blinked or if I was wildly hungover!” She laughed, “It was so bad, I was searching the house for water and even our brita was filled with tequila.”

Quinn grimaced at her story, “That must’ve been a brutal cup of water.”

“No, like I chugged it… Thinking it will help sober me up,” Y/N explained, “I passed out drunk on my bathroom floor like ten minutes later!”

Everyone laughed and Trevor shook his head, “Still can’t handle your alcohol?” He teased his best friend.

“As if you can chug a whole glass of tequila and still function afterwards?” She scoffed jokingly, “I don’t even remember that weekend, I only know what happened from the photos and videos my friends and I took.”

She noticed how Jack didn’t look her in the eye the whole day. “Did I do something?” How brief their hug was when she first got there, unlike how she was expecting it to be after not seeing each other for nearly a year. She had envisioned that he would embrace her tightly and express how happy he was that she was there — but she supposed that she may have been too imaginative for that scenario.

Later that night, Y/N was leaning her forearms against the rail of the balcony and admiring the moon light reflecting off the water. Everyone had retreated to their rooms about a half hour ago. She was wide awake, her head too busy running over the different times throughout the day where Jack seemed off. Was she too optimistic that he would behave the same way that he had the summer prior? Maybe she had her hopes too high and expecting him to be as excited to see her as she was to see him.

She heard the door slide open and closed behind her, another presence joining beside her,

“Can’t sleep?”

Y/N looked over to see Quinn standing next to her, also looking out to the lake, “Yeah,” She responded, “Lake is pretty right now too.”

He hummed, “Something on your mind?”

She could only shrug, “Sort of, but I think I’m just overthinking over nothing.”

Quinn looked at her, seeing the way her eyebrows her knit together and how she played with one of the rings she always wore,

“I’m sure it’s not just nothing,” He assured her, “Wanna talk about it?”

“It’s stupid.”

He sighed, “If it’s causing you to lose sleep, then I doubt it’s stupid, right?”

She turned to lean her back against the rail, looking down at her hands, “I guess today just wasn’t what I was expecting it to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I mean, Jack and I basically talked every day all year, I guess I just expected him to be more excited about seeing me,” Y/N explained to the eldest Hughes brother, “He didn’t even look at me.”

Quinn sighed, adjusting his stance to mirror hers and crossed his arms over his chest, “I’m sure he didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I know he cares about you, maybe there’s just something else going on in his life right now.”

She pursed her lips, “Yeah, that’s true.”

“Listen,” He said, giving her a gentle smile, “Jack wouldn’t purposely make people feel uncomfortable especially when it comes to you, Trevor, or Cole. He could be just adjusting back to the slower pace of life after his first year in the NHL, just give him some time and don’t let it bother you.”

Y/N lips twitched upwards, “Okay.”

“Okay.” He repeated, before pulling her into a comforting hug. It was something about Quinn’s big brother persona that brought comfort to Y/N as she explained to him her worries from the day. She was used to sharing them with Jack but with him immediately heading to his room after the fire died down, she didn’t want to bother him.

He could feel the tension diminish from her body when he wrapped his arm around her. Already aware of Jack’s weird behaviour throughout the day, and seeing her face fall for a split second every time she would look over to Jack to see his reaction, only to see him occupied by his phone.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Jack only slightly warmed up towards her. Though he didn’t sit next to her, dance with her, or did any of the same things that they did the summer before. At least he was speaking to her, somewhat. He would chime in on conversations, crack jokes when he felt like it, and on occasion asking her to choose on movie nights. It was better than nothing in her eyes.

Trevor could tell that something was bothering Y/N, so he kept her more company than he typically would and also asked of Cole to do the same. Cole would sit on the empty desk, reading out his text conversation with his current summer fling, while Trevor sat on the edge of the bed listening intently to his friend and Y/N laying on her stomach next to her best friend.

Trevor reclaimed his spot of being Y/N’s partner in games as they always were when they were growing up, leaving Jack and Cole to pair up with little to no argument. He had also fully embraced his former position as her best friend, allowing her to lean on him on boat rides or on the couch as they watched the TV.

The two boys did a great job of keeping her distracted from whatever it was that was on her mind. Trevor fully aware of not needing to ask her since she wasn’t the type to keep her emotions bottled up; when she was ready, she would tell him. Though he often played the more clueless friend role, he grew up with her and knew that it was Jack’s more absent presence that was constantly on her mind. She told Trevor about how often the two would speak to each other and how happy she was that they maintained a close friendship throughout the school year. But with Jack avoiding her, he wouldn’t force her to speak out on it until she was ready.

Luke and Quinn also did their best to fill in for the gap Jack made. Quinn often spending his evenings sitting next to her at the fire and the two sharing their different yet similar experiences with college. He saw her as the little sister he never had and wanted to protect her from being hurt, even if the cause was his own brother. Luke on the other hand, helped with keeping this light and fun. He would dance with her in the kitchen or whenever things would get a bit too quiet, he would pull her away to his room to watch their show. Luke would give her a similar safe space that Jack used to provide in the summer. They would talk a lot about everything yet also absolutely nothing.

Jack watched as she seemed fine with the distance he had created between them. His heart would twist at the sight of Quinn and her sitting together on the porch at night, when he would fill up his water bottle. At the way Trevor and her seemed so comfortable cuddled up on the couch, he would force himself to stare at the screen even though he wasn’t paying attention to the movie playing.

He didn’t like it. Not at all.

Which brought him, a month into summer, standing outside her door with his hand hovering as he contemplated his next move. He sighed and knocked on the door, Jack could hear her soft, “Come in.” from the other side.

He carefully twisted open the door to see the room dimly lit, with the two lamps on and a candle on the desk burning. She was snuggled up under the blankets with her kindle in her hands, “Hi,” He greeted gently, as he closed the door behind him.

“Hey,” She said back, her voice laced with a bit of surprise. She expected maybe Luke, Quinn, or even Trevor to be the one at her door late into the night, but Jack? He was the last person she expected.

“Sorry, it’s late,” He told her as he approached the bed, she adjusted her position to sit up a bit higher, “Can I sit?”

“Yeah, of course,” Y/N motioned to the bed where he sat at the foot of it, “Everything okay?”

Jack’s gaze was on his hands, trying to figure out what he was going to say. The conversation he planned in his head before coming to her room, flying out of his brain, “Uh, yeah… Actually no.”

Her eyebrows furrowed at his words before he continued, “I just- Um, fuck well, I-“ Jack paused, wincing in slight embarrassment over his stumbled words, “I guess what I’m trying to say here is that I’m sorry.”

“…You’re sorry?” She repeated, and he slowly nodded.

“Yeah, I’m sorry.” He confirmed, finally taking a breath and looking at her, “I’ve been a dick towards you since you got here and it’s not fair to you.”

She listened intently, her eyes locked on his.

“I just, I’ve been avoiding you because fuck, I don’t know how to say this.” He groaned, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he looked up at the ceiling.

“Hey it’s okay,” She reassured, “Just take your time.”

“I guess I caught feelings for you last summer and I’ve been trying to get over my feelings towards you, which has been so much harder when you’re here with me than when I’m in Jersey and you’re in school,” Jack said, his hand running through his hair, “If I acted the same way as I did last summer, I wouldn’t be able to get over these feelings and I don’t want to fuck up our friendship or something.”

Y/N held her breath unconsciously as he spoke, trying to nod along and keep up with his words.

“And it’s nothing to do with you, I swear. It’s just we both have too much on the line, you know?” He looked up at her, but her expression was hard to read, “We’re both so busy and like I said, you’re in Michigan while I’m in Jersey for most of the year… I don’t want to hurt you or anything.”

“Y- yeah,” She finally breathed out the air she was holding, “I get that.”

“But, I did hurt you with how I’ve been acting lately,” Jack sighed, “And I’m sorry for that.”

“I just wished you talked to me about it before you did it,” She expressed, twisting the ring on her finger, “But I guess I can understand why you did it.”

“I just think it’s better if we stay friends,” He said, his voice just barely above a whisper, painful to say it out loud than when it was floating in his head, “I think I just need like, space or something like that.”

When Jack looked up from his lap, she could see the small line of tears that brimmed his eyes. Her eyes glassed over at the sight, “Yeah, for now it probably would be best if we do that… But, um,”

He leaned the smallest bit forward, almost impossible to notice if it weren’t for the slight shift of weight on the mattress.

“Maybe after I finish school?” She proposed, her voice also sounding delicate as the question danced on a fine line, “If we still feel this way, maybe we can try then?”

He swallowed hard, the dryness of his throat pushing down the knot that was building throughout the course of their conversation, “Yeah, I would like that… a lot actually.”

They gave each other sad smiles, before she motioned him to come closer. He moved up on the bed to be next to her when she wrapped her arms around her neck, his instinctively going around her waist. Jack buried his face in the crook of her neck, “I’m sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay.” She whispered into his hair, “I understand.”

“It’s not fair,” He mumbled, placing a feather-like kiss on her temple, “I wish I could be stronger and more willing to do distance.”

Her hand brushed through the hair at the base of his head, “It’s not your fault, and it’s not my fault.” She reassured him, “It’s not fair but we didn’t do each other wrong. It’s just not the right time for us now.”

He reached to intertwine their fingers together, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, “Still friends?”

She gave him a teary smile, “Still friends.”

They say like that for a while, taking in the comfort of the silence and each other’s presence as they both absorbed the truth of their conversation. It was painful to hear but also necessary to avoid hurting the other person more. Y/N felt her heart sink into her chest when he spoke but she was also aware of the importance it was for the two to communicate their emotions. Rather than to continue going on with how they were acting for the first half of their summer.

She knew that Jack knew her well, Jack knew about her feelings towards long distance relationships long before this conversation. She also knew that they both didn’t want to jeopardize the other’s friendships with their friends.

It gave her hope however, to think that they could still have a chance after she finished school, yet that was so far away and so many other possibilities could intercept during this time. They could very much be in different positions by the time she finished college. Different circumstances, different relationships, who knows.

Jack’s head was in a whirlwind of emotions, somewhat relieved to get his feelings off his chest. But with a punch of regret when he saw her glossy eyes as he spoke, made him want to take back everything he said. He didn’t know why this hurt like a break up, even though his past actual break ups didn’t squeeze his heart the same way that this conversation did.

They basked in the silence for a few moments longer before Jack rose from the bed, bidding his goodnight before leaving her room quietly. Once she heard his sock clad feet padding up the stairs, she reached over to her phone to text Trevor.

Blues 🫐

11:47PM | trev r u awake rn?

11:47PM | pls be awake

Z 🔥

11:50PM | Ya I’m up wsp?

Blues 🫐

11:50PM | can u come to my room :(

Z 🔥

11:50PM | But I’m comfy asf in bed rn

Blues 🫐

11:51PM | please?

Z 🔥

11:51PM | Ok

Within seconds, her door creaked open. Trevor rubbing his eyes as he shut the door behind in and walked towards her. He looked up at Y/N while slipping his phone into the pocket of his athletic shorts.

“You good?” He yawned, settling into the empty space next to her. He perched himself on his elbow, resting his head on his hand as he faced his friend.

She rolled onto her side and looked at him, her bottom lip quivered as she bit the inside of it between her teeth. The tiredness from his eyes washed away the second he looked at her. Y/N shook her head slightly as more tears threatened to spill,

“Oh, come here,” Trevor told her, opening his arms up and engulfing her with a hug, “It’s okay, Bluey.”

“Nothing even happened,” She explained between breaths as tears fell from her eyes, “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

Trevor rocked her slowly, running fingers through her hair to comfort her, “It’s ‘cause you’re still sad and you’re allowed you cry.”

“We agreed to stay friends,” She sniffled, “And he said he’s been trying to get over his feelings.”

“What an asshole,” Trevor said under his breath, “You’re okay, you don’t need him.”

“I’m mad because I don’t know why I’m crying and am so upset over this.” She groaned, pulling away from his chest and flopping onto her back.

“Maybe because you’re a little sensitive,” Trevor mumbled in a lightheartedly manner, “You’ve always been a lil sensitive, nothing’s wrong with that.”

“We weren’t even dating!” She huffed as she turned her head to look at Trevor. He frowned slightly as another tear fell from her eyes,

“You liked him, that’s not your fault,” He said, wiping a tear off her face, “It didn’t work out which is also not your fault. Sometimes things like this just happen, but doesn’t mean that something better isn’t coming your way.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” He smiled, poking her cheek, “You’re my best friend, something amazing is gonna come to you and you’re gonna forget that all of this happened.”

“Can you stay?” She asked in a hushed tone, her eyelids already drooping from exhaustion.

“Of course,” He responded, crawling underneath the comforter, “Anything to avoid Cole’s sleep talking.”

Y/N let out a soft yet sleepy chuckle, “Love you, Trev.”

“Love you too Bluesy,” He mumbled back, “Always here for ya.”

After that night, things resumed as if that night never happened. There was a silent and unspoken shift in the lake house. Thought only Jack, Y/N, and Trevor knew exactly what had happen that one night. Cole, Luke, and Quinn knew that something changed in the air. It could be the fact that Jack and Y/N gave each other some distance but whenever one wasn't pay attention, the other was often looking at them. Or how Jack silently pouted when Y/N sat next to Luke on boat days or when Cole and her would make cookies together in the afternoons.

When the end of summer came around, goodbyes were said. Suitcases were packed. Jack gave Y/N a small hug, "Sorry again for everything," He said into her ear, "I hope school goes well for you and I'm still here if you need me."

"I know." Was all that she told him but the look in her eyes said everything she couldn't manage to vocalize in the moment. He knew. How her eyes said that she was also sorry and didn't blame him for how summer ruled out, how she was wishing him good luck for the upcoming season, and most importantly, how she is also there for him if he ever needs it.

As usual, the Hughes brothers stood at the top of their driveway of the lake house and watched Trevor's truck pull and way and disappear at. the end of the road.

"Some summer, huh?" Luke sighed, breaking the silence between him and his brothers, "You alright, J?"

He slowly nodded, "Yeah, I think I'll be alright."

"Things will work out," Quinn told his middle brother, bumping into his shoulder lightly, "They always do."

When it neared Christmas break that year, Luke invited Y/N over to spend time together and also quietly hoping that Jack and her would fix whatever they were going through.

Rustyy

1:23PM | Hey! Are we still good for tdy?

Blues 🫐

1:30PM | yk it!

1:31PM | just finished my last exam yesterday

Rustyy

1:32PM | Ayy that’s what I like to hear!!

1:32PM | Hope it went well

Blues 🫐

1:33PM | ya i feel pre good abt it:))

Rustyy

1:33PM | I’ll come pick u up in an hour

He drove over to pick her up from her apartment which was a few minutes away from campus. She approached his car as he rolled down the window with a large smile on his face, “Hey you!” She waved at the curly headed boy while settling into her seat.

“Hey, Blue,” He gave her a one armed hug while pulling away from the curb, “How have you been?”

“You know how school is,” Y/N said, “How’s senior year treating you?”

He shrugged, “Eh, it’s alright.”

They drove to a nearby Chiptole to grab food before heading back to the Hughes home which wasn’t terribly far. The two caught up during their drive, well as much as they could considering they often texted each other during the school semester.

Luke rolled into his driveway, tugging his jacket tighter to brace for the Michigan cold. He led her into the familiar home,

“Hi sweetheart!” Ellen greeted her as she watched the two kick off their shoes and shrug off their winter coats.

“How are you?” Y/N gushed, hugging the woman, “You look great!”

Ellen grinned at the girl, kissing her cheek, “Awh, you’re too too sweet! We’ve been good, happy to have all the boys home and ready for Christmas!”

Y/N chuckled, taking in the various holiday decorations scattered throughout the home. Her heart paused momentarily at Ellen’s words of her sons being back, meaning Jack was home.

“Alright, I’ll let you to go. Let me know if you need anything, hun!”

Luke and Y/N walked to his room, where they settled into their typical positions, “Jack’s home?” She asked while he plugged his phone into its charger.

“Yeah,” He hummed, sitting back down next to her, “I didn’t want to scare you off but yeah he’s back. He won’t bother you though.”

“It’s okay, I was just curious.” She muttered, “So what did you plan for us?”

“Well, I was thinking we could either bake or make this gingerbread home that Mom bought. We could also go to the rink if you’d like?”

“So many good options,” Y/N laughed, “Let’s build that gingerbread house first. At least your Mom can use it for decor.”

“Bold of you to assume that we won’t eat most of it while we make it,” Luke teased, standing up from his bed. Y/N following his steps,

“Bold of me to assume that we could keep it standing.” She challenged which made his eyebrows raise,

“Are you implying that you and I can’t build a standing gingerbread house and decorate it?”

She replied with a click of her tongue, “I don’t know, can we?”

He playfully pushed her out of his door, guiding her back down towards the kitchen, “C’mon, we can definitely make it stand.”

They didn’t.

The two current stood with the packaged frosting over their hands as they attempted to keep each piece of the cookie house to stick together. Y/N used the back of her hand to brush away a loose hair fallen from her pony tail,

“How do people do this?” She groaned, pushing the edge of two walls together while Luke applied, yet again, another line of frosting.

“No wait, this looks promising!” He exclaimed, standing back up from his bent stance, “Just hold it like that!”

“That looks terrible,” Quinn laughed from the doorway, leaning away its frame, “You should just stick to puck, Rusty.”

“Oh shut up, Q! I doubt you could do any better,” Luke shot back, giving a slight grin to his brother.

Quinn pushed himself off the door frame and walked towards the pair, “Here, let me help.” He sighed, settled in the spot next to Luke and taking the plastic bag from his hands, “Lukey, hold that right there, yeah perfect.”

Luke huffed but inevitably listened to the eldest Hughes brother as he guided them through the building process. Jack walked down the hallway to the kitchen, hearing his brothers’ banter and curious of what they were up to. He froze when he saw her sitting there, neck craned back as she laughed at Quinn and Luke arguing.

It was the first time seeing her since the lake house and he wasn’t expecting her to be here, in his kitchen with his two brothers. Her hair was tied up and she wore one of his old hoodies that he had let her borrow ages ago. His heart swelled at the sight, “Always beautiful and always smiling.”

He approached the three, “I hope you’re not trying to build a gingerbread house, ‘cause that looks nothing like one.”

The three sets of eyes all looked at the middle Hughes brother as he sat in the empty seat next to Y/N. Their eyes locked for a second, the same old warm feelings enveloping their chests. Y/N took a sharp breath before looking away and back to the house.

“I’ve never seen you make one before,” Quinn told Jack, “But since you’re here, help Bluey hold the walls together?”

Jack nodded, his hands next to hers as they helped Luke hold it all together. His senses were taken over by the soft scent of her perfume, the same one that she always wore.

“We just have to keep it together for a bit longer to let the frosting harden,” She explained, “Then we can finally start decorating!”

Quinn chuckled, opening the plastic bag of gum drops and eating a few, “All you guys, I’m enjoying this.”

“Give me some,” Luke complained, watching Quinn eat the candy in front of him.

A few minutes passed before the three of them held their breaths as they carefully withdrew their hands from the gingerbread house. Cheers being thrown around as it stayed stable without their support. They started decorating their house, placing rainbow colour candy on the roof and edges. Y/N at some point connecting to a speaker to let her holiday playlist hum quietly in the background.

It wasn’t perfect, definitely had its own take, with Jack sticking on the little gingerbread man onto the roof, claiming ‘he’s stargazing’.

Luke and Quinn were settled on the couches in the living room, debating on which film to watch. She was washing the mess of sugar off her hands when Jack came by to lean against the counter space next to her, “I wasn’t expecting you to be here today.” He said softly, while she wiped her hands on the red towel.

“Luke invited me a few days ago,” She replied, looking up from the towel to meet his eyes, “I didn’t know you would be home, otherwise I would’ve told you I was coming.”

“How did your finals go?”

“They went well, for the most part I think. I’m just glad that they’re over.” Y/N laughing lightly towards the end, maybe as a way to break the awkwardness between the two, “You played really good the other night.”

His eyebrows raised in response to being surprised by her comment, “Thanks, you watched?”

A faint, nearly unnoticeable, blush painted across her cheeks as she adjusted her hair, “Yeah, I’ve watched all of your games this season so far.”

Jack’s stomach flipped at her shy confession, “No wonder why I’ve been playing so well then, guess you’re my lucky charm.” He grinned, nudging her shoulder while washing his own hands.

She gave a small smile, the edges of her mouth tugging upwards slightly, “Do you maybe wanna talk?”

“Yeah, you sure Lukey won’t be upset that I’m stealing you away from him?”

“He’ll survive.”

Jack motioned with his head for her to follow him to his room, where they would have a bit more privacy away from his two brothers. Luke looked up from his spot on the couch, watching Y/N and Jack walk down the hallway. He smiled to himself, knowing that his plan is working — he just hoped for a positive outcome. She needed Jack and he knew that his brother needed her as well.

Jack shut the door softly, making his way to sit at the foot of his bed. Y/N sat next to him, being somewhat cautious of the space between the two. Her hands laid in her lap, fingers twisting around her rings.

“What did you want to talk about?” He asked her in a kind tone, his torso twisting to face her.

Her eyes glanced up to see him looking at her before darting away to her hands, “I don’t want us to be awkward anymore.”

“You think we’re being awkward?”

“Don’t you?”

He sighed, running his hands through his hair, “I thought we were doing fine.”

“I miss you,” Y/N mumbled, finally making eye contact with Jack, “I miss my best friend, I miss talking to you all the time.”

His lips twitching down for a fraction of a second, “Me too.”

“I know you asked for space to figure things out but I didn’t really expect you to disappear from my life while doing so,” She told him, her voice cracking at the end, “There were so many times where I wanted to call or text you about something that I knew you would find funny. Or about stuff I just wanted to talk to you about.”

“You should’ve”

“I didn’t want to overstep or anything, you know?”

He frowned, “I know what I told you this summer, I think about it a lot more than you probably think. I missed you too. But I am always here for you, pretty.”

Her eyes searched his face for any trace of lies, none to be found. His features only read with honesty from his words, and hope that she would believe him.

She slowly moved her head in agreement, “Okay, and we won’t do whatever that was, again?”

He chuckled softly, “Yeah, let’s never do that again.”

The two were reunited and back to how they were prior to the past summer. They continued to call and text each other whenever they met a moment of freedom, away from their obligations. Jack avoided thinking about how he used to feel around the girl, shoving those feelings so far down and putting a lock on them. The last thing he wanted was the urge to see her anything more than a friend - if he did, he was putting their rekindled friendship at risk again. He reminded himself the look on her face and the twinge in her voice whenever they discussed being more than friends, and he never wanted to go through that again. Besides, neither can get hurt if they can just ignore the magnetic pull.

Rowdy 🤠

3:12PM | Did u see the TikTok I sent u

Blues 🫐

3:27PM | ...yes

3:27PM | why would u send me that

Rowdy 🤠

3:32PM | Cuz its hella funny 🤣

Blues 🫐

3:35PM | its rlly not

3:35PM | idt the average person finds that dude funny

Rowdy 🤠

3:40PM | U hurt me ☹️

Jack rolled his eyes playfully as he sent the text before placing his phone down. He contemplated the actual question he was meaning to send her, almost nervous for her response despite the chances of Y/N turning him down was little to none.

Rowdy 🤠

3:45PM | Are u coming to the lake house this summer?

Blues 🫐

3:47PM | as long as i'm still invited

3:48PM | when r u guys planning on going?

Rowdy 🤠

3:49PM | Wdym as long as ur still invited??? Ofc u are. It wouldn't be the same without u!

3:49PM | We probs going in like 2 weeks ish? Have to check w Cole and Z when they're free

Blues 🫐

3:51PM | ok

3:51PM | i can probs go but idk how long i can acc stay since i have an internship set up for this summer :/

Rowdy 🤠

3:53PM | CONGRATS!! Thats huge! Atta girl 🙌

Blues 🫐

3:53PM | haha thank youuu

Rowdy 🤠

3:53PM | But yes, absolutely still come! We all want u there

A smile drew upon Y/N's face as she read the text messages coming into her phone from Jack. She pulled up her Apple calendar to glance at her schedule, seeing that her internship wasn't planned to start until a bit later into the summer due to the person she was working under being away for their own summer break.

She drove by herself to the lake house, arriving a few hours after the boys because of some traffic she hit on the highway. Y/N stepped out of the car, going to retrieve her suitcase from the trunk when she was scooped into strong arms,

"Bluesy!" The voice exclaimed, pulling her into a hug, "You took forever to get here!"

"Hi Lukey!" She laughed as she looked up to see the head full of curls in front of her, "Crazy traffic on my way here, sorry about that."

"Pfft, I was only joking. Do you need help with anything?" He asked, letting her go. She rolled her suitcase in his direction,

"Just this," Y/N grinned as he dramatically sighed,

"You just use me for my big muscles, I swear."

"Do not... Maybe." She teased back as they walked towards the entrance.

"Hope you're prepared to be attacked by the rest of the boys," He warned her with a playfully glint in his eyes, "Jack and Z have been moping while waiting for you."

"Oh, I am ready."

Luke shrugged before swinging open the front door, "Special guest is here!" He called out, seconds later a series of loud footsteps clambered against the hard wood floors.

"My bestie!" Trevor shouted, quickly approaching her and pulling her into an embrace, "Look at you, Blues! You get hotter every time I see you!"

"Stop it," She whined, smacking his shoulder while he squeezed her tighter, "You look good too, Trev."

Y/N hugged Cole and Quinn after, talking to them briefly when it was their turns. Both of them not failing to compliment her on the glow that she radiated.

Jack walked over to her back as she talked with Quinn. His arms wrapping around her middle with ease, "Hi pretty," He said into her ear, "It's so good to see you."

She extended her neck back to rest on his shoulder, looking at his face, "He's so gorgeous in this light."

"Hi J" She smiled softly at the brunette, "It feels good to be back, even if it's only for two weeks."

He sighed, "Wish you could stay longer, but you got your big girl job waiting for you."

"Yeah, we heard about that," Cole commented, causing her to pull away from Jack to face the rest, "Congrats, Blue! That's really sick."

"Thanks guys." She flushed slightly at the attention from everyone, placing her hand over her heart, "We will have so much fun while I'm here, gotta make this break worth it."

"Of course, we will." Quinn reassured her, walking towards the living room and the other five trailing behind him.

And they definitely did make the most out of her two weeks. Long days on the boat, soaking in the bright Michigan summer sun on the water. Drinking their Truly's and Bud Lights around the fire and enjoying the fact of everyone being together yet again. Jack and Y/N stayed glued to each other's sides, absorbing the most of the other's presence before she had to leave for her internship. They stayed up late together on the back porch, slowly sipping their drinks while telling their stories of the time they spent away from each other. He would hold her close when she got cold, her frame melting into his like two pieces of a puzzle. Jack would sway their bodies side to side when they danced together to country music on the boat, singing the lyrics to her which made her break into a fit of laughter.

Y/N splashed the cold water flowing from her sink onto her face, trying to snap out of the haze she was living through, yet again. Every time Jack was near her, she felt her heart pick up its pace, her stomach doing somersaults in her gut, the tingles that were left on her skin when he grazed her. The way chills would run up her spine whenever he would lean down to whisper something into her ear, away from everyone else hearing his words. His teasing and playful tone of voice directed towards her, causing her body to increase in temperature by a smidge - not enough for anyone else to notice except for her.

She knew the repercussions of her feelings towards the Devils player, she suffered through them before and she did not want to go through that sort of heartbreak again. Not when they were finally back to normal.

Her hands brought the soft white towel to her face, patting off the cold droplets on her skin. She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, knowing that she was about to leave and head back into the reality of life. Out of her realm of freedom that existed in the lake house.

"You all pack?" Trevor poking his head into her bathroom, startled the girl.

"Holy shit," She gasped, clutching the towel to her chest, "You scared the fuck out of me."

He barked out a laugh, "Sorry, Bluey. You okay?"

Y/N looked away from him, "Erm, no yeah, I'm fine."

"C'mon, don't do that," Trevor groaned, stepping into her bathroom and leaning his back against the counter top, "You know you can't lie to me, I've known you for too long for you to get away with that bullshit."

Her shoulders sank as he spoke, knowing that he was right, "It's just me having stupid emotions... again."

He frowned, "I see."

"Just forget it, I'm leaving today anyways." She sighed, hanging her towel on its designated hook.

"Are you going to tell him?"

Y/N's eyes widened, "Are you crazy?"

"No, I'm Trevor..." He mumbled, mischief in his expression, "I'm joking, sorry, 'm only trying to make you smile."

Her gaze softened, "I know, but you know that I can't. Not after everything we went through, it's not worth it."

"Says who?"

"Says me, dumbass," She told him, walking past him and into her room to collect her phone from its charger, "It's stupid, they'll go away eventually. He doesn't want to do long distance anyways, plus its been like year since the talk. There's no chance he'd suddenly change his mind now."

Trevor shrugged, following her around the room, "You never know, B. I see how he looks at you and the way he talks about you."

"You don't know what you're talking about." She huffed, shoving the leftover items scattered across the room into her bags.

"Sure," He replied with ease, "I don't know what I'm talking about when I tell you that he was whining 'bout you leaving today in my room last night, but yeah, I don't know what I'm saying."

"Stop," She said, a bit harsher than she expected her tone to be as she whipped around to face her best friend, "Just... Stop, please. I can't get my hopes up again and I can't do this whole stupid thing again." Y/N told him, her voice gentler this time while waving her hands around.

Trevor slowly nodded, giving her an understanding look, "Okay, I just don't like seeing you like this."

"I'll be fine."

"Just call me when you get home, yeah?"

She nodded, "Yeah, I will."

Y/N shared her goodbyes to the rest of the boys before driving off. She twisted the volume dial in her car to maximum as she blasted her music, hoping that it will help her drown out her thoughts while she drove.

She distanced herself from the rest of the group for a while after leaving the lake house, using the excuse of her internship swallowing up the majority of her time. When in reality, she was avoiding them to run away from her feelings towards the middle Hughes brother.

Meanwhile, at the lake house, Jack's shoulders were slumped as he scrolled through his phone on the boat. Not even paying attention to the videos he was 'watching'. Cole sat next to his friend, noticing his strange and withdrawn behaviour since the girl left last week.

"You good?" Cole asked, nudging his shoulder with his own, "You've been quiet."

"Yeah, 'm fine." Jack muttered, not bothering to look at Cole.

"The boys and I are planning on having some girls over tonight, we met them at the store earlier this week." Cole explained to him, "They're our age and they're super chill, you should hang out with us."

"Sure," The brunette shrugged, "Whatever you say."

Cole frowned at Jack's attitude, but deciding to not press him any further, "Okay."

There were four girls who came over to the Hughes lake house. The group of nine lounging around the chairs that surrounded the bon fire. Most of the guys talking to a girl with the exception of Luke, who had invited a few of his buddies and them keeping mostly to themselves for the night. A little blonde, named Olivia, sitting next to Jack throughout the night.

He didn't mind too much, Olivia was pretty. She had bright eyes and an effortless smile when she talked to him. Maybe it was from the alcohol he had been drinking the whole day, but the flirts being tossed between him and Olivia came with ease.

Every compliment she gave him, he was able to give her one back. Causing the blonde to smile and flutter her lashes to him.

Maybe it was from the multiple beers that Jack managed to kill at the fire that brought him to where he was now. His chest pressed up against hers, sandwiching her between Jack and the wall of his bedroom. They shared desperate kisses, her hands pulling at his hair, making him let out a low groan. They drunkly stumbled towards his bed, articles of clothing being tossed to random corners of his room as they moved. Jack threw Olivia without effort onto his bed, crawling up to meet her into another heated make out. He pulled the covers over their bare bodies, hiding away from the world from his next moves. Hiding away from what would possibly be his biggest mistake that would come and haunt him.

Luke bid his friends goodbye, late into the night as they drove back to the city. He closed the front door before roaming the somewhat empty lake house. Trevor and Cole still outside with the girls they had invited, Quinn on the contrary went to bed. The exhaustion of the long day spent on the water getting to him.

The youngest Hughes brother walked around the kitchen, throwing out the empty cans that were left behind. After making the space somewhat decent, he sat at one of the bar stools and scrolled through his Twitter feed while eating a slice of leftover pizza.

"Have you seen Olivia?" A girl asked him after stepping into the space. Luke looked up from his phone, seeing that she was speaking to him,

"Uh, no?" Luke said to the unknown girl, although it came out more like a question, "But then again, I didn't catch all your names." He chuckled.

The girl gave a small laugh, "I'm Ashley. My friend Olivia, she's blonde and I think she came in here with Jack. We're planning on leaving and she isn't replying to her texts."

His eyebrows shot up, "Jack?"

"Mhm," Ashley hummed, "They were flirting and shit all night before they left us at the fire. I don't know if she's spending the night but I kinda need to know if we're leaving her here or not, y'know?"

Luke slowly nodded, trying his hardest to stay up to speed with everything Ashley was telling him. Although he was still focused on the fact that Jack, his brother who was hopelessly in love with his friend Y/N, was supposedly with another girl at this moment.

"Um, yeah. I can go ask, just wait here." He told her before dropping his half-eaten pizza on its plate. Luke pushed off his seat and began walking towards the second floor of the house. He approached Jack's room, halting in his movements when he heard the muffled moans and sounds of sex coming from the room.

His ears turned red, quickly walking away and heading back to where he left Ashley, "Uh, I think it's safe to say that your friend is probably spending the night." He mumbled out, still slightly embarrassed at what he heard.

Ashley thanked Luke and left through the back door to retrieve her friends. Luke stood somewhat frozen in his spot, his hands reaching into his pocket to shakily pull out his phone. His thumb hovered over her text contact, debating whether or not to tell her. He felt conflicted since it was his brother and that the two were not exclusive. But anyone with eyes could tell that Y/N and Jack had undeniable chemistry and feelings towards each other. She was his friend nonetheless, one of his closest friends too. The two got even closer after he committed to UMich for the upcoming school year.

He swallowed harshly as his fingers moved around his screen, silently apologizing to someone for what he was about to do. He couldn't decipher if he was sorry for Jack, somewhat sabotaging him behind his back, or for Y/N, who he knew was going to be heartbroken once she found out. Luke told himself that she deserved to know and he wasn't going to be the type of friend to hide this from her.

Rustyy

11:52PM | Hey are u awake?

Blues 🫐

11:54PM | ya i am

11:54PM | what's up?

Rustyy

11:54PM | Um I have to tell u smt and u might get upset

Blues 🫐

11:55PM | huh?

Rustyy

11:56PM | Jack is hooking up with a girl rn

11:59PM | Blues?

12:02AM | Are u still there?

12:05AM | Are u ok???

Blues 🫐

12:06AM | no i'm here

Rustyy

12:06AM | I'm so sorry

Blues 🫐

12:07AM | its not ur fault

Rustyy

12:07AM | Ik but I still feel awful

Blues 🫐

12:07AM | its his life

12:08AM | he can do wtv he wants

Rustyy

12:08AM | But hes hurting u :(

Blues 🫐

12:09AM | ill be fine

Rustyy

12:09AM | Are u sure?

Blues 🫐

12:09AM | ya

Rustyy

12:10AM | I'm always here for you🫶 If u ever wanna talk about it

Blues 🫐

12:13AM | thanks lukey

Rustyy

12:14AM | For the record, I think Jack is a fucking idiot for hurting you like this. An idiot in general tbh

Luke sighed, placing his phone down and rubbing his jaw with his hand, "Fuck's sake."

"You okay, bud?" Trevor asked, closing the glass door behind Cole as they walked in with their hands full of empty cans.

Cole tossed the cans into the trash, "You seem stressed, you good Lukey?"

"No yeah, I'm good." He lied, checking his phone to see if Y/N had responded yet.

"Then why are you checking your phone for notifs?" Cole chuckled, settling in the bar seat next to the youngest Hughes, "Who are you waiting a response from?"

"Rusty got a girl?" Trevor asked jokingly wiggling his eyebrows, leaning on his forearms from the opposite side of the kitchen counter.

Blues 🫐

12:21AM | ya ik but i let him do it anyways

The screen lit up as her notification appeared. Cole, ever the curious one, looked over to see if he could catch the name, "Y/N?!" He let out, a little too loudly.

Luke shushed him immediately, "Dude, shut the fuck up!"

"You're hooking up with her?" Trevor's voice being more aggressive than before, "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

"No, it's not like that!" Luke huffed, his eyes pleading to the two boys, hoping that they would believe him, "I just had to tell her something, but I swear we're not anything like that."

"Yeah right," Trevor scoffed, walking over to the side where Luke sat, "You and her have always been close, I just thought you two were like siblings."

"Trevor, trust me on this," Luke told him, careful with his next words, "We are not like that, at all."

The Ducks player only rolled his eyes, "Okay, then what is it like?"

Luke swallowed hard, seeing that both of Jack's best friends were staring intently at him. It was hard for him to tell her, but exposing his brother's actions to Cole and Trevor, who both cared deeply for Y/N, was another level of difficult.

"Jack is hooking up with that Olivia chick right now," Luke muttered, his voice a little shaky as he spoke, "One of the girls that came over. I heard it 'nd everything, I had to tell Y/N. She deserves to know."

Cole's jaw dropped slightly, his hands swinging up to cover his open mouth, "What the fuck?" He let out, just barely above a whisper, "Are you fucking for real?"

Trevor stepped back, nearly stumbling in his movements, "Are you fucking with us right now?"

Luke shook his head, "I wish I was. One of her friends came in and asked me to check if Olivia was still with Jack, I went upstairs to check and I heard it." He shuddered as the memory flashed in his head, "I wouldn't lie to her."

He handed his phone to Cole, revealing the text conversation between himself and Y/N, as evidence of proof. None of the guys would lie to her about a topic as heavy as this, they all silently knew what she felt for Jack and vice versa.

Trevor stood behind Cole, also reading the messages. His eyes widening as the information sunk in, "Oh, that's fucked up."

"They're not official though, right?" Cole asked the two, his eyebrows knit together.

Luke shook his head, "No, but like, they basically are."

"If he could just grow a pair and tell her," Trevor scoffed, "I know she would never just upright confess to him, but he could. I don't get why he doesn't."

"It's because of the distance, neither one wants to do long distance." Cole explained, "I know that he would ask her out immediately, if it weren't for the fact that she's in Michigan and he's in Jersey."

"He could fly her out every weekend if he wanted to," Trevor argued, "Fucking hell, I've flown her out to Anaheim for a weekend before."

"Should we tell Jack that she knows?" Cole asked to two, "Or do we let him figure that out?"

Luke dragged his hand across his jaw, "No, this is his mess to figure out."

"Agreed." Trevor nodded, "Knowing Bluey, she's gonna push herself away and Jack doesn't deserve to get the easy answer to why."

Cole hummed in agreement, "Yeah, facts. I can't believe he would do this to her, she just left last week and I swear they were cuddling and shit the whole time she was here."

"Yeah, they were." Luke sighed.

"She told me the morning she left that her feelings towards him were coming back." Trevor frowned, thinking out the way her face looked so defeated, "And the night before, Jack told me that he still liked her and his feelings never went away."

"This is so fucked." Cole groaned, Luke mimicking his actions.

Y/N seemed to evaporate from Jack's world. The morning following his drunken hook up with Olivia, he noticed that Y/N hadn't sent him a single TikTok or meme - somewhat unusual for her even though she had claimed that she'd been busy. Cole, Trevor, and Luke filled Quinn in the next day on Jack's activities, Quinn sharing his own disappointment in the middle Hughes brother.

Jack continued to invite the blonde over as a indiscrete way to fill the void the Y/N left behind. Completely oblivious to the other four's feelings towards his summer fling. To Jack, it appeared that the other guys didn't seem to care much. They never said anything against him and Olivia. To Jack, Olivia was nothing like Y/N. She didn't have creative comebacks, she didn't have the same heartwarming laughter, she couldn't point out the different constellations. But to Jack, Olivia was still pretty - a different kind of pretty, and she was fun. They had fun together and she was thrilled to discover that he was a NHL player.

Little by little, Jack found himself thinking less of the girl and directed his attention more towards the blonde. The more focused he was on Olivia, the less his heart hurt thinking about how he and Y/N couldn't be together. He convinced himself that she only saw him as a friend now, and he had to continue to bury his feelings for her.

He knew deep down that this wasn't fair to Olivia, but what she didn't know couldn't hurt her. Olivia was fun and extroverted, similar to him. She liked to party, a lot. Jack didn't mind, the alcohol drowned his feelings towards the girl he was missing.

She didn't seem to miss him though. Y/N disappeared. She went from barely responding to him, hours to maybe days between responses, to none at all. He scoffed at her behaviour, Jack knew that he hadn't done anything to Y/N. Except for the fact that he was hooking up with Olivia practically every day, but Y/N wouldn't know that. How would she? Jack had full faith in Cole, Trevor, Quinn, and Luke that they wouldn't tell her because bro-code and all. Besides, she saw him as a friend so why would she care who he was hooking up with?

Him and Olivia agreed that it was a fun summer fling, he had to return to his normal life and she had to go back to Miami - where she went to school, he learned. She had teased the fact that she might come back the following summer, hinting to press resume on whatever they called their situationship or relationship. He only laughed in response.

When Jack, Quinn, and Luke returned back to their parents' house for a few nights before the two had to fly back for the season, he heard his older brother on the phone when he walked past his room. Jack didn't usually care who Quinn was talking to, but a mention of one's name caught his attention.

He lingered outside the half-closed bedroom, trying to see if he had maybe misheard.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," Quinn spoke into the phone, "I'm really sorry again for what you had to go through, Bluesy."

Jack's heart stopped. "Why the hell is she calling Quinn when she's going through something? I'm the person she always talks to."

There was a pause, for what Jack assumed Y/N was now talking.

"Yeah, I know - He's an idiot for doing that to you. You didn't deserve that." another pause. "Mhm, flying out tomorrow morning.... I miss you too.... Yeah, definitely come fly out during your break! I would love to show you around Van."

"What the fuck?" Jack rolled his eyes in frustration, "Not only did she not tell me that she was talking to some dude who's now hurt her, but she wants to visit Quinn? Why doesn't she ever ask to visit me?"

The middle Hughes brother walked away, upset that she wasn't coming to him about her problems anymore. He had thought that she'd been too busy with her internship to update him on her life, but clearly not when she was on the phone with Quinn. "When did she replace me with my own brother?"

Jack laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling with several different emotions flowing through his system. He snapped out of his haze after hearing Luke and Quinn in the hallway, his door was closed so their conversation was muffled.

"Were you on the phone with Blue?" He heard Luke ask. His curiosity got the best of his and he quietly crept to his door, placing his ear against it to listen better.

"Yeah, I just got off a call with her."

"How is she doing? Better I hope."

Jack heard Quinn sigh, and he imagined that Quinn was running his hand through his hair.

"Slightly better, I think. She's still crushed though, I could tell by her voice that she was trying not to cry while talking about him."

"He basically cheated on her. I was sick when I told her."

Jack's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "How did Luke know she was in a relationship? How did I not know? Who is this dude?"

"I bet, I'm glad you told her though. She deserved to know."

"Yeah, I know." Luke told Quinn, "I FaceTimed her the next day and she was a mess. She cried to me for like an hour straight and it killed me that I couldn't be there for her."

"It's okay, she knew you were there in like spirit or something like that." Quinn chuckled, "Come on, let's see if mom needs help with anything."

Jack slowly stepped back from his door, his mind running through his interactions and conversations with Y/N. He searched for any indication or mention that she was seeing someone. Then he wondered if she was seeing this mystery man while doing her internship. He couldn't figure it out, so he decided to hear it from her.

They haven't talked in weeks, but he knew they were still friends. She left the lake house, giving Jack a tight hug and telling him she would call. She'd been busy so maybe now with the school year around the corner, she would be free to text. Well, in Jack's head she was, she had just finished calling Quinn so surely, she could respond to a text message.

Rowdy 🤠

5:35PM | Hey its been a min lol

5:35PM | Hope everything is ok

5:39PM | How was the internship??

5:46PM | U should visit Jersey sometime! I can get you the best tickets to a game 🙃

Jack's leg bounced anxiously as he waited for her to respond, but she never did. "She's just busy. Probably packing for her move." He told himself to soothe the anxious feeling building in his chest.

"Hey," Jack mumbled, walking into the living room where his two brothers were lounging and playing madden on the TV, "Have you guys heard from Y/N?"

Luke and Quinn broke their focus on the screen and glanced at each other. Quinn paused their game, lazily resting the controller on his knee,

"Yeah, I texted her a few days ago. Why?" Quinn asked, clearly lying to Jack's face. He didn't know that Jack had heard their conversations just over an hour ago.

He shrugged, "Just curious, I haven't heard from her in a while and I heard that she was cheated on or something."

For the second time, Quinn and Luke looked at each other. Luke's eyebrows scrunched while Quinn's looked more confused.

"Where'd you hear that?" Luke crossing his arms over his chest, his own controller left on the empty space on the couch.

Jack's eyes darted away from his brothers, "Uh, Cole mentioned it but he said that he didn't know the guy, do you guys know? She never told me." He added, hoping to pry some information from the two.

"Yeah, no idea." Quinn replied, leaning back into the cushions, "You said Trevor told you that?"

"Mhm." Jack hummed out, not even noticing that Quinn brought up their other friend.

Quinn scoffed, finally putting the pieces together that Jack was eavesdropping on their conversation from earlier. He shook his head lowly before resuming the game.

"You don't know the guy?" Luke repeated, Jack nodding as a response, "That is wild." Luke mumbled, exacerbated and copying Quinn's movements of his head.

"What is?" Jack questioned, looking back at his brothers, "Oh come on, bro, you're not gonna tell me?"

Luke rolled his eyes, playing attention to the video game, "If you don't know by now, then I guess you'll never figure it out. She probably doesn't want to tell you."

Jack huffed, "What the fuck is that even supposed to mean?"

He stood for a moment longer before realizing that neither of them were going to tell him who this guy is. Jack grumbled something about Luke saying a cryptic message underneath his breath before leaving the room, going to his room where he left his phone. He was hoping by the time he returned to it that she would've responded.

He never did hear back from her. His mind went elsewhere as he moved back to New Jersey and got swept up by the daily practices and going straight into the busy routine of being an NHL player. He thought about her occasionally.

Jack only got updates on her life through her Instagram and not surprisingly Luke's Instagram and Snapchat. Luke had started his freshmen year at UMich and he fit right in. Y/N seemed to have taken him along with his new friends from the hockey team under her wing and showed them around. Jack saw the numerous stories of Luke with his friends and Y/N there too. He saw when Y/N would post herself and her friends at Luke's games, wearing some of Quinn's old UMich hockey clothes.

Luke appeared in a few of the photos she had posted in a photo dump, the two getting frozen yogurt together, them studying together, and the one that hit him too close to home: Luke and her on the ice together. The photo was the last in the collection of pictures. Y/N was on her back, clearly after falling on her skates, and Luke hunched over laughing at the sight.

A couple weeks later, she posted that she was in Vancouver and posted Quinn with the text 'best tour guide!' over it. Quinn included her in two pictures in his own Instagram post. One with her flexing the Hughes 43 jersey, the second one being a photo of her curled up in a blanket on his couch. Jack discovering that she had stayed in Quinn's apartment during her trip.

The ugly feeling of jealously burned deep in Jack's chest every time he saw her post another photo of her hanging out with Luke on campus. He told himself that he would talk to her when he comes home to Michigan for Christmas, but he didn't get the opportunity to see her. Trevor flew her out to LA to spend her Christmas in the sunny state, and Jack saw the what felt like endless pictures of her and Trevor together at Disneyland and exploring the city.

Rowdy 🤠

2:03PM | How's LA?

2:05PM | Acc fuck that Idc abt LA. Why are you ignoring me? What did I do?

2:10PM | Jesus the least u could do is respond. How immature do u have to be to ignore all my texts??? Yk I didn't do shit to u

Blues 🫐

2:27PM | yo this is trevor

2:27PM | bro just give her the space she needs k? and yk ily dude but dont talk to her like that. tf is wrong w u?

Rowdy 🤠

2:28PM | Mb

Trevor handed her phone back to her, "There, that should shut him up for a bit."

"Thanks, Trev." She smiled at her friend before stuffing her phone into her pocket, "I appreciate it."

The barista placed their iced coffees on the counter, Trevor taking a hold of both of them and giving Y/N her drink. The two walked out of the cafe and onto the boardwalk,

"You know I always got your back." He told her, "I can't believe he hasn't realized that he was the one who caused this shit."

She chuckled for a moment before her shoulders slumped and her gaze dropping, "'Yeah." Y/N murmured.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tugging her smaller frame to his side, "Cheer up, Blues! You're here in sunny LA and you don't deserve an idiot like him. He doesn't get to upset you, especially not when I'm around!"

"You're right." She grinned at his goofy expression, knowing that he was simply trying to get her mind off of things. Just like how Luke was by spending his free time with her and introducing her to his teammates, fully aware that they never shut up therefore not giving her a moment of silence to drop back into thinking about his brother. Just like how Quinn flew her to Vancouver for her mid-semester break to cheer her up.

Jack on the other hand seemed to be in a bad mood since receiving the message from Trevor that was sent through her phone. He wore a scowl and seemed to dish out backhanded insults towards his brothers during his time in Michigan. Luke had found out via FaceTime with Y/N, where Trevor also made an appearance, of what had happened. Luke could only roll his eyes at Jack's behaviour, him and Quinn in disbelief that Jack was yet to put pieces of the puzzle perfectly laid out in front of him together.

Luke sat on her bed, watching her flip through flashcards before her last final. He finished his just days prior, but decided to keep her company as she studied,

"I hate to ask this," Luke said softly, causing her to look up from the cue cards, "But are you planning on coming to the lake house this summer? I know it's a stupid question since you know who is going to be there, but I hope you know that the rest of us do want you there."

She sighed, placing the flashcard into her lap, "I don't know Luke."

He gave her a reassuring look, "I know, I just figured I would ask. Quinn, Cole, Trevor, and I were talking about it and I told them how you've been doing better and everything."

"Yeah, I know," Y/N shifted her position at her desk to face Luke, who was laying on her bed, "I barely even think about him anymore and it's because you and the rest of the guys have been doing such a good job taking my mind off of the whole situation." Referring to both the guys he mentioned alongside Luke's teammates.

"I just don't know how I would handle seeing him in person," She explained to the younger Hughes, "I don't want to mess up everyone's summer too."

"You know you wouldn't, if anything it'll be him ruining our summers." Luke chuckled, "But I get it. I don't want to pressure you or anything."

"I'm sorry." She told him, giving him a sad look.

"Don't be sorry, we just want whatever is best for you, okay?" He said, "Maybe not this summer but I'm sure in a few, you can finally face him. Maybe he'll finally get it through his thick skull that he's the fuck up."

"What do you mean she's not coming this summer?" Jack asked, shutting the fridge with force causing multiple eyes from the kitchen to look up at him, "She always comes to the lake house."

Quinn shrugged from the bar stool, flipping through the pages of his book, "She said she was busy with work this summer."

"That's gotta be some bullshit." Jack huffed, cracking open his second beer of the day.

"You do realize that a lot of people have to work to support their living, right?" Cole commented, still drying the lake water from his hair with a towel.

"Yeah, not everyone is blessed to have an NHL contract under their belt." Luke chuckled, leaning against the glass sliding door.

"But still, she always comes to the lake house," Jack told the guys, "It's not like she has an issue with spending our NHL contract money either." He mumbled the last part, hinting towards her trip to Vancouver and LA that Quinn and Trevor both covered.

"Okay, thats not fair," Trevor groaned, pushing himself off of his spot on top of the counter, "She was on break and she deserves a trip away from Michigan. She lives here both in and out of school."

"Exactly my point!" Jack exclaimed, raising his arm up, "We're here in Michigan at the lake house and she can't come? It's like she's fucking avoiding us."

"Maybe she has good reason for that." Trevor muttered, turning away from Jack.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Jack raised his voice towards the Ducks player. Luke buried his face in his hands, Quinn closed his book, and Cole poking his eyes out from the towel he held. The three fully anticipating what was coming. Jack and Trevor had history of getting hot-headed in certain situations, and it was very evident that this moment was one of them. Both of them were frustrated at the conversation but for different reasons.

Trevor was already irritated that Jack was behaving the way he was over the fact that Y/N wasn't planning on coming to the lake. Jack being oblivious to the underlying reason of this decision, which he should have realized months ago. Trevor loved Jack like a brother, but spending years of showering Y/N with compliments, cuddles, and actions filled with love: the forehead kisses, the hugs from behind, holding her hand in public, letting her wear his clothes to name a few. Then, sleeping with some other girl the moment Y/N leaves the lake house, and continue hooking up with this girl for the remainder of the summer - to take out his frustration on Y/N was where Jack crossed the line in Trevor's head.

Jack was beyond pissed off that Y/N had abruptly cut him out of her life. It seemed as though after everything, the late night conversations, dancing with each other on the boat, cuddled up together in front of bon fires, she was more than okay to drop him. He couldn't understand it. He thought that she would at least return to the lake house this summer. She always came after the initial invite three years ago, but the ignoring to not even letting him know that she couldn't make it because of "work" was what he called a load of bullshit. Jack fully blamed her for how their friendship was now, he put himself in the awkward position a few years ago when he distanced himself from her. She couldn't do the same for him?

"It fucking means that she doesn't have to be here if she doesn't want to be." Trevor spat back, mirroring Jack's intensity.

Jack scoffed, pushing Trevor's shoulders, "You keep saying all this fucking loaded bullshit about her not wanting to talk to me, she needs her space, that she doesn't want to be here. Why can't you just fucking say it to my face what you've been wanting to say?"

Trevor shoved Jack's shoulders back in response, "Maybe if you weren't so fucking blind, you would realize it by now."

"Just fucking tell me! Say it to my fucking face, stop hiding under all these cryptic ass messages." Jack shouted, returning the push with significantly more force than the last. Quinn stood up, prepared to have to break them apart along with Cole, who had placed his towel on the countertop.

"Have you ever thought that you fucking some blonde, days after you were cuddling and whispering in Y/N's ear wouldn't get back to her?" Trevor snapped, venom laced in his words, "She fucking knows you dipshit. She's known since the first night you hooked up with that girl."

"What the fuck are you talking about?!" Jack yelled, repeatedly shoving Trevor backwards until he stumbled into the edge of the coffee table in the living room, "You're so full of shit! I bet you two have been fucking around too, no wonder why you wanted her in LA so bad!"

The two collided to the ground after pushing each other around with a bit of too much force. Yelling and shouts being aggressively thrown at one another, insults and curses intertwined in their sentences. Quinn and Cole immediately stepping in to pull the two apart. Cole grabbing Jack and yanking him back towards the kitchen. His hair was disheveled and face red with anger,

"You so full of fucking shit all the motherfucking time!" Jack yelled at Trevor, trying to break away from Cole's firm hold on him. Luke also at Jack's side, a tight grip his shoulder.

"You don't remember fucking that girl all summer?" Trevor spat back, fighting less against Quinn, who kept him in place in the living room.

"C'mon, Trevor. Let's take a break," Quinn told him in a steady voice, "Let's go before you say something you'll regret."

Quinn slightly pushing Trevor towards the hallway that lead to the front door, Trevor still had eyes on Jack, "You can't just lead Y/N on for years, practically treating her like a girlfriend and making her fall for you then you sleeping with the next girl who looks at you! She deserves so much better than a piece of shit like you!"

Jack stopped his struggle against Cole and Luke's hold, his face dropping as it all clicked for him. His face visibly paled. Him and that blonde last summer, he couldn't even remember her name anymore or what she looked like. Jack completely forgot her the second they left the lake house last summer. All the pieces of the puzzle coming together and he felt sick to his stomach.

"Oh my fucking god." Jack breathed out.

Luke and Cole let go of Jack as they watched it sink in for him. He was shaky as he took a step back, his hand flying to his hair.

"She knew?" He whispered out, looking up at Luke and Cole.

Quinn managed to pull Trevor out of the house to cool down on the front porch while leaving Jack with Luke and Cole.

"Yeah, dude." Cole slowly nodded, taking in Jack's distraught appearance, "She knows."

Jack's chest rose and fell faster, fingers continuously rushing through his hair, "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He muttered to himself.

Luke placed a light hand on his brother's shoulder, "Bro, you have to breathe."

Jack tugged at the collar of his shirt, feeling the air getting heavier, "How long? Tell me Trevor was lying when he said she's known since the beginning. How long has she known?" He begged his brother.

Luke looked at Jack, seeing his desperate eyes brimmed with tears and his chest heaving, "Jack, you got to breathe."

"I- I can't."

"Hey," Cole told him softly, "Look at me, just copy my breathing okay?"

Cole inhaled and exhaled slowly, using his hands to demonstrate the motion, "Just breathe, Jack."

"I c- can't breathe." Jack stuttered, clamping his eyes closed and rapidly shaking his head.

"Yes, you can." Luke reassured him, "Pay attention to Cole, copy him."

Jack glanced at Cole, who was encouraging Jack to deep breathe. He shakily inhaled and his breath trembled as he exhaled. Luke and Cole nodded, "Yes, exactly. A few more times, Rowdy."

He copied Cole for a few more breaths, his chest no longer rising and falling at a fast pace. Jack's body relaxed as he caught his breath. Cole led Jack back towards the barstools, where Luke handed him a glass of water,

"Drink this, you'll feel better." Luke said to Jack, who glumly hummed a response.

Minutes passed and Jack was back to normal, although his head was cradled in his hands, "Lukey, how long has she known...?" He asked, scared of knowing the answer but he had to find out.

Luke looked at his brother, he swallowed hard, "Since the first night at the bon fire."

Jack inhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut, "How did she find out?"

"I told her." Luke said to him, "I'm sorry but she deserved to know."

He shook his head, "Why didn't you tell me that she knew?"

"It's not his fault, man." Cole sighed, patting his back gently, "You put yourself in that position, we thought that you would figure it out eventually."

"I really fucked up." Jack breathed out, "Oh fuck."

"Yeah maybe," Cole replied, "Do you still have feelings for her?"

"Of course, I do." Jack mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

Cole's eyes widened, "Really? After a year of you two not speaking and you being pissed at her?"

Jack scoffed, "Shut up dude, I can't get rid of them. Trust me, I've tried."

"Should I call her?" Jack turned to his younger brother, who he knew grew extremely close to the girl.

Luke shook his head, "Don't. Give her space, you owe that to her."

Months came and went, Luke moving to New Jersey after being drafted to the NHL halfway through college, Y/N finishing her degree around the same time. Luke was the one who broke her the news that Jack finally figured it out. He left out the fact that Trevor was the one who let it slip during a fight. It was around 4 months after that day when Y/N bravely decided to call Jack. She couldn't put a finger on the exact reason why she had to urge to. It could've been the fact that she had finally realized that she no longer had any sort of romantic feelings towards the man. It also could have been the fact that she missed being at the lake house with her closest friends. She was nervous just prior to the call, Luke on FaceTime with her as he was retuning from a meeting and encouraging her to press the button. He promised that Jack was at home and he came to terms with his mistakes, he only wanted to apologize to the girl.

So she called, he picked up almost immediately, a bit shaken up to see her contact photo on his screen. They talked for over an hour, where he apologized profusely for his actions and where she listened and also gave him her piece. After the call, she returned to her own reality of life.

She dated another classmate for a brief time, Jack also finding himself in a handful of short relationships.

All that mattered to both of them was that they could agree to put that year behind them. It seemed that actually talking it out, even if it was just over the phone, worked well. Y/N could hear the pure honesty in Jack's voice when he gave her a whole-hearted apology. He knew that he made a grave mistake that hurt her beyond belief, and his behaviour towards her only amplifying the hurt she felt. But those months and that summer away completely away from him allowed her to find her peace and find herself outside of just Jack Hughes.

She travelled outside of her annual visits to see Quinn, Trevor, and Cole (who was added to the routine soon after her initial trips in her junior year). She was now 23 and about to start her summer. She paced around her room, double checking to see that she had packed everything she needed.

Her phone lit up, an incoming call.

"Hey!"

"Hey Blues, I'm outside. Let's hit the road!"

She laughed, "Okay, coming down now."

Y/N grabbed the handles of her bags and made her way towards the front where she saw the familiar car. A large grin drew upon her face, when he stepped out of the car.

"Look at you!" She exclaimed, hugging him tightly, "New Jersey looks good on you, Lukey!"

He chuckled, "Ugh, I missed you. Missed Michigan in general to be honest. I sometimes wish that I was a UMich student again and do stupid college student things."

She rolled her eyes, "You don't wish that."

"I do!" Luke grinned, "Okay, maybe not the school work stuff but you know what I mean."

"Oh whatever, let's get going!"

"Are you nervous at all?" He asked her as they drove on the high way.

She shrugged, "A bit."

Luke glanced over to her, "It'll be good."

Y/N took a deep breath as Luke stepped out of his car. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for being back to the familiar lake house.

He opened her door with their suitcases at his feet, "You can do this. I believe in you."

"Yeah." She breathed out, slowly moving out of the vehicle.

"Hey, tell you what," He nudged her as they walked towards the door, "If it really sucks, like really fucking sucks, you tell me and I'll drive you home. No questions asked."

"I can't ask you to do that." She chuckled, climbing up the front steps.

They paused at the front door, he looked down at her and his eyes were full of sincerity, "I mean it. I'll drive you back if this whole thing is awful for you."

She swallowed and slowly nodded, "Alright, let's do this."

Luke opened the door, motioning her to enter first as he followed behind her with their luggage. Quinn lifted his head from his spot at the bottom of the stairs, he was anticipating their arrival and wanted to be the first one there.

"Hey," He gave her a small smile, "I'm really glad you decided to come."

"Hi Q," She grinned, hugging the man, "I'm happy to be back."

"You let me know if there's any issue okay? I'll drive you home the second you feel uncomfortable." He whispered into her ear, "I know you guys talked it out but still."

Y/N squeezed him a bit tighter, "You and Lukey are the exact same, I swear. Thank you."

The three walked towards the main area, Trevor had his arm deep into the chip bag when his eyes landed on her, "Blue!' He shouted, mouth somewhat full of food.

Cole snapped his head backwards, "You're here!"

The two bodies collided with hers in a group hug, she laughed at their reactions.

"You guys act like I didn't just see you at my graduation."

"Too long." Trevor complained, ruffling her hair as he pulled away, "You look good, as always."

"Like you say, Z, she gets hotter every time I see her." Cole snickered, very obviously checking her out with his eyes travelling up and down her body.

Trevor smacked the back of his head, "Off limits, you know that."

"And you know that I'm joking!" Cole winced at the contact.

Y/N only giggled at their interactions before walking into her self-proclaimed bedroom. She took it all in. It had been over two years since she last stepped foot into the room. Yet, everything looked the exact same. She started to unload her things into their designated spots.

A light knock was placed against her door, "Come in!" She sang out as she danced to the music playing off her phone.

The figure stepped into her room, cautious of the space it was entering.

"Hey," He gave her a smile.

She looked up from the dresser, "Hi, Jack."

"You made it," He said, slowly entering further into her room, "How was the drive with Rusty?"

"It was good. We caught up on everything." She replied, sitting down on the foot of her bed, "How are you?"

"Good, good," Jack mumbled, "Just wanted to check in and see if you were settling in alright."

Y/N chuckled, "Thanks."

He gave a small nod before turning towards the door. She stood from her bed,

"Hey Jack?"

"Yeah?" He looked over his shoulder to see her, "Perfect as ever." Jack mentally told himself.

"I missed you." She breathed out.

His eyes widened, her words being the last thing he was expecting her to say, "I missed you too. I'm really happy you decided to come this summer."

"Me too."

The sun was beginning to set on the lake, the beautiful hues of pinks and oranges stretching over the sky. The frogs and crickets making their noises in the grass, filling the air. Luke and Trevor were competing in some game at the picnic table outside, Jack and Cole tossing a football between each other while catching up, leaving Quinn and Y/N sitting outside with their kindles in their laps.

"Yo, Bluesy and Hughesy!" Trevor barked towards their direction. The two looking up from their books, "Play some music, would you?"

Quinn rolled his eyes, standing up to retrieve a speaker from the kitchen. He returned and placed it on the grass, "You can connect to it." He told the girl.

She scrolled through her music, trying to find a perfect playlist to play. Fully knowing it would be the same playlist that she always used at the lake house. Morgan Wallen played from the speaker, erupts of cheers from the boys as the song started.

Quinn started building the bon fire with help from Cole. Luke and Trevor claiming to be the ones responsible for getting the drinks and s'mores ingredients. Y/N sat in one of the chairs facing the bon fire, her knees tucked to her chest.

"Feels like home?" Jack asked, settling into the chair beside her. She hummed,

"Exactly."

"I saw your pictures from graduation," He told her, the two facing each other now, "Congratulations. That's really impressive, I'm proud of you."

"Thanks," She smiled sheepishly, in reaction to the attention, "It wasn't easy but I'm glad that I did it."

"I would die to have a brain like yours, I cannot imagine going through college."

Y/N laughed, "And I would die to be a hotshot hockey player that everyone knows."

"This almost reminds me of the first time I met you," Jack said, glancing at the unlit fire, "Do you remember that?"

"Yeah, I do. At that house party right?"

He nodded, "Yeah, and you used that crazy pick up line on me."

Y/N's face heated up at the memory, "Oh boy. What was it again?"

"Something about me looking like I was in love with you?" Jack laughed, looking at her to see if she could recite it.

"A fruit punch Truly for you," Luke sang out which interrupted the two, handing her the red can, "Hope UMich parties haven't ruined this drink for you like it did for Pink Whitney."

"It did not, so thank you!" She grinned as Luke plopped into the seat on the opposite side of her, drinking from his bottle of beer.

Jack eventually moved a few seats over since Trevor complained that he wanted to sit next to the girl. Everyone was a couple drinks in, finally reaching full summer mode and relaxing around the well built fire. The group watched as Y/N and Luke explained to them, once again, how to properly build a s'more to perfection.

"And voila! The perfect s'more!' Y/N giggled, holding up her prized possession, "Here you go, J!"

Jack eyes widened in surprise as he leaned over to take it from her hand, "Why thank you!"

"Me next, Bluey!" Cole exclaimed, raising his hand.

Luke pouted the infamous Hughes pout from his spot, "I'm the one who taught her the craft of the perfect s'more."

"Lukey, you can make mine." Trevor chuckled from his seat., "Blues, want another drink?"

"Yes!" She laughed, reaching for her fourth? Maybe fifth, or sixth drink of the night.

Quinn lowly shook his head, "Maybe your last drink of the night?"

She frowned, "Boo, don't ruin my fun, Huggy Bear."

He raised his hands in surrender, "Okay, I won't tell you want to do."

"Race to shot gun?" Trevor challenged her, "For old times sake?"

He was referring to their old tradition of shot gunning a drink at every party in high school. She gave his a grin, mischief shining in her eyes,

"You are going down, Zegras."

"Oh, I love your enthusiasm, Bluesy! Hate that I'm going to have to ruin that for you." He said, cheekily.

Cole and Luke pulled out their phones to record whilst Quinn wore an unimpressed look on his face, when deep down he was also enjoying their playful banter.

Y/N and Trevor both used their teeth to crack a hole at the bottom end of the can. They stood facing each other, both determined to win the challenge, one in which they haven't took part in since their high school days.

"Go!" Cole shouted out, the two immediately bringing the popped hole to their lips and cracking open the tab. Cole was basically bouncing in excitement, Luke and Jack both grinning impossibly as they watched.

The sound of a can crushing echoed the area.

"Fuck yeah!" Trevor hollered, raising his can in celebration but only to look at Y/N who also held her can up high.

"I won that!" She exclaimed, "Don't even play with me."

"Nah, I easily won."

They turned to face the other four, hoping that they would confirm who won.

"Uh, I think you guys tied." Cole told the two, looking at the video to see them both finish chugging at the same time.

Trevor groaned, "No fucking way."

"You're joking!" Y/N cried out, "I swear I had that one in the bag too."

"Yeah, no," Luke laughed, rewatching his own recording, "You guys finished at the exact same time. That's crazy."

She pouted and stumbled in her step back towards her seat, the alcohol dragging her limbs down. Y/N went to flop into her seat, nearly missing the chair if it weren't for Jack who conveniently stood next to it.

"Alright," He chuckled, arm around her middle, "This girl is going to bed."

"I'ms not drunk," She slurred, attempting to straighten up.

"What did I say," Quinn rolled his eyes playfully, "Do you need help, Rowdy?"

Jack shook his head, "I'm fine, I'm going to put her to bed though."

He tightened his arm around her, carefully walking her towards the house, "Come on, pretty. Work with me here, I can't drag you the whole way."

She giggled in his arms, "I like it when you call me that."

Jack smirked, "Yeah?"

"Mhmm" Her eyes closing with drowsiness.

"I'll call you that more if you can use your feet up these steps." He cooed into her ear.

Y/N groaned, sloppily walking up the steps, "I thought you are a big hockey player, can't even carry me?"

"You can do it." He laughed at her drunken state.

"'m not even that drunk."

"Sure, princess."

Her head snapped up from its low position, "That's a new one!" She exclaimed.

Jack eventually managed to get her to her room, silently thanking the fact that she stayed on the ground floor or else he would have actually needed to carry her up the stairs. Y/N happily flopped onto her bed.

"You want to change into your pyjamas?" He asked her, pointing at her denim shorts, "I'm sure they're comfier than these."

"Mhm"

He searched her drawers before pulling out an oversized UMich hockey t-shirt, which he assumed belonged to Quinn or Luke originally along with loose shorts.

"Here, put these on." Jack told her, handing the clothes.

She took them from his hands, "Don't look!" She said to him, her voice nearing a shout.

"I won't, I won't." He reassured her, turning around to face the opposite wall.

He could hear her shuffling to change into the new clothes, hearing the sounds of her denim shorts contacting the hardwood floors.

"Okay, you can look." She sang out, he laughed as he spun around to see her curled up in a ball.

Jack smiled at her, "Goodnight, pretty."

Y/N sat up, "You're leaving?"

He nodded, "Yeah, I'm gonna go join the boys outside for a bit then head to bed."

"Can you stay?"

Jack paused. He looked at her, "You know I can't."

"Why not?"

"You know why."

"Is it because I'm drunk or is it because of our big fight?" She questioned, her head tilting, "Or is it because we used to have feelings for each other?"

Jack approached the side of her bed, pulling out a Liquid IV from her bedside drawer and putting it into her water bottle, "You're drunk, just make sure you drink this before you sleep."

"I'm not tired yet." She told him as he shook her bottle to mix the powder.

"Yes, you are." He chuckled softly, "Once you lay down, you're gonna pass out."

Y/N laid down for a brief moment and sat immediately back up, her body slightly swaying from being dizzy, "See? I didn't fall asleep."

"Y/N..." He sighed, handing her the bottle.

She took it from his hands and sipped it, "Can you stay until I finish this?"

Jack tilted his head back to look ash the ceiling, before gazing down at her, "Okay, fine."

A bright smile drew upon her face, his favourite. She shuffled to the other side of the bed and patted on the empty space next to her. He cautiously sat down, "So,"

"Do you know how pretty you are?" She asked him abruptly.

Blush rose on his face, tinting his cheeks and ears pink, "What?"

"I think you are so pretty," She told him before taking a drink from her bottle, "Like, the prettiest man I've ever seen."

"You're drunk."

"Drunk or not, I think you're pretty."

He smiled at her, seeing the softness in her features as she snuggled deeper into her bed, "Can we be friends again, Jack?"

"That's up to you." He said to her, voice delicate more than ever.

She hummed, "Yeah, we should be friends again."

"Go to sleep, princess." Jack mumbled, taking the empty bottle from her hands.

"Just sleep here." She whispered to him, seeing that he was already looking at her, "We're friends, you slept here before."

"I don't know, Y/N."

Y/N squinted her eyes at him, "Okay."

He laid on the bed next to her, waiting for her to fall asleep. Moments passed and her chest rose and fell as a consistent pace, light snores leaving her lips. Jack leaned over to pull the blanket over her curled up figure, his fingers carefully brushing the hair out of her face.

"Sweet dreams, pretty." He said softly, before placing a light kiss to her temple. Jack used all his strength to pull away from her bed and made his way to his own room. Despite wanting to comply to her wishes, he knew that he couldn't do that unless she was sober.

He laid in his bed, mentally cursing the lake house for bringing up old feelings for the girl. It seemed as though they never failed to come back whenever they were back at this place. Jack tossed and turned, waiting for sleep to envelop him.

The lake house was back in full swing at its normal environment. Y/N and Quinn spending their mornings cooking while discussing their shared experiences of college along with their thoughts on the book that they were reading together. Luke and her spending spare time hanging out in their rooms together, making up for lost time for when he left Michigan for New Jersey. Cole learning the meaning of different Taylor Swift songs from Y/N, along with the lore of the Folklore triangle. Trevor and her never failing at making fun memories and talking about his new girlfriend.

As for Jack and Y/N, they drew closer together like always. It was the magnetic pull they had between each other. It started off slow, the two having conversations on the boat together to him tackling her into the water for a swim. From sitting across each other at the couches as they drank their morning coffees to Y/N being cuddled into his side during movie nights. To bidding each other goodnight from the hallway, to him laying next to her in bed as they talked about what they imagined their futures to look like late into the night.

Y/N stood outside, dancing around with Luke to the music playing as the sun began to set. The rest throwing the football around and watching in amusement at the two.

"Bluesy, have you listened to the new Ella Langley album?" Luke asked her, pausing to change the music.

She nodded, "Yeah, it's pretty good."

He handed her the phone, "Pick the next song."

Y/N hesitated before selecting track 3 of the album, realizing what Luke was hinting her to do. The evening before, she was in his room explaining how this song was so similar to her first encounter with Jack. She also confessed to Luke how she felt her old feelings towards Jack returning, and the fact they mentioned to try a relationship when she completed school. Luke helped her weigh her pros and cons in the situation and ultimately, told her that he knew that his brother still had strong feelings towards her and she should shoot her shot. He reminded her that even though Jack hurt her in the past, Luke has never seen Jack so broken after realizing his mistakes. Jack was never one to pine after a girl, he only really treated Y/N like the way he did. With care and love, extra cautious of their surroundings when they were out. How Jack still knew her like the back of his hand, how his every move came with ease. How Jack nearly drove the long distance to her door when he came to terms of his mistake a few summers ago and was fully prepared to get down to his knees to apologize, if it weren't for Luke telling him to give the girl distance.

The song started to play loudly from the speaker, Luke twirling her around and making her laugh. Jack stepped away from playing football, somewhat confused at the song. One that he's never heard. He watched her smile and giggle next to his brother before Luke whispered something to her. He ran off into the house as Jack slowly approached her,

"Can I be your temporary dance partner while Lukey is gone?"

She nodded.

"What song is this?"

"A new one," the chorus started, "And I said baby, I think you're going to want to hear this." She dramatically lip sync-ed towards him.

His eyebrow raised and he smirked, taking a hold of her hand.

Y/N turned her head away from him before looking back, "Excuse me, you look like you love me. You look like you want me to come on home."

Jack's mouth opened agape at the lyrics, chills running down his spine as the memory of their first conversation flashed through his mind. He grinned at her as he spun her around, pulling her close so her back met his chest,

"And baby I don't blame you, for looking me up and down across this room," She hummed to the tune, "I'm drunk and I'm ready to leaving, and you look like you love me."

"Did you write this song?" He teased into her ear, she turned around to face him,

"No, but it's a crazy coincidence, right?"

Jack laughed, "Yeah, an insane one."

"Jack," She said softly, "Can we talk?"

He looked at her, "Of course."

She led him down towards the dock, a ways away from the rest so they could speak in private. His hand grazed over her bicep,

"You okay?" He asked her, playing with the sleeve of her t-shirt.

Y/N sighed, preparing herself, "Do you remember our conversation, years ago?"

"Depends," Jack told her, looking into her eyes that always seemed to sparkle, "Which one?"

"I asked if we could try... a relationship after I graduated and if the timing was right." She replied, twisting the ring around her finger.

He nodded, "Yeah, I remember that one. Why?"

She swallowed down the nerves building in her throat, "I told you that if we still had feelings for each other, then maybe it'd be worth a shot. And," She paused,

"And?" Jack repeated.

"And, I don't know if you feel the same, after everything...." She whispered, her eyes staring into his blue ones, "But, I love you Jack. Even after everything, I love you and I don't think I could ever stop."

His eyes softened, "I think I fell in love with you when you told me that crazy pick up line when we were seventeen, Y/N."

Y/N let out the breath that she had been holding, "So I was right?"

"With?"

"When I told you 'excuse me, you look like you love me'" She giggled, "My intuition must be amazing."

He laughed, stepping closer to her so their chests touched. His hand cupped her cheek while the other rested on her waist, "I guess so."

His fingers danced to her chin, tilted her face upwards where their faces were now millimetres apart, "Can I kiss you?"

"Please." She whispered, her eyes fluttered shut when Jack finally closed the gap between their lips. His soft lips meeting hers, molding into each other perfectly.

His hand on her waist squeezed her as her hands trailed up to tug lightly at the hair at the back of his neck. She sighed in pure happiness when they eventually pulled apart,

"You are perfect, beyond perfect." He mumbled against her lips, placing a gentle peck on them after, "I love you, Blue."

"I love you too, Jack."

"God, I can listen to you say that forever." He chuckled, pulling her into a tight embrace.

505 notes · View notes

neigepomme · 3 days ago

Text

˙ ✩°˖ ✈️ cute guy next door / caleb x reader

synopsis; you're woken up by your new neighbor moving in loud as hell on a saturday morning, but upon seeing his face, maybe you aren't that mad anymore.

🍎 pomme's notes — pushing my mark lee caleb agenda and experimenting because i have not written a series in a while but i think caleb boy next door/uni crush? the greatest thing ever. LET ME HAVE HIM

⋆ 700 words / fluff / fem reader / uni au (no evol!) / 2nd person

it was saturday early morning when you were brutally woken up by loud steps coming from the apartment next door.

god, your head was ringing. you had two ethics finals yesterday, and you couldn't even rest because your manager needed you to come in for a late night shift. today was supposed to be a sleeping-in kind of day, waking up at 12 or something — but instead, here you were, forced to listen to the steps of several movers at 7am on a saturday.

rough weekend start.

draping yourself in a cozy hoodie, you head out to check out all this commotion and provide your new neighbor with some strongly worded opinions about making so much noise on a weekend. when you swing your door open, though, you're met with resistance and a groan.

great. you just hit your stupidly loud new neighbor in the face with your damn door.

“oh my god, are you okay?? i'm so sorry!”

hands outstretched in the direction of the tall brunette in front of you, he peers at you with quite possibly the most gorgeous eyes you've ever seen. he waves you off with a bright smile, his hand still rubbing his reddening nose.

“all good, don't worry. i wanted to say hi and apologize for the noise — i'm caleb, your new neighbor.”

and man, was caleb a hottie.

clad in a sleeveless tank top and black sweatpants, you had to hold yourself back from ogling the guy you desperately wanted to tell off this morning. sweat trickled down his muscled arms from carrying boxes into his new place, and what a delightful sight it was. in his hands was a small glass container, which he handed over to you, and before you can even ask what's in it, you're interrupted.

"braised chicken wings. as an apology for all the noise," he laughs (and what a cute laugh it was, you think), “my specialty. hopefully, you aren't allergic?”

“no, no allergies at all. thank you, caleb.”

his name rolled off your tongue so nicely. you really needed to get to know him soon. maybe he attended the same uni you did? leaning against your doorframe, you look into his eyes again, and you thought the "getting lost in one's eyes" pickup line was a gross exaggeration until you met him. it's as if a million sunsets took place within his irises, and the way they'd close a bit when he smiled? was this love at first sight? after introducing yourself to him, you ask the question (to which you pray the answer is yes).

“are you here to attend skyhaven university? this place is pretty close, that's why i chose it.”

caleb gives you a nod, his face lighting up when you mentioned it.

“yeah, aerospace engineering major! i transferred from linkon uni. will i see you around?”

oh my god, he's cute, he knows how to cook, AND he's smart. yep, you were definitely going to get closer to him — even if it's just as friends. the sight of that face was going to help you not end it all when your philosophy professor assigned you a horrible team for your group projects.

“mhmm, i'm a humanities major. pretty sure the departments are pretty close by, so we'll definitely see each other around!”

while you two talked, the movers were getting close to finishing the job. they glanced at caleb and motioned for him to come check if anything was missing — your conversation had to be cut short. he turns to you before stepping away, and he ends up being the one asking the question lingering on the tip of your tongue.

“can i have your number, dear neighbor? since we'll be seeing each other a bunch in the next few months.”

and with your number on his phone, you return to your bed, a wide grin on your face, your day significantly better than how it started. caleb was about to be the highlight of your uni experience.

— secretly, caleb was also looking forward to seeing you around. a pretty girl as his neighbor instead of an old man, and you attended the same place? he'd have to 'run out of sugar' soon and knock on your door again.

🍎 pomme's final notes — think of this as an appetizer.. i need to figure out a plot soon but i needed to put this idea out in the world before i fell asleep and lost it LOL

#⋆ pomme writes #caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #lads x reader #lads caleb #lads #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #⋆ neigepomme

310 notes · View notes

lynleaf · 1 day ago

Text

how age regression has helped my relationship with food 💗🥪

tw / food (pos) / all of these things are things you can do while big, but this is my personal experience relating to agere! (pics are mine)

- making my meals cute has made eating more fun and engaging!

things like getting to play around with shapes when preparing fruits and veggies, adding in hearts and sprinkles to my meals, making faces and friends out of food has made eating so fun and less of a chore! also using cute plates, lunchboxes, and utensils!

- my food doesnt have to make sense to anyone but myself!

i am finding a lot of liberation in eating the weirdest food combinations without caring about it if seems weird or out of the norm! age regression has helped me be more carefree about my food choices!

- age regression has helped me remember new foods i used to like as a kid that i "grew out of" as i got older!

rediscovering kids meals and dishes that i used to love when i was bodily younger has gifted me with lovely nostalgia. and now that i'm bodily older, i can tweak the dishes with my own autonomy to make them fit my taste exactly! and there's no pressure to eat everything or to not ask for more! i can do what feels right to me.

- i'm not focused on what's healthy, but rather what makes me happy!

age regression has brought me so much joy when it comes to food. i love eating silly snacks, cute desserts, big meals, small meals, and just listening to my body! i'm able to buy all the snacks and food i wasn't able to eat when i was younger, and it feels so amazing to be able to give myself the childhood i didn't have.

#lyn's diary 📔...🍅🐛#lyn's pics ..[◉°]ㅤ♡#lyn's thoughts ≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼#agere #age regression #sfw blog #sfw agere #age regressor #sfw interaction only #sfw #agere blog #agere activities #agere community #agere help #agere tips #safe agere

190 notes · View notes

vxnuslogy · 13 hours ago

Text

━━━━━━ truth, dare, spin bottle. ̊ ̟ ꒷꒦

☆ | or in which you fall in love with the stereotypical school athlete, council secretary, and your class president on campus⠀ …

꒰ including ꒱ ⠀! ⠀phainon, anaxagora & mydei. ୨୧ ꒰ warnings ꒱ ⠀! ⠀modern!au, school!au, ooc, just very stereotypical school tropes, highschool awkwardness.

“ tags ⟡ . @mikashisus @https-sourlimes @powchakko @somjuie @gl4di0lus ; if you'd like to be tagged please don't be afraid to send in ask or fill out the forms on my pinned!

✶ : PHAINON

jersey no. 7 of amphoreus' football and basketball team—you'd be living under a rock if you don't know his name and the reputation that follows him. his matches are a sight for sore eyes. when he’s on the field, amphoreus is automatically getting that gold medal regardless of the opponent. you manage to watch one of his basketball matches during prep season for the school festival. it’s a friendly rematch against an old rival school and to no one’s surprise, phainon emerged as the mvp. in that match alone, you see why everyone is endeared by him—he reeks of sportsmanship that no student athlete in this school could ever dream of. he approaches every opponent with determination but never underestimates them, he always wants to play a fair game and even voluntarily forfeits if the game shows signs of rigging.

you don’t deny your fellow classmates who ask you if you think he’s cute because he is. he reminds you of an excited puppy during games and a loyal guard dog when it comes to his studies. he’s rather tall for his age–just a year below you but he’s far surpassed your height–and he has a good build, befitting for someone as sports orientated as him. phainon also has this magnetic pull to him that makes everyone want to befriend him, and you don’t mean it in a bad way.

after classes, you usually go home without a fail, but this time around, you make a beeline towards the gym to watch another one of phainon’s matches. when your friends catch sight of you, they all give you playful looks that scream “you’re here for phainon right?” and you can only roll your eyes at them. but before you can take a seat at the spot they reserved for you, something collided with your head and your world is suddenly spinning.

“oh god, are you alright?!”

someone shouts as you groan in pain. your vision spotting as you try to make out the messy blob of white and blue in front of you. someone takes your hand and you’re forcefully yanked up to your feet, making your headache worse with how quickly you stood up.

“i’m so, so, so, sorry. this is my fault i wasn’t paying attention. does your head hurt badly? do you want to go to the infirmary? someone get me ice packs—”

“will you calm down? you’re making my headache worse!” you don’t mean for your voice to sound so cold but it was nothing but the truth. you appreciate this mystery person’s concern, but god does he talk too much.

“right… right! sorry.”

you sigh and massage your temple. when your vision starts to clear up again, your mouth is left hanging as you realize who’s in front of you. that signature white hair and blue eyes combo is practically thrown at your face as phainon tilts his head in mild curiosity at your expression.

“i… need to go. sorry.” you quickly say, gathering your things from the floor and speed walking to the exit. you faintly hear the athlete heartthrob call out to you but you don’t pay him any mind. you were not getting into a cat fight with his fans with that cliche encounter.

that following night, your friends betray you by leaking your phone number to phainon. after a few heated and teasing messages in the group chat, you steady your breathing as you open his messages. you didn’t necessarily know what to expect on how phainon messages his friends or acquaintances, but you certainly find some childish endearment.

he sent a lot of messages—broken up into multiple sections explaining his worry and regret of hitting you instead of one single text box. phainon also used excessive amounts of exclamation marks, a lot of misspelled words, uppercases, and surprisingly enough, kaomojis. you let out an exasperated smile as you finally come to understand how cute this kid was.

you only planned to reply with a single message explaining your condition but that quickly spiralled into him chatting up a storm—a never ending stream of topics. you indulge him, using this as an excuse to find out even more on why so many people are so gravitated towards him. you surmise it’s because of his easy-going nature; he never leaves you hanging with his replies and speaking of replies, he sends messages at an ungodly quick speed. one thing turned to another before he ended the conversation with a message that read: “would you like to get a cup of coffee as an apology? it’ll be my treat ofc!!!!”

✶ : ANAXA (GORAS)

you see, if there was one person that made your blood boil like lava, it would be the student council secretary, anaxa. always so curt, blunt, and rude, he makes all of your accomplishments seem small when put side by side with his. it infuriates you to no end when the test scores for each year is posted on the bulletin and you spot him dead center of the crowd. you already feel a scowl forming on your face as you pass the bodies of other students and mentally prepare yourself for his berating voice.

you frown in dismay when you see his name on the number one spot with you a few spaces below him. your lip sews themselves shut when you hear him cough into his fist, quiet enough to not disturb the other students' excitement but loud enough for you to hear. as if wanting to rub more salt onto a fresh wound, anaxa peers into your line of vision with a smug smirk on his lips. with your pride hurt, you quickly turn away from him and begin walking away to save face. you didn’t need him to rub it in your face that he was leagues better than you.

anaxa won’t admit the swirling in his gut when he sees your figure get smaller and smaller. the oddest thing of it all, you don’t show your face to him at all since the test scores has been posted. he’d rather die than admit he missed your presence to anyone—your banters, nudging each other in quiet retaliation, and the time spent on the rooftop trying to study. anaxa would rather swallow a thousand needles than openly admit he felt jealous of his junior–the school athlete–and how you always seem to get coffee with him every morning. wasn’t that your thing with him?

“pray tell,” you flinch at the voice–failing to pack up your things quick enough to avoid anaxa who frequented the small cafe near campus. “why is it that you find the time to pick up coffee with our junior, but not me?”

if you were any other student, you’d think he sounds jealous—but that was a ridiculous thing to think. anaxa, jealous? you’re very sure the only emotion he’s ever felt in his life were spite and pride. as if to insinuate that you’ve actually replaced him with your usual routine, you ignore him. fight the twitch of your lips when anaxa visibly frowns at your silence. though a part of you—a tiny, tiny part—does feel a bit guilty. you weren’t one for the silent treatment, but anaxa deserved it. (you try to convince yourself at least).

“look if this is about the test scores, i’m…”

you walk past him but before you can fully exit the establishment, anaxa is running after you and catching your wrist with a firm grip. you turn to glare but the initial pettiness that fueled your heart quickly evaporates into thin air when you see his expression. lips pursed into a thin line, eye darting here and there–avoiding yours at all cost–and posture rigid but not in his usual secretary way; he looked almost vulnerable.

“i… apologize, for always belittling you whenever exam seasons are over. believe me, my intentions weren’t to bring you down. i just…” he trails off. a heavy frustrated sigh leaving his lips as his other hand comes to cover half of his face in shame. “wanted you to continue competing with me.”

by the following day, it was anaxa avoiding you like a plague. you still get coffee with phainon every morning, but today, you bought an extra cup—medium, iced, with only two teaspoons of sugar. the snowy-haired boy questioned you but you only replied with a cryptic “it’s a sorry gift.” he dropped the topic with a hum. you have a faint idea that phainon already knew who you were talking about.

the two of you separate on the second floor of campus—phainon heads straight to his classroom while you make a beeline to the council office. you rise up to the stairs in quiet contemplation on how to give anaxa his usual cup of coffee. with you being so lost in thought, you don’t realize that you’re now standing face to face with the classroom door. if you take a quick peek at the crack, you’d see anaxa with his head leaning back the chair he sat on with a book covering his face. you chuckle in amusement and as quietly as you could, tip-toe your way around the desk and place the coffee cup right by his notes. you graciously pull off a piece of sticky note and wrote down a short message before sticking it on the book on his face before leaving.

when the door finally closes shut, anaxa carefully removes the book obscuring his vision and takes the note you had written. ‘sorry for avoiding you! no matter what, you’re still my rival. remember to always take care of yourself, okay?’ anaxa snorts in amusement as he takes the cup of coffee in his hand, swirling the liquid before taking a sip. you still remember how he likes his coffee.

✶ : MYDEIMOS

if phainon was the cute junior that reminded you of a puppy and anaxa was the annoying bird that’s always perched on your shoulder, then mydei is that intimidating class president who quietly cares for his class. admittedly, you, among many others, had the wrong impression of him on your first meeting. initially, you assumed mydei was the type of student who always picked fights with other students and got into trouble with the student body. he does do those things—you see him butt heads with phainon during pe class and see aglaea scolding him during meetings every now and then. but nothing can prepare you when you first ask him for notes.

to say it’s a nerve wrecking situation would be an understatement—you were shaking in your shoes as your classmates cheered you on. with one final sigh, you find his contacts on your phone and repeatedly draft a message, delete it, then start over again and again until you grow frustrated and give up for the time being. you throw a defeated expression at your classmates and promise them to ask mydei for the notes later today. the school festival has been taking up so much of everyone’s time that you can’t find enough time to actually pay attention and write down notes in class. everyone was either sleeping or dozing off with exhaustion and you were no exception. you were sleeping during the first two periods of class and they each had their respective quiz some time this week.

you massage your temple in stress as you mumble about how you can ask mydei about his notes.

“what about my notes?”

you freeze on your spot. the hand massaging your temple rigidly drops back to your side as you awkwardly smile at the only person who can help your entire class pass manifests into thin air.

“uh… well, you see…” you fumble with the words on your tongue and curse yourself inside your mind for appearing nervous. you just want to ask if he had taken notes during the first and second period, simple right? wrong!

you shift in your spot uncomfortably, eyes falling to the floor and to your shoes to avoid his burning gaze while your hand rubs at your arm—a nervous tick you developed over the years. you open your mouth to finally reply but the feeling of something soft hitting you in the head has you looking up and meeting his gaze by accident. you don’t miss the quiet amusement that courses through him as you stumble to grab the stack of papers he graciously put on your head.

“if you wanted to borrow notes, you could have just said so. it’s not like i’m going to bite your head off.” his voice is stern but if you listen closely, you’ll realize there’s an undercut of playfulness in them as you beam at him.

“thank you so much, mydei!” you express your gratitude as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“go share them with the class, i still need to catch up with the council on something.”

mydei turns to leave but you call out to him. he slightly turns his head to look at your almost flustered smile, “what is it?”

you hold his notes close to your chest as you grin at him, “thank you, really! you don’t understand how much everyone needs these right now.”

he huffs in response and waves you goodbye and you turn to run back to your classroom to spread the good news that no one will be failing this year.

when mydei enters the council meeting with the other class representatives, castorice greets with a curious tilt of his head—she questions the smile on his face as he sits down at his usual spot but he only shrugs it off. mydei plays it off as finding something funny on the internet, which was strange. mydei rarely finds anything funny, let alone if they came from the internet.

he takes tentative sips from the coffee agalaea had generously provided for everyone, and he doesn’t miss the way a pair of eyes follow his every movement. he catches phainon from one corner staring at him with furrowed brows as he twirls the pen in his fingers while the council secretary at the front scowls at him. you may not remember, but back in middle school, when no one wanted to share a table with the delinquent, you sat next to him without question and offered him a spare pen when you realized he didn’t have one. to this day, mydei still use that pen even if the ink had long run out—he just wants to show off the item with your name on it.

292 notes · View notes

power-handmaiden · 1 day ago

Text

Tinglepost 367: Journalist Pounded By The Physical Manifestation Of An Egregiously Mishandled Group Text From Members Of The Tromp Administration Containing Highly Sensitive Government Information

First off, many thanks to @kuraness and another anonymous bud for giving me some funds to get back on the Chuck Tingle patreon. Money is tight for me right now and it means a lot to keep that little bit of joy in my life!!

So, clearly, I was hyped for it as soon as I saw the title of this tingler. It's so fun to enjoy current events tinglers in the moment. I haven't really been expecting a lot of them- hell, when I had the opportunity I even asked Dr. Tingle about his plans for political tinglers in 2025 and he understandably said he wasn't planning to get back into them so much.

But... this situation is just too perfect for a tingler. It doesn't even need that much embellishment to fit into the Tingleverse. It's already suitably absurd. That means that the tingler's focus can be less on creating its own version of the events, and more on the emotional context surrounding it.

This story isn't one created in spite of Dr. Tingle's aforementioned lack of interest in returning to the political tingler writing of 2016-2020. No, that context is a deeply entrenched part of it. The political news these days is a constant fresh torrent of absurdity, and covering it all is beyond the scope of even the world's greatest author. Still, here's an outstanding event that can even cut through that overwhelming flow and stand out. That is both the overarching tone, and a subject of this tingler.

This is what I love about current events tinglers. They don't just capture the event itself. They capture the emotions of the time. When I read an old one, it brings me back to how that moment felt. When I read a new one, it feels like talking with a good friend about that thing we're all talking about, and having a good laugh about it.

The end of this tingler very explicitly addresses Dr. Tingle's feelings in this moment, but even if it didn't, they show throughout the story. It's the release of emotion that comes from having an event like this to latch on to, the commentary and the erotica alike are a beautiful catharsis from all the news we've been beaten down by lately.

#2024 tingles my butt #Is over. But it feels right to continue with the same tag.#Chuck Tingle

266 notes · View notes

seasidefallenangel · 7 hours ago

Text

now say i'm the only one you need

ranking the bllk men on how good of a boyfriend they are ft. isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, chigiri hyoma, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, karasu tabito, otoya eita, yukimiya kenyu, michael kaiser, alexis ness

song from here listen to it to get a kiss from me

༄ isagi: 10/10

one third of the “perfect boyfriend trio.” he’s incredibly attentive of all your needs and overall is very good at balancing his soccer career with your relationship. dictionary definition of “walk him like a dog.” anything you say goes and he’s more than happy with things being that way. actually has a pretty high tolerance for whatever things you might put him through, he tends to be good at solving problems before they can spiral out of control. the most you’ll have to deal with is the fact he can be kind of on the more awkward and shy side of things, unsure how to really be in a relationship. he wasn’t really popular or well known at all before blue lock, so at most he had crushes that were one-sided. his friends joke and tease about how you’ve got him wrapped around your finger. he doesn’t even care that they’re right.

༄ bachira: 9/10

the thing with bachira is that you’re not gonna date him unless you’re okay with all of his quirks, so there’s really nothing “bad” or unexpected going into the relationship. at his worst he can be clingy and a smidge overbearing, but he’s terrified of you deciding you want something more, better than him. he’s very easy going because of this, and really won’t have any disagreements with whatever ideas strike you. you’re actually a rock in this life, and he feels safe confiding all the thoughts clawing at his mind when he’s being held in your arms. despite what people may think, he does have a calmer temperament to him - generally after practice or late at night. he’s a big cuddle bug and will most likely fall asleep on your stomach, clinging to you so you can’t leave him.

༄ chigiri: 5/10

rose-glasses off, chigiri kinda sucks. he’s very selfish without the whole egoist thing going on, and it’s confirmed in canon that a lot of people get turned off by his personality after being drawn in by his looks. he obviously has some interest in you if you’re dating, but that doesn’t mean his bad traits magically go away. his mindset is very “me before you.” if you’re arguing he’s going to bring up points for the sole purpose of hurting you because he has to be right. he has too much pride to admit when he's wrong but also to apologize for his actions. on the opposite side of that, though, is compliments and the like are easy for him to give you. he’s pretty open with his opinions so if he likes a certain thing about you he has no qualms with telling you as such. he would never deny you're dating and generally likes to show you off, wanting everyone to know he bagged an incredible person. he’s not the worst person to date, but it probably won’t be worth anything as a long term relationship.

༄ nagi: 6/10

nagi is my favorite character and that’s why i need to say this. he does have some merit for what it’s worth. he’s very physically affectionate and is also really easy to be around. i see him as being more open to compromise if you’re stern enough with him. he might complain a bit but he’s not that hard to convince. the biggest issue with him is that he just… doesn’t care. if he goes to a new cafe with you it’s cause you asked him, not because he wanted to. it’s not that he doesn’t love you, he just doesn’t process things like this in his brain. the concept of ‘doing things for your partner before they ask’ doesn’t click. he’s not a mind reader, so isn’t just being vocal about what you want the easiest? he doesn’t really expect much from you as a partner so easily grows confused at why you have these random demands and expectations from him when you know exactly how he is. it might not be a dealbreaker, but it does make you question if he’s ever actually enjoying his time with you.

༄ reo: 8/10

reo’s biggest issues are 1.) he's absurdly jealous and 2.) his money. the thing with his money is the fact he uses it almost as a deflector of sorts. if you have a genuine problem you need to sort out with him, he's giving you new jewelry, designer bags, dinners at michelin star restaurants instead of talking it out. he doesn’t want to give you the chance to bring up your displeasure in regards to something he’s done. it’s his default answer because it’s the only thing people have wanted from him. reo is actually very scared of conflict. he’s worried you’ll leave him at the first sign of him not being the picture perfect boyfriend that’s expected from him, which ties into the jealousy. if someone has a trait you admire, he’ll mold himself to fit that thing you seem to like. he hates when you even acknowledge other people’s talents or attractive features (save for nagi.) speaking of nagi, it’s played out but i do believe he’s the only person reo will share you with. if nagi wants to cuddle, kiss, act like your boyfriend, reo has no issue as long as he’s involved too. when you’re someone reo truly loves, he’ll let you do pretty much anything to him with no repercussions. it’s very easy to take advantage of him as long as you promise stay by his side.

༄ rin: 7/10

no matter how much he denies it, rin tries very hard to be sae. he wants to be the nonchalant boyfriend, never losing his cool and making it seem like you’re always running back for more. in truth, he couldn’t be more obvious about how badly he needs you. he has this sort of non-stop identity crisis going so he’s going to have this front of “fine with you, fine without you.” he wants you to think he doesn’t need you that bad because he’s worried you’ll seem him as weak. the thing that makes it obvious is that when you’re threatening to leave because he’s just too hot and cold, he caves instantly. teeth gritted, he’ll ask what you want him to change, what kind of person should he be for you? after sae, he became so desperately starved for love that the second you started dating he felt like he was suffocating, always needing your validation but unable to ask for it. similarly to reo, he’s easy to take advantage of if you insinuate that you’re unhappy with something currently in your relationship. be gentle because you can break him apart and he’ll always think it was his fault.

༄ sae: 9/10

i’m gonna go against the grain and say that sae is actually a great boyfriend because he wouldn’t bother getting into a relationship to begin with if he didnt think it’s worth his time. he’s an incredibly self assured person so he has no reason to be all wishy-washy with who he’s interested. sae’ll make it clear he wants to date you and obviously you’re reciprocating because duh, he’s sae itoshi. from the get go he’ll remind you that soccer is his career, his lifeblood, and while he loves you more, his priorities lay there. the fact he straight up admits it instead of letting it become a festering issue is exactly why he’s so good because neither of you will have wasted time in the relationship. he’s also easier to talk to than one might think. sae generally believes drawn out arguments are pointless and wasting energy on them doesn’t help anyone, so any that you two have are squashed pretty quickly. affection comes pretty easily to him but he can be a little emotionally absent at his worst. it’s not really something that changes over time, but he has other methods of making sure you know he adores you. it’s very “what you see is what you get.” if you’re acquainted with him at all, there’s really no negative surprises or unexpected twists that put a damper on the romance between you both. if nothing else, he makes sure the whole world know exactly who you belong to, and it leaves you with no room to doubt he plans to keep you by his side forever.

༄ karasu: 10/10

one third of the “perfect boyfriend trio.” this is generally a shock to people who know the kind of company he keeps around but the thing is that karasu doesn’t approve of otoya’s behavior. he goes from insinuating otoya could be doing better things with his time than leading girls on to flat out telling him he’s pathetic for not holding down a relationship. most of the girls who have their hearts broken by otoya fall in love with karasu right after from how kindly he treats them and the way he apologizes for his friends nasty habits. karasu holds a lot of respect for you as a person since he’s attracted to people he can analyze and read into. a common bonding activity is just him asking your opinions on certain topics or how you’d approach a theoretical situation and he’ll sit back and listen, trying to dig into your mind. he’s also very self aware of his flaws and will admit he isn’t perfect but is always working to better himself (“his weakness is that he can't be nice to people he thinks are mediocre and knows he needs to fix that.”) it’s not like you’ll never have issues, but he always resolves them in a way that doesn’t add tension or doubt to your relationship. he’s also good with all 5 love languages and prefers to show them all to you, but if you have ones you prefer or dislike then he can easily adjust. he’s always listening to you, learning about you, wanting to be the best version of himself he can for you.

༄ otoya: 6/10

the glaring bone of contention with otoya is obvious to anyone who knows him - but not in the way you think. otoya can be a good boyfriend if he wants ; he knows what girls like, what makes them happy, how to keep them satisfied. he’s had enough practice for it to be second nature. once you're in a genuine relationship with him, he’s going to treat you pretty well. thing is - that’s exactly his problem. in the back of your head you know why he’s so good at this. you know you’re an idiot for thinking you can change him despite the fact you did. it’s just impossible to believe. every time he tries to reassure you that yes, you’re his only, he doesn’t want to go back to his old ways, you’re just staring at him thinking to yourself, ‘wonder how many times he’s used this line on someone.’ you’re just never going to have a sense of security with him because there’s always this lingering "what if" bouncing around. the worst part is that it’s not an unreasonable line of thought. mindless paranoia is one thing, but there’s so much proof against him that you’d be more humiliated for assuming he isn’t cheating on you - you can’t date a serial cheater and be really that mad or shocked if he does. you know what you signed up for accepting his confession, so your entire viewpoint is that it’s a matter of ‘when’ and not ‘if’. you can never ever say with full confidence he's 100% yours, even when he is.

༄ yukimiya: 10/10

one third of the “perfect boyfriend trio.” i know it’s like beating a dead horse since this is a commonly shared sentiment but he really is incredible. a big part of the reason why is actually the fact he’s emotionally mature. he’s in tune with how he feels and knows how to convey it respectfully but isn’t so set in his ways he can’t see what points you want to make if you were to disagree on something. something else is that he’s very good at reading your micro-behaviors and can fall in line pretty well with how you act without compromising his own personality (in comparison to how someone like bachira or alexis would.) if you tend to be on the shyer side, not really one to defend yourself, he has no issue stepping in and solving whatever problem is going on. on the flip if you are more outgoing and not scared to bite at people then he'll fall back, only intervening when he can sense things’ll get ugly if he doesn’t tug on your leash a little bit. something he particularly enjoys doing is picking up hobbies or skills that you enjoy or would appreciate. he’ll learn how to cook if you hate it or asks you to read your favorite books to him at night, wrapped in his arms while he presses a gentle kiss against your temple.

༄ kaiser: 4/10 to 8/10

the thing with kaiser is that he’s a really good boyfriend, but you have to go through hell to get to that point. he has so many walls and has all these little “tests” where he tries to catch you using him for his money, status, looks, etc. kaiser wants to convince himself that love obviously isn’t real ; look at his parents for god’s sake. so he’s always trying to plan some “gotcha” thing and catch you in the act. the issue is, he doesn’t. you’re really like this from the bottom of your heart and he can’t wrap his head around that fact. so he goes to the emotion he knows best - anger. he’s lashing out at you for lying to him, accusing you of all sorts of things because surely there’s no way this is real, that he has something fully his, someone who cherishes him and sees him for his best. this entire process isn’t a few months either - this is a good two or three years. he has a lot of built up trauma to navigate both on his own and with you. if you somehow have the conviction to get through this then he’ll be a really incredible guy to have around. he loves you so fiercely that he’d rather die than let the one good thing he’s been gifted to slip from his fingers, but everyone in your life is going to hate him by then and insist he hasn’t changed, feeling like you’re going to eventually be broken by him.

༄ alexis: ?/10

alexis is actually pretty similar to bachira, just more extreme. in any other context, his obsessions would be viewed as something of concern or distasteful but dating alexis means you already would know about it and in turn only get into a relationship if you were okay with it. it’s not as if his attachment to kaiser is a secret. if you’re going in with the “i can fix him” mentality then you’ve doomed yourself already. you have to already accept his quirks and such to really reach him in a way that matters. a relationship with him is this unending back and forth. you're actually not really going to be viewed as this untouchable deity because he's already yours. he doesn't have to prove his worth like with kaiser. the thing is that kaiser molded who he is now so kaiser is kind of his tie to humanity - without him, alexis doesn’t really have much keeping him tied to earth. don’t think you’re not important to him because and he’s going to insane lengths for you to accept his unhealthy outlets of showing his love and devotion to you. he feels so much more human with you because you’re giving him the attention that he has to beg kaiser for but without the requirements to earn it - you just love him naturally. he’s not trying to prove that he deserves your love, he’s trying to prove that he loves you just as much back but he doesn’t know how to do it normally. he doesn’t know how to offer himself to you in a way that isn’t self destructive. he’s stuck in this non-stop cycle of you trying to convince him he doesn’t need to like earn your love and him thinking that it’s you saying he’s not doing enough to to earn your love and thus he goes to more extremes. if you can handle it then he’s great for you, you’ll never question that he’s madly in love with you. but if you get overwhelmed then he grows more unstable, and you’re stuck trying to make him better while he makes himself worse to hopefully get you to finally praise him for shattering who he is.

#sae itoshi x reader #rin itoshi x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #reo mikage x reader #alexis ness x reader #bachira meguru x reader #chigiri hyoma x reader #bllk x reader #karasu tabito x reader #otoya eita x reader #yukimiya kenyu x reader

173 notes · View notes

checkeredflagggs · 2 days ago

Text

Mr. and Mrs. ??

pairing: liam lawson x singer!reader

summary: What to do when you get married in Vegas, wake up alone with only your half of the marriage certificate? Wonder what your new last name is and sing about it at the F1 75 Live show.

a/n:what? is? happening? in? Redbull? like seriously?? I can’t even…

a/n2: some affectionate swearing is included

Masterlist | Taglist

y/n

liked by user, user, charles_leclerc, and 5,823,193 others

y/n: Hey mama, I made it! From my little garage concerts to playing in the Sphere! It was an amazing experience and I’d do it again in a heartbeat — Thank you Las Vegas!

view all comments

user1: what a concert!

↳user2: was it as amazing as it looks?

↳user1: it was so much better

user3: you looked ethereal in those lights

↳user4: i mean she always does — a face card that never declines

↳user3: oh but she shone brighter than the Strip tonight

user5: ok but why is a vroom vroom boy in my girl’s likes?

↳user6: Right? That’s what I want to know

↳charles_leclerc: talent recognizes talent?

↳user7: we stan a king that knows a good thing when he hears it

user8: jealous of literally everyone in Vegas this weekend — Max winning WDC, Mercedes dominating, AND y/n’s final show in the Sphere?!?

↳user9: as someone who was at both?? Immaculate vibes. 100+/10, would definitely do it again

↳user8: you have no idea how jealous I am…

user10: ok but what are the chances we get an f1 x y/n crossover???

↳user11: just because they’re all in Vegas doesn’t mean they have to interact??

↳user10: but wouldn’t you like to see that?

↳user11: …ok yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s necessarily gonna happen

↳user12: we could only hope…

y/n

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 4,920,293 others

y/n: celebrating my last night here and I met some guys that can party almost as well as I can!

view all comments

user13: girl that is 4x World Champion Max Verstappen and runner up Lando Norris

↳y/n: Mr. Drink Man and Mr. Music Man!

↳landonorris: MS MUSIC

↳user14: oh I love it when y/n drunk posts

↳user13: she’s hilarious 😂

maxverstappen1: Ms. Music! Where are you!

↳y/n: IM AT THE BAR. WHERE ARE YOU

↳user15: why are you typing in all caps?

↳y/n: ITS VERY LOUF IM HERR

↳user16: You’re typing in all caps because it’s loud in the bar?

↳y/n: YED

charles_leclerc: Hou’re lartying wiyh us? Where? I WANNA MERT YOU

↳y/n: HI IM AT THE BAR

↳charles_leclerc: IM AT THE BAR. YOU ARNT AT THE BAE

↳y/n: SHHH A CUTE BOY SAID I WAS PWETY

↳charles_leclerc: BUT I WAMTRD TP MEET YOI

↳user17: this is the best thing to come from Vegas this year and I’m a max fan 😂😂

y/n has posted a story, charles_leclerc has posted a story, yukitsunoda0511 has posted a story

[DRINKD EITH MT NEE FRIENDS][@.y/n WHERR SRE YOI???][I leave him alone for just a minute…]

user18 replied are your new friends f1 drivers??

user20 replied loving the energy here

user21 replied I know you go crazy in Vegas but I think you’re going a little far…

yourbff replied bitch take a drink for me!

↳y/n oh you know it!

landonorris replied WHERR ARE YOU BESTIE

↳y/n drinks!!

↳landonorris YES BUT WHERR

pierregasly replied calmar where are you?

↳charles_leclerc IM LOIKING FOR MY NEW BEDTFRUEND

↳pierregasly you have a new best friend?

↳charles_leclerc YES HRR NANE IS Y/N AND SHED THE VERY BEDT

maxverstappen1 replied WHAY DID YOI DO WITH Y/N

↳charles_leclerc IM LOOLING FOR HER NOW

↳maxverstappen1 YOI LODT HER??

↳charles_leclerc NOO

↳charles_leclerc MAYBE

user22 replied how do you lose a woman??

user23 replied man how much have you had to drink??

user24 replied who is that??

user25 replied is…is that Liam?? And a girl??

user26 replied now you’re even shorter!!

user27 replied man I’m so jealous right now…

user28 replied what I wouldn’t give to be in Vegas right now…

Private Messages, y/n and yourbff

Private Messages, Yuki and Liam

(Translations — Idiot, How are you so stupid, idiot, lol)

Private Messages, the Grid (Unserious)

y/n

liked by charles_leclerc, yourbff, user, and 4,824,029 others

y/n: had some thoughts, sang some tunes…surprise coming soon!

view all comments

user29: oh my god NOBODY TALK TO ME

user30: this was NOT on my bingo card for the year…

↳user31: it absolutely was not

yourbff: is this about you know who??

↳y/n: shut up?

↳user32: does y/n have a boy now?? liked by yourbff

user33: Surprise? What surprise? What’s happening??

↳user34: 🤞🤞🤞 it’s new music

user35: ok but who is the muse? y/n has talked about how she only writes when she’s been inspired…

↳user36: is it a breakup? has she been seeing someone?

↳user37: not to our knowledge?

charles_leclerc: New music? Without me?

↳user38: Stop. Wait. What? When? Who? Why?

↳y/n: Vegas

↳charles_leclerc: Vegas!

↳user39: Not the pairing or situation I was expecting to come from Vegas…

↳y/n: haha

↳charles_leclerc: …

↳user39: wait what?? What is that?? What’s happening??

y/n

liked by charles_leclerc, user, user, and 3,924,103 others

y/n: my new single “Who Are You” is out now!

view all comments

user40: oh my god yes!!

↳user41: I’ve been praying for days like this..

↳user40: big mood!

user42: best birthday present ever!!

user43: ok but this song? slaps? like the best ever?

↳user44: I wanna know who it’s about!

↳user49: Same! The yearning…the confusion…the wishfulness of it…

↳user50: ok but what if that’s the point?

↳user51: what do you mean?

↳user50: maybe y/n had a mysterious guy and she doesn’t actually know who it was?

user52: love this!

↳user53: gonna be the song of the year for real

y/n

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, landornorris, and 4,822,193 others

y/n: I’m happy to announce I’ll be performing at the F1 75 Live show this February!

view all comments

user54: oh my god yes!!

↳user55: IM SO EXCITED

user56: this is the best news ever!

↳user57: oh the fomo…

charles_leclerc: it’ll be good to see you again!

↳y/n: yes it will!

↳user58: still don’t really understand how this friendship was born…

maxverstappen1: this might actually be interesting…

↳y/n: well hello to you too Mr. Drink Man!

↳maxverstappen1: Ms. Music!

↳user59: this is even more unexpected…

liamlawson30: wait a minute…

DM’s, Liam and y/n

liamlawson30

liked by yukitsunoda0511, lorgansargeant, pierregasly and 492,920 others

liamlawson30: days with you 💙

view all comments

user60: soft launching? in this economy?

user61: what in the world?

yukitsunoda0511: What? Something you want to share with the class?

↳logansargeant: Seriously? Not even a heads up in the gc?

↳liamlawson30: shockingly you aren’t part of my relationship?

↳user62: relationship confirmation!

oscarpiastri: is this what i think it is?

↳landonorris: i think it is!

↳user63: ok but what do you guys know??

↳liamlawson30: generally, nothing

↳oscarpiastri: bold words for someone in your position…

f1gossip

liked by user, user, user and 1,824,240 others

tagged: liamlawson30

f1gossip: Liam is letting out the juicy gossip today — when asked about what races he was looking forward to this year, he mentioned how he liked Vegas although it probably wasn’t going to be as exciting as last year.

view all comments

user64: ok but does anyone remember yuki’s story from last year?

↳user65: No? Why would we?

↳user64: he posted that he lost someone while at Vegas!

↳user65: So you think he lost Liam? And what?

↳user64: well what is Vegas really know for?

↳user65: Do you seriously think he got married in Vegas?

user66: I’m gonna go with the very mundane reason — max won his WDC last year in Vegas…

↳user67: same thoughts here…

user68: idk I think I’m with user64…Liam had the look of a man in love…

↳user69: oh I see the delulu is strong this season…

↳user70: ok but you’re the one who thinks Ferrari is capable of having a perfect strategy?

liamlawson30

liked by y/n, yukitsunoda0511, logansargeant, and 1,284,592 others

tagged: y/n

liamlawson30: a little late but here’s to a honeymoon with you 🥂 💍

view all comments

user71: HONEYMOON?!??

↳user72: What is the Sebastian Vettal is this???

y/n: better late than never!

↳logansargeant: hi! I’m Logan and I’m one of Liam’s best friends. Where did you come from?

↳liamlawson30: go bother her on your own post?

↳liamlawson30: and y/n…better with you than anyone else 💙 liked by y/n

user73: Liam? Is? Romantic?

↳yukitsunoda0511: since when??

↳user74: that’s what we’re trying to figure out!?!

user75: silly season is starting early again this year…

↳user76: this better not be like last years’ silly season — my heart can’t take it..

user77: ok but how did HE pull HER?? liked by yukitsunoda0511, logansargeant

↳user78: asking the real questions here…

y/n

liked by liamlawson30, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, and 6,273,193 others

tagged: liamlawson30

y/n: all wife’d up! (And we both go down 🥵)

view all comments

user79: I don’t think either pr team is gonna like that caption…

↳user80: who cares about the caption — look at those photos…

liamlawson30: babe really?

↳y/n: 🥵🥵🥵🤤🤤🤤

↳user81: oh these 2 are gonna be my new favorites…

user82: can Liam fight? Like can he fight?

↳logansargeant: no

↳liamlawson30: I can and I will liked by y/n

↳y/n: that’s hot

charles_leclerc: your mysterious Vegas girl is y/n????

↳y/n: awww he told you about me?

↳alex_albon: i mean we did learn about you…

↳logansargeant: some of you did!

↳alex_albon: oops 🙊

user83: did you guys really get married in Vegas??

↳y/n: we did! And we ended with our own half of the marriage certificate so we didn’t even know who we got married too…

↳user84: how even did you find each other?

↳liamlawson30: I saw her at the f1 show and knew she was the one… liked by y/n

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @mxm47max @justaf1girl @a-beaverhausen @tallrock35 @elizamoe133 @jessica3478 @il0vereadingstuff @taylorrrrrrrrrrswiftttt @widow-cevans @1-of-my-many-obsessions @charlesgirl16 @anunstablefangirl @Lilbitchfromfaraway @evie-119 @sugarfreerbr @princessesgarden @tukes @mayax2o07 @teti-menchon0604 @galaxygurlll @raizelchrysanderoctavius

222 notes · View notes

lulujamesspencer · 1 day ago

Text

I think for sensitivity/authenticity readers you need to approach it like any other outside reader or editor: approach it as you would a therapist and pick one that fits with your style of working, actually reads and likes your genre, and will be able to give their edits/critiques in a way that is accurate AND kind. This is especially important for neurodiverse folks (solidarity fist bump to my RSD neurodiverse folks).

Story: About 10 years ago, I graduated seminary and had an idea for a theological non-fiction book on mulit-faith spirituality, which also strayed into politics and other issues. I wrote an introduction that I thought was good and interesting, so I sent it to someone who I thought would give me good advice on some of the topics, since she had experience in those areas, and maybe point out if I'd gone too far afield with some of the topics.

When I got their comments back, it was devastating and soul crushing. They ripped it to shreds, and, in areas I thought we shared similar opinions they shredded my manuscript as if they put it in a wood chipper then stomped on the mulch. Much of it the shredding was due, I think, to a mininterpretation of my wider neurodivergent thinking, but it may just be that I didn't explain myself right or... well, I just don't know, since it was hard to get past their criticisms and telling me how I was completely stupid and wrong about all of it. Now, if their comments were more like, "I don't think I agree with this statement. Did you mean for it to come off saying XYZ?" of "This doesn't happen in my experience, could you explain what your thought process was here?" I probably would have been fine, but instead they were angry and mean and assumed I didn't have knowledge about certain areas when I actually did have extensive knowledge. It was my first foray into non-fiction and as I said earlier, it was soul crushing. I really wanted to write that book, and still wish I could, but to this day I can't even start writing non-fiction without thinking about that and getting extrememly anxious. (And yes, I go to therapy, etc etc) For my fiction stuff, I'm much more careful about who I let read my early drafts. My Wife is my first reader/listener and she loves scifi and fantasy and she's able to give me feedback that's constructive, but also kind and compassionate. I have a great editor who is also very good at giving me constructive edits and feedback, but is also very kind and compassionate in the way she does it. I have a lot of friends from different experiences in life that I am comfortable asking questions of if I need to check things and I'm also very good at research. This, so far, has worked for me, and now I have 5 books of fantasy and science fiction out.

This is also why I self-publish. The constant rejection of traditional publishing would stop me from writing all together. I still can't write non-fiction in book form and that was from just one person who didn't really think about how their criticism would effect me. I also don't do writing groups, as many writing groups use a model that would absolutely ensure I never write again. So, if you are an editor, beta reader, part of a writing group, or even an agent or publisher, know that your rejections, harsh criticisms, or tough love, doesn't improve most writers, especially neurodivergent writers. Know that a lot of writers DO want to do justice to characters from experiences that they don't have experience in. I've heard stories like mine with really mean sensitivity/beta readers, and a number of those people will never write again, or never write publicly again. Please be aware that you can kill someone's passion and talent, possibly permanently.

And writers, be careful who you ask to read your stuff, and if someone has been mean, know that it's not you or your writing. Try not to give up, or give in to the tapes in your head that tell you you're horrible. Find better people to read your stuff.

On sensitivity readers, weakness, and staying alive.

The other day I was part of a Twitter conversation begun by a fellow-author on the subject of sensitivity readers, in which he said that no serious author would use sensitivity readers, and spoke of work being “sanitized”. The conversation devolved, as it often does on Twitter, but it got me thinking. It must have got someone else thinking too, because a journalist from the Sunday Times got in touch with me the next day, and asked me to share my ideas on the subject. Because I have no control over how my words are used in the Press, or in what context they might appear, here’s more or less what I told her.

I think a lot of people (some of them authors, most of them not) misunderstand the role of a sensitivity reader. That’s probably mostly because they’ve never used one, and are misled by the word “sensitivity”, which, in a world of toxic masculinity, is often mistaken for weakness. To these people, hiring someone to check one’s work for sensitivity purposes implies a surrendering of control, a shift in the balance of power.

In some ways, I can empathize. Most authors feel a tremendous sense of attachment to their work. Giving it to someone else for comment is often stressful. And yet we do: we hand over our manuscripts to specialists in grammar, spelling or plot construction. We allow them to comment. We take their advice. We call these people editors and copy-editors, and they are a good and necessary part of the process of being an author. Their job is to make an author’s work as accurate and well-polished as possible.

When writing non-fiction, authors sometimes use fact-checkers at the editorial stage, to make sure that no embarrassing factual mistakes make it into print. This fact-checking is a normal part of the writing process. We owe it to our readers to be as accurate as possible. No-one wants to look as if they don’t know what they’re talking about.

That’s why now, increasingly, when writing about the lives and experiences of others, we sometimes use readers with different specialities. That’s because, however great our imagination, however well-travelled we may be and however many books we have read, there will always be gaps in our knowledge of the way other people live, or feel, or experience the world. Without the input of those with first-hand knowledge, there’s always a danger we will slip up. That’s why crime writers often consult detectives when researching their detective fiction, or someone writing a hospital drama might find it useful to talk to a surgeon, or a nurse, or to someone with the medical condition they are planning to use in their narrative. That’s why someone writing about divorce, or disability, or being adopted, or being trans, or being homeless, or being a sex worker, or being of a different ethnicity, or of a different culture – might find it useful to take the advice of someone with more experience.

There are a number of ways to do this. One of my favourites is The Human Library, which allows subscribers to talk to all kinds of people and ask them questions about their lives (Check them out at https://humanlibrary.org/). The other possibility is to hire a specialist sensitivity reader to go through your manuscript and check it. Both can be a valuable resource, and I doubt many authors would believe that their writing is sanitized, or diluted, or diminished by using these resources.

And yet, the concept of the sensitivity readers – which is basically another version of the specialist editor and fact-checker – continues to cause outrage and panic among those who see their use as political correctness gone mad, or unacceptable wokery, or bowdlerization, or censorship. The Press hasn’t helped. Outrage sells copies, and therefore it isn’t in the interest of the national media to point out the truth behind the ire.

Let’s look at the facts.

First, it isn’t obligatory to use a sensitivity reader. It’s a choice. I’ve used several, both officially and unofficially, for many different reasons, just as I’ve always tried to speak to people with experience when writing characters with disabilities, or from different cultures or ethnic groups. I know that my publisher already sends my work to readers of different ages and from different backgrounds, and I always run my writing past my son, who often has insights that I lack.

Sensitivity reading is a specialist editorial service. It isn’t a political group, or the woke brigade, or an attempt to overthrow the status quo. It’s simply a writing resource; a means of reaching the widest possible audience by avoiding inaccuracy, clumsiness, or the kind of stereotyping that can alienate or pull the reader out of the story.

Sensitivity readers don’t go around crossing out sections of an author’s work and writing RACIST!!! in the margin. Usually, it’s more on the lines of pointing out details the author might have missed, or failed to consider: avoiding misinformation; suggesting authentic details that only a representative of a particular group would know.

Authors can always refuse advice. That’s their prerogative. If they do, however, and once their book is published, they receive criticism or ridicule because their book was insufficiently researched, or inauthentic, or was perceived as perpetuating harmful or outdated stereotypes, then they need to face and deal with the consequences. With power comes responsibility. We can’t assume one, and ignore the other,

Being more aware of the experiences of others doesn’t mean we have to stop writing problematic characters. Sensitivity reading isn’t about policing bad behaviour in books. It’s perfectly possible to write a thoroughly unpleasant character without suggesting that you’re condoning their behaviour. Sensitivity is about being more authentic, not less.

People noticed bigotry and racism in the past, too. Some people feel that books published a hundred years ago are somehow more pure, or more free, or more representative of the author’s vision than books published now. You often hear people say things like: “If Dickens were around today, he wouldn’t get published.”

But Dickens is still published. We still get to read Oliver Twist, in spite of its anti-Semitism. And those who believe that Dickens’ anti-Semitism was accepted as normal by his contemporaries probably don’t know that not only was he criticized by his peers for his depiction of Fagin, he actually went back and changed the text, removing over 200 references, after receiving criticism by a Jewish reader. And no, it wasn’t “normal” to be anti-Semitic in those days: Wilkie Collins, whose work was as popular as Dickens’ own, managed to write a range of Jewish characters without relying on harmful and inaccurate stereotypes.

But it isn’t automatic that a book will survive its author. Books all have shelf lives, just as we do, and Dickens’ work has survived in spite of his anti-Semitism, not because of it. The work of many others has not. Books are for readers, and if an author loses touch with their readers - either by clinging to outdated tropes, or using outdated vocabulary, or having an outdated style – then their books will cease to be published, and they will be forgotten. It happens all the time. What one generation loves and admires may be rejected by the next. And the language is always changing. Nowadays, it’s hard to read some books that were popular 100 years ago. Styles have changed, sometimes too much for the reader to tolerate.

Recently, someone on tumblr asked about my use of the word “gypsy” in Chocolat, and whether I meant to have it changed in later editions. (River-gypsies is the term I use in connection with Roux and the river people, who are portrayed in a positive light, although they are often victims of prejudice.) It was an interesting question, and I gave it a lot of thought. When I wrote the book 25 years ago, the word “gypsy” was widely used by the travelling community, and as far as I knew, wasn’t considered offensive. Nowadays, there’s a tendency to regard it as a slur. That’s why I stopped using it in my later Chocolat books. No-one told me to. It was my choice. I don’t feel as if I’ve lost any of my artistic integrity by taking into account the fact that a word has a different resonance now. On the other hand, I don’t feel that at this stage I need to go back and edit the book I wrote. That’s because Chocolat is a moment in time. It uses the language of the moment. Let it stand for as long as it can.

But I don’t have to stay in one place. I can move on. I can change. Change is how we show the world that we are still alive. That we are still able to feel, and to learn, and to be aware of others. That’s what “sensitive” means, after all. And it is nothing like weakness. Living, changing, learning – that’s hard. Playing dead is easy.

4K notes · View notes

sports-on-sundays · 24 hours ago

Note

Hello hello, I am back with another request! It's with Oscar again but friends to lovers. Hear me out, the most cliche thing ever. Oscar loves her, she loves him but both too dense to realise it. They are out and about and another dude corners her and tries to make out with her, Oscar saves the day (make him protective and violent pls, make him punch the guy (side note: I would pay money to see Oscar actually punch someone, don't ask me why idk🙈)). So then he comforts her, takes her home and she asks him to stay. I will leave the rest of the convo to you🤗. Let there be a first kiss and cuddle I beg I am the biggest sucker for those bcs Oscar seems like the best guy to have your firsts with.

Holy hell that's a long ass request haha. Thank you for reading all that🤣 have fun with it and feel free to change things up a little bit if you want to!

be / OP81

Summary: Oscar x female!best childhood friend!Australian!reader - You and Oscar are finally forced to realize your feelings for each other.

Warnings: panicking, someone forcing himself onto another person, blood, crying, i did change up the request a little bit 🤏, feeling sick

Requested: Yes! And don't worry about the long request, I really liked it, and thanks so much for requesting! Long requests are better sometimes anyway.

Author's Note: Guys I'm starting to think I seriously need my very own Oscar Piastri....

"It wasn't even that funny-"

"It wasn't even that funny!"

Both you and Oscar look up to who it was mockingly imitating Oscar's friendly teasing, and your eyes set themselves upon Lando Norris, smirking obnoxiously.

"What's your problem?" you demand, crossing your arms, most of the laughter from Oscar's joke that he made fives minutes ago (yes, you were still laughing your head off at it) gone.

"What do you mean? I'm just kidding. It's just funny how your boyfriend can make the most dumb joke, and send you both into a ten minute laughing fit-"

"Boyfriend?" you and Oscar seem to ask incredulously in sink.

The smile falls off of Lando's face this time, and is replaced by a look of surprise and confusion. "Waaaait... So you're trying to tell me you guys aren't dating?"

Oscar blinks a few times in confusion. "Y/n and I are just friends. We always have been."

"Yeah," you add quickly, nodding. "I don't know why everyone thinks differently."

Lando's eyebrows raise in amusement. "Maybe because you guys act like you're mad in love...? Like, all the time? Or maybe the fact that you come to every single one of our races? Or maybe it's the way you look at each other with heart eyes, like the other one is the only one in the room? I mean, I don't know. It could be the way you're always giggling and talking and yapping to each other... But, oh, what do I and everybody else know?"

"Good question," Oscar deadpans. "What do you know?"

Lando shrugs, rollings his eyes, and struts away. As soon as he's gone, Oscar turns back to you with a little shrug and says, "Sorry about that. I guess nobody gets that two people can love each other as friends without feeling romantic feelings..."

You nod, shrugging. It makes sense to you, simply because that's how it's always been with you and Oscar, forever. The two of you practically slept in the same crib (not literally!). You always just assumed he's like a brother or something, and it doesn't pay to consider anything else. So you haven't. Too risky, and besides- that's not worth it to waste your time thinking about. You like things just the way they are, no need to change them.

"-Y/n?"

"Hm?!" you look up, snapping out of your pondering.

Oscar smiles at you, his brown eyes soft, like they always are when he looks at you. You smile back, eyes equally as warm as he says, "Did you hear me?" in amusement.

You chuckle, "No, sorry."

He nods, giving your shoulder a little pat as he stands up. "I've got to go now get ready for the race. First of the season. Wish me luck!"

"Luck isn't needed," you say with a little grin. "You've got enough skill alone to win it."

He grins. "I guess. But luck never hurts, does it?"

"Not at all." You stand up with him and give him a quick half-hug, saying gentler, "Drive safe, and bring it home. I'll be cheering you on."

"Like always?"

"Like always."

"Hey, Y/n?"

You look up from your phone, shutting it off. You're sitting alone, long after the 2025 season opening race, the Australian Grand Prix, has ended. You haven't seen Oscar since the race ended, and have just been sitting around, not wanting to go home until you have a chance to talk with him. And there he is, standing there, back in his regular clothes: a black sweatshirt, sweatpants, and sneakers, looking thoroughly sleepy.

You immediately stand up, smiling, saying simply, "It was a great drive."

"Well, I-"

"Hush. You scored points after what happened, and that's enough, for goodness' sake."

He smiles softly, and though his eyes say a lot more, he just nods and says simply, "Yeah, yeah, you're right. As always."

You nod promptly and say teasingly, "I know!"

He just rolls his eyes and says, already in a better mood just by talking to you, "Mum wanted you over tonight for dinner."

You grin, "She did, did she?"

"You know she always does, whenever I'm around, want me to bring you over. She adores you."

"She's the sweetest," you chuckle. "Well, I wouldn't mind one of your mum's home cooked meals."

Oscar nods, grabbing his coat, and saying, "I agree; that would hit the spot right now. C'mon."

You two make it to the car and get in, before you start heading to Oscar's mother's home. The car ride is mostly silent, but neither of you really mind. It's a comfortable, good kind of silence.

Towards the end of it, though, you ask simply, "So, that's the end of the first race week of the season. How're you feeling?"

Oscar shrugs, thinking for a few moments, before saying, "Hmm... I guess I'd have to say tired, but very hopeful."

You smile. "Good. You just need your beauty rest, huh?"

He glances at you with a cute little smile. "Right."

Dinner is nice. Warm, and reminds you of home, and your childhood, and everything good. And it's perfect for a rainy day like today.

Once he's finished eating, though, Oscar stands up, stretching, from the table, and says, "Well, I should be off to bed..."

"Oh, Oscar, you will give poor Y/n a ride home won't you?" Oscar's mother asks.

He looks over at you with a little smile and nods, saying, "Oh, right, of course."

You walk to the door together, but before Oscar opens the front door to leave, you gently grab his arm and say simply, "Osc."

He looks up from unlocking the door, meeting your eyes. "Hm?" he asks gently.

"You don't need to drive me home. I could get a cab or take the bus or whatever. It's all good. You've had a crazy week, as it is, much crazier than mine-"

"I mean, I was thinking maybe it'd be fine if I didn't drive you home, too, but you don't have to get a cab. I'm sure if I asked, my mum would be fine with you just staying the night or something."

You blink in surprise, but smile at the suggestion. "Oh. Well, I'd hate to bud in-"

He smiles. "You're family, Y/n. Don't worry." He takes your hand, tugging you back towards the dining room, calling, "Mum! Would it be fine if Y/n just stayed the night? We've both had a long day!"

"Oh, of course, honey! Tell her she can make herself just all nice and comfy and at home! Y/n's such a sweetheart, anyways. She's always welcome!"

Oscar smiles, looking at you. "You heard that, right?"

You smile back up at him with a little laugh. "Yeah, I heard that."

He nods, saying, "C'mon, let's go to my room."

The two of you head there, both of you knowing the way to Oscar's childhood bedroom from all the years you used to spend in there together. When you walk in, seeing all the dressers in the same place they always were, and all Oscar's old decorations from his karting days, memories seem to flood back, just like that, and both you and Oscar feel it. You crawl onto his bed, just like you always used to do, flopping down against his pillows, making yourself at home.

Oscar smiles and crawls in next to you. Just like he always used to do, too. "Last time we were both here was..."

"...right after you joined McLaren, right?" you smile at the memory.

"I guess so." He smiles down at you.

"I remember distinctly, one time, you had been gone so, so long, and I asked your mum if I could surprise you when you got home..."

Oscar starts laughing, clearly remembering it to. "Ohhh yeah. I threw open the bedroom door and flopped on my bed, even though you were on it. By the time I saw you and yelped, it was too late."

"Yeah, and I wrapped my arms around you and started tickling you," you say giggling.

He rolls his eyes, grinning. "I remember. By the end of it, I was gasping and near tears. God, Y/n, you know I was tired."

"I know. But I made you laugh and smile, didn't I? And I made you feel better, didn't I?"

"I mean, I was just happy to see you," he says, his gaze comfortably resting on yours.

"I was happy to see you. Do you know how much I missed you those months?"

"You miss me if you don't see me for a week, Y/n, still."

"Why do you think I come to every race that I can?"

"Because I pay for you to?"

You roll your eyes at that, crossing your arms, "I mean, yeah, but that's not the sentiment I was going for!"

He laughs, giving your shoulder a little playful tap. "I know, I know."

You sigh deeply, the sweet silence settling between the two of your for a little while, before murmuring, "And I hope you remember after that tickle attack, when your face was red and you were nearly crying from laughing, I gave you the biggest hug of all time..."

Oscar's face warms at that as he leans a bit closer to you. "Yeah... Yeah, I remember. You wanna know why that moment was special to me?"

"Why?"

"Because that was the moment I realized that there are some people in my life that never truly will leave me. Even if I leave them. And you're one of the best of them. That was when I learned what family is."

You nod slowly, thinking about that for a few moments, before saying, "That's... so sweet. I like it."

Oscar smiles. "Me, too. I like it too. I'm so lucky to have a best friend like you."

"And I so lucky to have a best friend like you."

Oscar smiles at that, nodding, satisfied, before letting out a big yawn, reminding you if a sleepy cat, before folding his hands up into fists and rubbing his watery eyes.

And, as if it's contagious, you let your own yawn, a few moments later.

Oscar smiles, this time more sleepily at you, before slipping his arm over your shoulders and pulling you a little closer to himself. You flop your head to lean against his shoulder, and murmur, "Time for us both to get the much-needed rest our bodies are begging us for?"

"Mmm-hm. Yeah. Whatever you said," Oscar murmurs as he drifts off, the hint of a smile still lingering on his mostly relaxed face.

And you both drift off, surrounded by that perfect warmth and tranquility that feels just like home.

A little under a week later, you're sleeping against Oscar in a very similar position, feeling like you're just as at home in China than you are in Australia, simply because of the person you're resting against, when you're awakened by the painful claims, "I ship it, the mechanics ship it, the other teams' drivers ship it, the fans ship it. My God, even my mum ships it! Literally everyone can see you're mad in love except you and her!"

You stretch, your eyes fluttering open, and murmur before you're even sure it's Lando's unwanted yapping torturing your ears, "Landooo shut uppp..."

Oscar gives your shoulder a squeeze, groaning to Lando in his perfectly alert awake state (contrary to yours), "Look at that, Lando, you made her wake up!"

"Oh, yeah, 'cause you'd hate for her to stop sleeping against y-"

"Lando, stop, it's not like that."

"How come every time a girl and a guy are friends, everyone ships them? I think that's society's problem," you comment as you rub your tired eyes.

Lando snorts, saying, "It's not every time. You guys are just obvious. And oblivious. You just need to admit it to each other."

"There's nothing to admit to each other, Lando," Oscar comments as he watches you slowly lean off of him, slipping his arm off your shoulders.

"Yeah, we're, like, brother and sister."

"Well, I wouldn't say that-" Oscar begins quickly.

"I mean, yeah, like-"

"We're more like just really close friends," Oscar finishes confidently.

"Yes, that's true, I agree," you say quickly, looking up at him. "We're family, but not brother and sister."

"Ah, so you're family, but it's not like siblings. What else could you be other than mad in love but just too dense to realize it?" Lando asks.

You just glare, crossing your arms, and Oscar comments, "I don't know, but it's not like that."

"Maybe it's just not like that simply because you both refuse to admit what you really want."

"Lando, I don't need you of all people being my psychologist. Could you just leave it?" you comment, feeling Oscar's eyes watching you.

Lando sighs (overdramatically), shrugs, and says, "Suit yourself. I'm just saying, you guys have got to get together soon, or else you'll drive yourselves and everyone else insane. We can all tell you guys just need to kiss already." And with that, he once again struts away.

As soon as he's gone, you whine, leaning your head into Oscar's shoulder, "I hate Lando!"

"Don't say that. He's just kidding," Oscar says gently.

You sigh. "I know... it's just..."

"Hm?" Oscar prompts gently.

"I don't want people thinking something that's not true."

"Who cares what they think? We both know how we feel about each other, and that's all that matters." But do we? Oscar's brain echoes.

"Yeah, you're right," you murmur, nodding, comforted by his words, not even picking up the way he stares forward, eyebrows knitted together, deep in thought.

You've heard what you think you want to hear, and that's all that matters to you.

The moment you see Oscar after his podium, after he stood on the first step, winning such a solid race as that, you run into his arms, causing him to laugh as he hugs you back, saying, "Hey, Y/n."

"I'm so proud of you!" you say excitedly. "Amazing drive- amazing!"

"Thank you, Y/n. It means a lot. I'm so happy you were here to cheer me on."

You grin up at him. "Me, too, Oscar. Me too."

He celebrated with his team after the race, you staying in your hotel, since Oscar promised you he'd like to bring you home with him to Monaco, and have a more low key celebration, without as many people. Besides, you'd like it that way better anyway. And this way, you can get some extra sleep and try to avoid some of the jet lag from the long flight to Monaco.

Now you stand in Oscar's bathroom back in Monaco, gazing at yourself in the mirror in your white crop top and silver skirt, knowing that when you step out of the bathroom, all you need is for Oscar to tell you it looks nice, and then all your worries will vanish.

And once you do, of course, he stands up from the living couch and says, "You look really pretty. Ready to go?"

You smile softly, sighing in relief, and nod. "Yes. I'm ready to go celebrate with the winner of the 2025 Chinese Grand Prix." You laugh a bit, and add as you head out to the car, "Oscar, you know I'm so incredibly proud of you."

He grins. "I know, I know." You know he loves your lavishing, even if he wouldn't admit it. He's never gotten enough of it; you're one of the people that appreciate him the most, you think, at least. You appreciate him a whole lot, anyways.

Soon you get to your destination, and the night starts off really fun, you and Oscar just sticking with each other, laughing, singing, drinking, and dancing. But after too long, the air becomes stale, the noise becomes too loud, and the drinks turn bitter. You're tired, and Oscar's off somewhere, swept away with his other friends. You sigh deeply, leaning against the wall, running a hand through your hair.

It's then that you feel a hand on your shoulder, and it makes you flinch. It's unfamiliar.

It's not Oscar's hand.

You look up to see a man around your age with tangled overgrown curly brown hair and dark, cold eyes. He's wearing a gold chain around his neck and a football jersey. It's then that he shows you his unflattering smirk and says in a thick French accent, "I'm Jordan."

You just kind of nod, showing a fake smile and crossing your arms, not really in the mood for any antics with any strange guys.

His eyebrows raise as he says, "Do you have a name, or am I going to have to give you one?"

Your lip immediately curls up as you look at him from the corner of your eye, still not tilting your face directly towards him. "You're not smooth. My name is Y/n."

"Pretty name for a pretty girl. A sassy girl, too, at that. I like that."

You bite your lip, rolling your eyes in utter annoyance at this guy 'Jordan.' "Good for you..." you murmur, trying to send him the message that you really don't want to talk with him.

Jordan just hums and steps closer to you. You glance up at him for the first time, really, feeling a bit sick from how close he is to you. You murmur awkwardly, "Could you please step away?"

"No, I don't think I will. I'm enjoying your reaction too much."

"Please, stop."

He roughly grabs your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. You swallow deeply.

"I really like your skirt..." he purrs, leaning in closer to you, completely ignoring your protests. His hand slips onto your thigh and grips it tightly.

"Stop... I don't care-"

"You don't, don't you? Well, what a shame... I reckon there's not much you can do about that..."

"St-"

He lips meet yours in a nasty, rough kiss. Your head pounds and spins as your knees begin to shake, panic of what's happening sinking in, your thoughts raging with anxious thoughts at the same time as your head being completely empty. You push at his chest, but he pushes his whole body up against yours, pinning you to the wall, further into a shadow.

You gasp, the panic sinking in deeper, and hardly register what happens next.

Oscar's familiar voice in all the chaos says in one of the angriest, coldest tones you've ever heard from his mouth, "Get your fucking nasty hands away from her."

Jordan tears his lips away from your mouth as Oscar grabs him, Jordan turning his head to look behind him, but before he has a chance to react, you watch as a fist comes flying across and hits him square across the face. He stumbles back and as blood begins gushing from his nose. For a moment, his eyes meet yours in shock, as if he expects you to help a dog like him, but it's then that you watch Oscar grab him by the collar and murmur in the darkest of tones to him, "I told you to get your nasty hands away from her, and you didn't. That's my girl, and no one dares to touch her like that. You better not think you can go on like this, and I hope this can be a reminder for you not to." And with that, Oscar throws another punch, hitting the guy in his eye. You slowly slip down the wall, still watching in shock as Oscar finishes him off by handing one more punch to him on his bloody jaw, before letting go of his collar, letting him fall to the floor, finishing with a yell, "The pain you're feeling right now is nothing compared to the pain you deserve!"

You watch as Jordan scampers up and, just like that, without even considering a fight, stumbles off, out of sight.

And then, everything hushed, Oscar turns, and his eyes meet yours. His hair is a little sweaty and messed up, falling over his forehead. For a moment, you see that remaining burning anger, but as soon as he takes you in, that vanishes, and is replace by the familiar warmth he seems to always look at you with.

And the moment your eyes lock, the tears start coming, and you break down.

Oscar is immediately by your side, pulling you into his arms, sitting on the floor next to you and holding you in his lap, gently stroking your hair. After a while, you hiccup, slowly leaning away, your body still shaking, and murmur, mopping up your eyes with your hands, "Os- Oscar... That was scary. I'm scared."

He gently takes your hand. "You don't have to be. I'm here. Are you ready to go home?"

You nod slowly, and Oscar helps you up, leading you out back to his car, his arm around your back protectively the entire time.

Once back in the car, as the events of what just happened replay through your head, you hiccup, more tears threatening to flow. Oscar gently takes your hand, murmuring in the dark of the parked car, "Tell me what I can do for you, and I'll do it. I hope you know I'll do anything for you to feel better."

You sigh shakily and just lean into him. He wraps his arms around you, holding you for a few minutes, before you lean away again and murmur, "Let's just get home..."

Oscar nods. "Good idea." He turns the car on and begins driving, and as soon as he does holds his hand that he's not using to drive out to you. You put your hand in his, letting the warmth from it fill you and comfort you.

As he drives, you suddenly say in the empty silence, "'That's my girl.' That's what you said."

Oscar just nods a little. "I know. I did mean to say that, you know."

You swallow, thinking for a few moments, before murmuring the simple question, "Why?"

"Because you've always been mine and I've always been yours, haven't I?"

You swallow. "I don't know what that means."

"Forget what it means. You're the most important girl- the most important person- to me. You're my girl, and I'm not going to let anyone be messing with you."

That feels right to you, and good to you, to hear that. And you're glad, in a way, that he's so confidently figured that out. It frees you to say back, "Well, yeah, then... I guess that makes you my boy, then..."

Oscar smiles very softly, giving your hand a little squeeze as you arrive at his home. Once you're both inside, before you have a chance to start worrying, Oscar says gently, putting a hand on your shoulder, "I want you to be comfortable. What do you need? I could get you something to eat, run a bath for you, get a change of clothes, all three, whatever else you need-"

"Oh, uh, don't worry about it-"

"Hush," Oscar suddenly interrupts, shaking his head. He moves to stand right in front of you, before gazing down into your eyes, and saying in all sincerity, "Look, I want you to be honest. I want to take care of you if that's what you need. I want you to be comfortable."

You swallow, nodding a bit, before murmuring, "A bath and a change of clothes might be nice... I'm not hungry, though."

Oscar nods, putting his hand on your back, leading you to his room. He opens his closet and says, "You can wear whatever you can find. I'm going to go run that bath for you; I'll call you when it's ready. I'll get a towel for you in the bathroom, too."

You nod, find one of his bigger McLaren T-shirts and a pair of black sweatpants, and head to the bathroom just as Oscar is calling for you.

Oscar smiles at you gently when you walk in and say simply, "Anything else you need?"

You shake your head 'no,' saying, "Thank you."

He nods. "Of course. I'll just be in the living room, you can come there when you're done. Call me if you need anything. And take your time, too."

You smile weakly, nodding. "Alright. Thanks, Osc."

He nods, leaving you to have your bath. You peel off your clothes and sink into the water, feeling its warmth surround you like an embrace. You let out a long sigh of relief as the water touches your sore, tense muscles, soothing them. After the night you've had, it feels good to just be. To just experience something genuinely good and calming, knowing Oscar is just in the next room.

Oscar. The way he stood up for you, was so protective of you, and beyond that, has been taking such good care of you... You know Oscar a good man... He was always a really sweet boy, and he's grown up to be a really very upright and sweet man. It was crazy- crazy- to see him go off on that stranger, and beat him up the way he did.

But somehow, it felt right. It was just proving he's good. That he cares so much about and for you, he won't let anyone hurt you without knowing the consequences of it from him.

How much does he really care about me?

The question almost feels good to ask, because you have a feeling the answer is one you like.

And then the way he so confidently called you his girl.

'That's my girl.'

Just looking back on it, for some reason, it makes your heart skip a beat. It's that chest-tightening nervous affectionate feeling you get often when Oscar does or says little things. Although this time, it's not little, and every new thing he does seems to make your stomach flutter a little more. It's a familiar feeling that you're sure you've gotten hundreds of times before with Oscar, but for some reason, you're only realising it now. Why, you have no idea, and what the strange feelings could mean, you have even less of an idea.

Soon, you finish your bath, and after drying yourself put on Oscar soft, comfortable clothes, no matter how over sized they are on you. Besides, you don't care in the slightest about that as soon as you inhale his familiar, comforting scent when you put them on. You go to the living room and see Oscar laying on the couch on his phone, now in a T-shirt and sweatpants, just relaxing. As soon as you walk in, though, he looks up.

"Osc...? Do you have a brush I could use for my hair?"

He nods, hopping up from the couch, and says, "Yeah, I do. Wait here, I'll be right back. Just get yourself comfy."

He leaves, and you shrug, taking his advice, and curl up on the couch, waiting for him to come back. He takes longer than you expect him to, but soon enough, he walks back in and sits next to you, saying, "Why don't you just relax, and I can brush it for you?"

"Seriously? You don't have to," you say immediately, secretly wanting badly for him to brush your hair for you. You love the feeling of other people playing with your hair- and if it's Oscar, even better.

He smiles at you. "I know, but I want to." And with that, to both of your delight apparently, begins gently brushing through your hair. When he's done, he slowly start running his fingers through it, starting from the bottom and going up to the top. You sigh, leaning back into him, and Oscar just simply loves it. After a while he says, softly amused, "You just seem to melt when my hands are in your hair."

You shrug, smiling a little, and say, "What can I say? It feels really good."

He chuckles that low comforting chuckle that feels just like home. "I can tell." After a few more minutes he says, "I found a hair tie I think you must've left here at one point. Do want me to braid your hair or something?"

You smile, glancing back at him, and say, "You can do that? I don't know if I can trust you."

He just smiles back at you. "You should. I'm good at it. Remember, I grew up with three sisters."

You shrug again before saying, "Well, alright..."

He chuckles softly again, before he gently begins braiding your hair, his fingers gently weaving through your locks, slowly, until he finally finishes and ties it on the end. Once he's finished, you turn around to face him.

He smiles at you.

You smile back, taking his hands in both of yours.

"You're beautiful," he suddenly says, looking right into your eyes. "I don't think I've told you that enough. Because I think it all the time, whenever I look at you."

For some reason, your friend saying that makes you blush. There are a few moments of silence, before you look down at your joined hands and murmur, "Crazy that the hands that beat up that guy are the same hands that just gently braided my hair."

Oscar shrugs, smiling a little. "They have different uses in different moments. And I don't regret what I did for a moment, not any of it. I would do the exact same thing if I had to do it all again. In fact, just thinking about it makes me really angry. But what matters most is that you're okay."

You sigh slowly, nodding, your head a bit dizzy at the thought of it all. "I'm just so thankful for you, throughout it all. You, like, saved the day..." you chuckle wryly.

He shrugs, nodding a bit. "I guess." A little laugh.

More silence.

You stare down once more at your joined hands. "But Oscar..." you begin hesitantly.

"Yes?" he prompts gently.

"...I'm sorry."

"Y/n... for what? You did nothing wrong-!" Oscar begins somewhat incredulously.

"It's just... You were celebrating your win..."

"Oh, Y/n..." Oscar begins, his tone softening. "Come on, now. Look up at me, will you?"

You sigh, doing so.

"It's not your fault, what happened," Oscar says. "It's that idiot's fault, and we both know that. What happened happened, and there was no preventing it. And if you're worried about me, don't be. I had a perfectly good time celebrating in China with my team. This was more that I wanted to do something with you, for you. But look at this right now. Here we are, sitting together, anyway. Isn't that what matters the most anyway; isn't that the point? So why don't we just make the most of this moment, right now, hm?"

You sigh again, nodding slowly, before saying, you heart almost feeling like it's being squeezed, "Okay."

"Hey," Oscar murmurs, his hand touching the bottom of your chin. "You're looking down again. Talk to me." He gently raises your chin.

You swallow, and suddenly, words that you hardly knew you even thought start coming from your mouth, and only now as you hear them in your voice do they even begin to make sense: "I guess it's just that... You're so caring and gentle with me, and protective. And we like each other so much and get along so well and we've known each other for years and... I guess sometimes I wonder about us... You know, our relationship, like, what even is it? I mean, I think we'd both readily admit we most definitely love each other, but I guess... well, I don't know..."

Oscar nods slowly, before whispering, as if it's some long kept secret, "You guess you just wonder in what way we love each other?"

You swallow, nodding. "Well, yes, exactly. Because... well, I don't know."

"Can I tell you how I feel about you?"

You study his face for a few moments- his handsome face- and nod.

"I feel about you the most deep feeling I've ever known, deeper than I ever thought I could experience. The love I have for you is beyond anything I could describe in a physical sense- it's beyond a romantic love or and family love or the strongest kind of named love I could think of. All I know is that when I look at you, I see fulfillment, and happiness. I see everything I've ever needed, plus everything I've ever wanted. I see a priceless jewel- the sort of thing that anyone would honor and protect with their life. I see beauty herself, on the inside and out. I see my best friend, my favorite person, the one I would spend any and every moment with, if I could. I see comfort, I see love. I look at you and know the great lengths I would go for you. I know it's all so cliche, but it is a love beyond words. It is. I just..." he trails off, before leaning in and whispering, "Are you crying?"

You sniff, looking away, your heart pounding. "No..."

He smiles gently, his hand leaving yours to reach up and wipe a tear away off your cheek with his thumb, "Don't cry."

"That's just so... sweet... and... everything I exactly feel, too, put into words..."

"Y/n..." he hums gently with a little chuckle. "I don't want you to cry, though."

"Don't worry," you say with a little hiccupy laugh. "They're good tears."

He smiles a bit, grabbing your hand again and giving it a squeeze. "Okay."

You swallow, before daring to ask, "What would the difference be, if you were my boyfriend instead of my best friend?"

Oscar eyes seem to light slightly at the question, and he says simply, "Nothing at all, except for one thing: we would be able to express that deep love for each other in different ways."

You nod slowly, swallowing.

Oscar leans in closer to you. "How does that sound to you?"

"I... I think it could be just what I need."

Oscar smiles softly. "I mean, I feel like... it would be nice to not just have to use my words to tell you how much I love you. You know, to be able to kiss you, or something, instead."

You find yourself smile a little at the words, nodding as pinkness gets to your cheeks. "Yeah... that doesn't sound so bad."

Oscar smiles, just gazing into your eyes. "Yeah?"

"It's just that... with tonight, with what happened..."

"Oh, I wasn't meaning we had to do anything tonight- just to think about. You know...?"

You nod slowly, before muttering, "But maybe... Just maybe tonight is the night to do it." You pause, before continuing, "You know, with all that happened, maybe if we just decided... tonight, let's just take a little step... it would help me to leave that. You know, it wasn't my fault... and I have someone who really does love me."

Oscar smiles. "And I really do."

You smile back, looking back up into his sweet brown eyes.

He slips his hand out of yours and gently brings it to your cheek, muttering, "Well, is it okay if I kiss you? Just a little kiss?"

You smile wider, feeling your stomach flutter at the sincere question. Nodding, you reply, "Yes, I reckon that is okay."

Oscar nods, his thumb stroking your cheek a bit as he leans in, his other hand gently touching your waist. His hand on your cheek shifts to cup the side of your neck, and he whispers, his warm breath on your ear, "You still okay?"

You nod.

And with that, he leans in, and, pulling you closer to himself, kisses you in the most perfect way. His adoration and love for you flows through the kiss, while still keeping it short and gentle. When he leans away, he whispers, "How was that?" with a little adorable smile.

You just sigh shakily and murmur, "I think you should do it again."

And he does without a second more of hesitation. His lips meet yours as he pulls your body closer to himself, lost in the kiss, lost in his emotions. When he pulls away again, he's pulled you onto his lap, but neither of you seem to care, both too swept up in each other's gazing eyes.

"I didn't realize for how long I needed to do that..." he whispers gently.

You smile a little. "I didn't realize how long I needed that from you."

He smiles back. "We'll call that both of our first kisses, okay?"

You nod. "Does this mean I'm your girlfriend now?"

"I like the sound of that."

You smile and throw your arms around him in an embrace. He pulls you closer to him, leaning back so that you can lay your head on him, and rubs your back, whispering, "I love you so much, Y/n. So, so much. To the moon and the stars and all the way back."

You smile up at him. "I don't know about the moon and the stars for me Oscar, but I'll tell you this: I love you enough to want to spend my life with you. I love you enough to want to grow old with you."

At those words, Oscar's arms tighten around you, and he chuckles, "See how sappy we suddenly get as soon as we decide to just give it up and kiss? My God."

You grin into his chest. "Yeahhh... But I don't mind it."

"Oh, trust me, I don't either." He shifts, moving you with him, making you both comfortable, so that you're laying together, cuddling.

"I really like this."

He hums. "Me too."

"You know we'll never hear the end of it from Lando if he finds out."

You feel the vibration of his laugh in his chest. "I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, let's just relax. I just want to be. Be with you."

"I think that sounds like exactly what I was made for. To be with you."

He smiles, and you shut your eyes, content to listen to his heartbeat and just be.

Just be with him.

161 notes · View notes

midnight-bay-if · 2 days ago

Note

Romanced!ROs reactions to the MC telling them (sweetly, earnestly, lovingly), "I wish my dad could have met you."?

Your story gives me brain rot 💚 I just love how vibrant all the characters are!

(Thank you! It always makes me happy to hear people connecting with the characters :D)

S: The topic of parents was a source of tension between the two of you. They avoided discussing theirs due to a lifetime of unfulfilled expectations and disappointments leading to estrangement, while you… well, that much should be obvious. It’s not that you have ever explicitly warned them against mentioning James, but they dare not insert themselves where they are not wanted. They always understood that should you wish to share more about your father, you would do so on your own terms.

“I wish my dad could have met you.”

The whispered confession came amidst wonderfully inane ramblings and general chit-chat. They always enjoyed hearing your train of thought as you mapped out your day with every strange occurrence and benign encounter. Just being with you was enough to soothe their busy mind. Every moment like this feels irreplaceable. Yet, their ears catch the words at the same time they take in your demure expression, and somehow, the already irreplaceable becomes utterly invaluable.

They immediately reach out, taking your hand in theirs and holding it as if it were the most delicate and precious thing in the entire world, bringing it to their lips to press a gentle kiss against each individual finger, one by one.

“Would you tell me about him? I would love to hear anything and everything you wish to share.” And they listen. And listen. They hitch a ride on the rollercoaster of your emotions as you weep, laugh, and everything in between. It’s a beautifully awful thrill, and they feel privileged to have been invited to witness the end. “He sounds wonderfully eccentric in all the best ways. It would have been an honour to have met him.

Rain: Hearing about you has always been endlessly fascinating. Getting you to open up beyond surface details has been somewhat challenging, but when you did, knowing you trusted them enough to share the smaller details always put a massive grin on their face. It was a level of trust they had yet to extend themselves, and yes, they realise they are hypocrites for holding so much back. Their justification is that every new detail of your life they learn leads to a better understanding of you, which in turn allows them to take better care of you.

The topic of parents came up naturally after Rain convinced you to sit still through a watercolour. While they dodged every stray query in their direction, they parried with a barrage of their own.

“I wish my dad could have met you.”

They almost dropped their paintbrush. The words were heavy, but they were consumed with joy. They rush to you, almost tripping over their stool, and practically jump into your lap.

“Rain, paintbrush! You're still holding it.”

Too late. There’s a line of pale paint diluted with water running the line of your cheek. “Oh, sorry!” They quickly turn to grab a cloth before you pull them back into the embrace, undeterred.

“Forget it, I quite liked it.”

Rain relaxes, dropping the brush onto the floor so they can splay their fingers across your back. They struggle to express the reasoning behind their excitement for such a casual confession, but it has been so long since they considered themselves a permanent fixture in someone’s life. Sure, they had S and Taj, but the lines between colleague and friend blurred during missions, and the danger made everything feel temporary.

With you, everything feels safe.

“I know I would have loved him,” they agree, tucking their nose between your neck. “If he is anything like you, he had to have been wonderful.”

Taj: They were at a loss for words. No one could accuse Taj of being sensitive, and on more than one occasion since learning of your father’s demise, they had prodded you for details—sometimes out of genuine curiosity, other times to twist the knife. They feel ashamed of it now, but they didn’t believe you capable of true sorrow. More fool them.

So, despite Taj’s blunt questioning on more than one occasion, the words “I wish my dad could have met you” seem to come from absolutely nowhere. Taj feels their whole body freeze, their limbs stiffening to an almost comical degree. Your voice seems soft, as if afraid the words might offend them somehow; their answer matters to you, and that unnerves them. Because when it matters, they can never get it fucking right.

“I, um… yeah,” they begin awkwardly, running a hand through their hair, their ears twitching madly. “From what you’ve said… I mean, I don’t know much about human fathers or whatever; I’ve always pictured them as pitchfork-wielding madmen…” they grimace, cursing their clumsy tongue. “But based on what you’ve said… I think we might have gotten on. Or, well, I reckon we would at least agree that nothing matters more than your safety. So… yeah.”

It isn’t their most accomplished attempt at comfort, but they mean it. Every word.

N: They had lounged in your lap for what felt like hours, deep into the night. It was a rare moment of quiet that N had come to appreciate. Long gone were the nights of depraved debauchery; now, these moments of serenity had become far more practised. Not that you could consider them entirely innocent. If there were something they could say to make you blush, they would undoubtedly say it.

“I wish my dad could have met you.”

It seems it is your turn to evoke a reaction. “Pardon?”

“My dad,” you continue, a little more nervously twirling a long lock of their hair in your fingers. “I would have liked to introduce you to him.”

They laugh because they find the notion ridiculous. They had not intended to come across as cruel, yet the sound was mocking. “My dear, you do remember what I am, yes? I doubt daddy dearest would approve of their only child capitulating to a demon.”

They realise too late that it was the wrong thing to say. “Capitulating?” Your emotions are closing down; they see the shutters over your eyes shutting them out, and if they were not spread across your lap, they think you might have physically walked away.

“Forgive me, my dear,” they begin, desperate to salvage this moment if at all possible. “I was casting aspersions on my character, not your father's. I did not mean to sound dismissive.” They sit up, bring their face close to yours, smoothing over the creases with a gentle caress. “Here’s an idea: consider your most precious memories of him, and allow me to take a peek inside so I might get to know him as you do.”

Umbra: The words pierce their chest.

They had been enjoying a casual stroll by your side, their long limbs sometimes creaking uncomfortably with the movement, like a calf fresh from the womb as it stutters onto its hooves for the very first time. But you make everything entirely easy. You cannot help but explain memories that you believe are new to them, yet they remember just as readily. They wince a little at the pictures you paint when there is an obvious black blot in an otherwise perfect palette where the line between reality and imagination blurs.

But they push past it; their chest might ache, but you are smiling, so the rest can be buried. Then you say it: “I wish my dad could have met you,” and suddenly, every little stimulus threatens to overwhelm. You reach for them with open palms, and despite all their progress, they shrink from you like a child cowers from the cane.

What do they say? How honest do they dare to be? Too much. Your words are too big to be accepted by a heart so small. No. Not them. Not this. You don’t remember. They shouldn’t make you. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

And they clutch one hand with another to mask how they shake. “I’m sorry,” they whisper, although the apology seems malformed and misshapen, the words broken before you can mend them. “I waited too long, and now nothing fits. It’s wrong. I’m wrong.” You scowl with obvious concern. Their mind is scrambled, and explanations are hollow, yet there is little more they can offer. “I would have liked to have met him, too.”

Another version of them might have been braver.

(This is probably not my best work, but I've been feeling a little run down and working on little sleep recently. But I hope you find it satisfactory anyway!:))

#ask answer #umbra knight #taj #nazu raumon #naera raumon #simon selby #rain #simone selby #interactive fiction

130 notes · View notes

aleskie · 2 days ago

Note

hey idk if you heard the song jonny or the reprise version by faye webster yet but idk i just got this fic idea wherein oscar wasn't just ready for a relationship or its the other way around.. idk just hurt me 😭

I LOVE THIS SONG!!! It's on my crash out playlist HAHAHA This is a lil unedited btw I wrote it in one go and well....here it is!! I hope u like it :>>>

DID YOU EVER EVEN LOVE ME? | Oscar Piastri x Reader

WARNINGS: None. Just. idk it's sad i guess...

The room is tense—air so thick it clings to your skin, somehow warmer despite the usual cold London breeze. The white walls of the apartment stretch around you, casting long, inky shadows, leaving little room for light. The silence is deafening, louder than the hum of traffic below, pressing in on you from all sides.

It’s been your apartment for a month now. Your own space. Something most people would celebrate—throw a housewarming party, invite friends over, fill the rooms with laughter. But for you, it’s been a reminder. An empty echo of everything you’ve lost.

It makes you question everything. Your choices. Your worth. The very foundation of who you are.

You think that’s what love does to people. It breaks them. Leaves them raw. You try to pray sometimes, whispering into the dark, hoping some deity—any deity—might be listening.

Some nights, you ask for revenge, for some cosmic retribution to make him feel the weight of the pain he left you with. Other nights, you just beg to feel nothing at all, to be numb, to let the emptiness take over so the ache would finally stop.

Sometimes you ask for him back.

They say love is patient. Kind. It trusts, hopes, perseveres. And for a time, it was—it did. For a time, love was stolen kisses in hidden corners, hushed phone calls on nights you were apart, midnight screenings of obscure films, hands clasped tight in the bitter cold, just to keep each other warm.

A knock at the door breaks you from your thoughts. Sharp. Unmistakable.

It’s him.

You knew he'd come—you’d read the message over and over, the words burned into your mind. He was coming to get his things. You’d cried yourself to sleep last night, knowing this moment would come.

And now it has.

"You have a key," you tell him as you pull the door open, stepping aside to let him in.

"It's your space," he says simply. "I didn't want to impose."

This is our space, you want to tell him. This is our home.

But the words lodge in your throat like splinters. Instead, you turn away, walking toward the kitchen counter where the last of his things sit packed away—boxes filled with the remnants of a life that, not too long ago, felt unshakable.

You hand one over, your fingers brushing his.

You hate it. The fire that still flickers beneath your skin when he touches you. The way your body betrays you, how your heart still trips over itself, clinging to some fragile, stupid hope. That this is a mistake. That he’ll realize it, take it all back, and come home.

But he doesn’t. He turns to leave, silent and sure, just like he did that night—the night he decided you weren’t worth staying for.

"Why?" The word slips out before you can stop it, the weight of it filling the room. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he hears you. Of course, he does.

He pauses, shoulders tense.

Tears blur your vision, hot and unwelcome, but you refuse to let them fall. You won’t give him that. You won’t let him see you break.

He turns slowly, meeting your gaze. "I don’t know what you want me to say."

"Anything." Your voice shakes. "Literally anything."

He exhales, a quiet, tired sound, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always does when he’s searching for the right words. Or when he knows there aren’t any.

"I didn’t want it to be like this.” His voice is low, careful, like he’s stepping over shattered glass. "This isn’t easy for me either. I…" He exhales, voice softening. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"But you did."

"I’m sorry,” he whispers.

"You walked away, Oscar," you say, the words trembling but firm. "You left, and you didn’t think I’d be hurt?"

"I didn’t walk away," he says after a beat. "I just—" He sighs, shaking his head. "You wanted things I couldn’t give you."

“I wanted things that you promised me!” The tears fall, and it feels like you’ve lost, like your very heart has betrayed you. “You said you wanted me—a family, a home. You said you loved me!”

“I do!" His voice is sharp, insistent.

"Then why?"

He falls silent, the weight of the question pressing between you. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter. “I’ve worked my entire life for this. To get that seat. To win. I—” He looks at you then, and it’s the worst part—the way his gaze still holds that tenderness, that warmth, the one you’ve memorized like a scripture, a prayer. The one that makes you hope, even now. “It’s my dream.”

“You said I was your dream.”

“We were seventeen," he breathes. "What did we know then?”

“I knew I loved you.” The sob rips through you, raw and helpless. “Fuck, I still love you.”

His face twists, pained. “You think I don’t?” His voice is gentle. Soft. Guilty. “You think I don’t regret it?”

For a long moment, it’s just silence. The space between you stretching, breaking, unraveling like the seams of something that was never meant to last.

Finally, you whisper, the words barely holding together—fragile, afraid.

“Oscar…did you ever even love me?”

He doesn’t answer right away. And maybe that’s the answer. Maybe he did. Once. When love was simple and young, when life hadn’t wedged itself between you. When dreams were still dreams, untouched by sacrifice, and the future was some distant thing you had all the time in the world to figure out.

Maybe he’s right and he still does. Just not enough.

Not enough to stay.

He takes a breath, slow and measured, like he’s been holding it in for too long. Then he shifts the box under his arm, adjusting his grip like it’s heavier than it should be.

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

And just like that, he turns.

Walks to the door.

Opens it.

Leaves.

The sound of it clicking shut echoes through the room, louder than it should. Louder than it has any right to be.

You stand there, staring at the empty space where he stood just moments ago, waiting. For something—anything. For him to come back. To say he made a mistake. To tell you this isn’t the end. Or at the very least, to give you some kind of answer, some final piece to help you understand where it all went wrong.

But there’s nothing.

Only silence.

A silence he will never hear.

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri #op81 #f1 fanfiction #f1 imagine #formula one #f1 x reader #✩ allie's writing ✩

96 notes · View notes

biteyoubiteme · 18 hours ago

Text

Im back with another long ass reblog and you know what im not even sorry i love doing these lmao and they are mostly for me to look back and read over so yay! But ugh i love rains writing style sm like even just the start of this fic setting the atmosphere- You hated hockey. It was grueling and animalistic. Almost barbaric. It was not a hot sport and watching big hunks of men throwing each other around a big ice box was so not how you imagined your fridaynight would be going. But here you were, in the middle of the packed crowd of your college’s home hockey stadium. The arena is a frozen tundra of noise and chaos, packed with fans draped in red and white jerseys, faces painted and voices hoarse from shouting.

Also this is so real id give up sm for this offer like to go to one party yeah clean everything thats crazy- like a month omfg- “I’ll clean the dorm for a month,” she blurts, and you stop dead in the middle of the hallway. A guy with a blue foam finger scowls as he swerves around you, muttering something rude, but you barely notice. She puts up a tough bargain. Yunjin’s watching you like she’s just offered up her firstborn, palms pressed together in a silent plea. “I’m serious,” she says quickly, sensing you might actually be considering it. “Trash, laundry, dishes—everything. I’ll even organize your bookshelf!” Damn. She was good, she knew how to get you. Your eyes narrow. “Two months.” but you couldn't give up that easily. You had to fight at least a little bit.

She flits from one group to another like it’s the easiest thing in the world, tossing compliments and laughter around like confetti. I just love this line omfg

“Aren’t you having fun?” Jay asks, he was more nonchalant than Jake, less outgoing. He leaned against the sink with a lazy look on his face. It almost looked like he’d rather be anywhere else as well. You have no idea how im so excited for jays fic like im on the edge of my seat here and hes just so like nonchalant here that im already begging for it pls pls pls pls pls im so excited for all of them but im waiting for jays-

“Actually,” he drawls, dark eyes glinting, “yeah, it does.” gagged- when i tell you im clenching my fists rn- like ugh i love to read fics about like assholes lmao like they make me feel something and im just as angry as reader omfg- “Unbelievable,” you mutter, aggressively scrubbing at the fabric of your clothing. Your mind replays the scene over and over, fueling your irritation. The smug tilt of Heeseung’s grin, the way he had the nerve to laugh in your face, to dismiss you like you were nothing. Yeah, it does. You grit your teeth so hard your jaw aches. Frustration crackles in your veins as you give up on your shirt and push out of the bathroom. And id be so mad if my friend left me alone like that after this- no- two month cleaning no forgiveness-

He chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No teasing. I’ll be good.” ugh why does he kinda make my heart flutter like no no no- but also yes yes yes pls again-also is this a real word cause even if its not i love it lmao self-important assholery…

Chinese takeout, pajama shorts, and an unnecessary rewatch of Grey’s Anatomy. Chat i fear this is me every night and its a necessary rewatch of greys-

“Alright, we’re starting with Henry the Eighth today.” guys you dont know how much rain talks about henry the eighth- i love to learn more and she has all the knowledge-

You force yourself to stay still, to not react. “You have really messy handwriting,” Heeseung murmurs, completely oblivious to the absolute chaos in your brain. You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the fact that his voice is lower, softer in the quiet of the study room. “Maybe if you actually wrote your own notes, you wouldn’t have to suffer through mine.” YOU DONT GET HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS PART UUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHH im on the edge of my seat because like ugh i love this sm the like casual talk coating their obvious closeness uuuuuugggghhhh

“…You wanna get out of here?” The words slip out before you can stop them. Heeseung finally looks at you. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze—surprise, curiosity, maybe even relief. And for a second, you think he’s going to brush you off, flash you that smirk and tell you not to flatter yourself. But instead, he nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go.” EEEEEKKKK IM SO EXCITED EEEEK THEY ARE CONNECTING BONDING EVERYHTINGEEEEKKKK

“Diner down the street’s open late,” you say. “And you look like you could use pancakes.” Heeseung huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. But then he looks at you—really looks at you. And something shifts. “…Yeah,” he says, nudging you with his elbow. “Let’s get pancakes.” And just like that, the night takes on a different shape. Omg i love him and i was so sweet and oblivious to the coming assholery that will appear but ugh this is so cute tho stop my heart is soft-

You don’t kiss. You don’t hold hands. You don’t even bring the topic up again, but the both of you feel it. Something was different. I was just a girl who didnt know she was going to get hurt bc this ugh i felt it i love it sm like they are so intimate without being close physically and i love it sm-

“I know, I know,” Heeseung says before you can even open your mouth. He holds up both hands in mock surrender, slightly out of breath. “Before you rip my head off, I brought you something.” You narrow your eyes as he slides a coffee cup and a neatly wrapped pastry across the table. You hesitate, suspicious. “What is this?” “A peace offering,” Heeseung says with a grin. “Your favorite, by the way. Thought it might keep you from murdering me in cold blood.” Your lips part slightly, surprised. “How do you even know my order?” He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “You get it every time we go to the campus café. Not that hard to remember.” i love this so much like hesremembering her order and everything??? No i love him someone hold me back i want him i need him im unwell like itsthe bare minimum like pls but also like ugh i love it i dont care

“What do you mean you’ve never seen Interstellar?” Heeseung looks genuinely offended. You roll your eyes. “Sorry, I just never got around to it.” He lets out an exaggerated gasp. “Unbelievable. You call yourself educated?” You nudge his foot under the table. “Pretty sure history knowledge is more important than knowing a random space movie.” “First of all,” he says, holding up a finger, “it’s not just a ‘random space movie.’ It’s a cinematic masterpiece.” he is right interstellar is one of the best movies and it is no a random space movie but a cinematic masterpiece i love it sm

You tell him about how you used to sneak into your grandfather’s study to read history books that were way too advanced for you, even though you were explicitly told not to. Heeseung tells you about how he used to skate on a frozen pond near his childhood home, even when it wasn’t completely frozen over. “Nearly drowned once,” he admits with a laugh. “Didn’t stop me from going back the next week.” ugh you got me im so soft for them like i love him i cant take it this is so cute ;-;-;

“You know,” he muses, tilting his head, “this kinda feels like a date.” Your breath catches in your throat. You scoff, trying to ignore the sudden warmth in your face. “In what world?” Heeseung grins, leaning forward slightly. “Come on. Late-night café, deep conversation, stolen glances.” He raises a brow. “You sure you don’t feel it?” Your heart stumbles. You don’t know what to say. So you shift the topic into something more casual but still you don’t miss the knowing smirk on Heeseung’s face, like he knew the effect he had on you and he liked it. And a part of you liked it too.. NOOOOOOOO I LOVE THEM STOOOOOPPPP MY HEEEARRRTT

“What’s this?” Heeseung suddenly reaches into your bag and pulls out a slightly worn copy of Pride and Prejudice.You blink. “Uh, my book?” Heeseung raises a brow. “You’re one of those people?” You cross your arms. “What does that mean? A person who reads?” He grins, flipping through the pages. “Y’know. The ones who are obsessed with Mr. Darcy.” You roll your eyes. “I like the book because it’s well-written. Not because I’m obsessed with some brooding 19th-century man.” Heeseung hums, still turning the pages. “Mm. I liked it, too.” You stare at him. “What?” No way a guy like Lee Heeseung read and liked Pride and prejudice. No bc why is this whole fic speaking to me like- if heeseung came out and told me he read pride and prejudice id also be gagged and have little heart eyes sorry not sorry-

Then, before you can react— Heeseung laughs, then he leans forward and kisses you. It’s quick. Just a press of his lips against yours. Light, fleeting. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s a joke. Something so trivial you do with the everyday person, something with no meaning. And it takes you a second to process what just happened before the reality of it slams into you like a freight train. You shove him back. Hard. “What the hell, Heeseung?” Your voice shakes with anger. He just grins, laughing. “Relax. I just wanted to see you flustered.” Your stomach sinks. To him it was a joke, kissing me was a joke to see me– Flustered? That was funny to him? You don’t even realize your hands are shaking until you grab your things and shove them into your bag. Your chest feels tight. Your vision blurs. Because it wasn't a joke to you. You didn't enjoy being the punchline to someone's entertainment. I WAS GAGGGED OKAY GASPED AS I READ THIS OMFG AND HES JUS TLIKE ‘WANTED TO SEE YOU FLUSTERED-” WTF NO IMGOING CRAZY MORE THAN FLUSTERED IM MAD-

“Hey—seriously—” He jogs up beside you, still laughing. Like it’s funny. Like it’s just another thing for him to tease you about. And that’s when you’ve had enough. That’s when you break. You whirl around, eyes blazing. “You think this is funny?” Heeseung falters, caught off guard by the sharpness in your voice. You scoff, shaking your head. “You don’t get it.” Heeseung frowns, finally realizing that you’re actually mad. “I mean, come on. It was just a kiss—” “No, it wasn’t!” The words come out louder than you intend. Heeseung blinks. Your throat tightens. You stare at the ground, voice quieter now. “That was…my first kiss.” The words feel like ash on your tongue, burning your inside out. Embarrassment flooding your senses. And silence followed, dead silence. Heeseung said nothing at your confession. When you finally look up, Heeseung’s expression has completely changed. He doesn’t look smug anymore. He doesn’t look amused. He looks like he just got punched in the stomach. “Shit,” he breathes. You shake your head, swallowing hard. “Forget it.” UUUUUUUGGGGHHHHRAIIIIIINNNN PLS NO i love this moment like in a i hate it way like ugh im itching all over-

It was the reason you read romance novels like pride and prejudice. You were a foolish, foolish hopeless romantic and you didn't care. You embraced it but now stuck in front of someone like Lee Heeseung who kissed girls like he changed his clothes you were embarrassed. Because it meant nothing to him, it was a joke to see you red, to see you stutter. You couldn't help but be angry about that and you weren't going to let him downplay it. You had more dignity than that. Yes girl stand up thats crazy i love this sm like make him grovel bc ugh i hate it but i love this sm and the way that you write it like i love these lines the quotes are just so good- rain have mercy-

She gasps again. “Oh my God, do you have a jersey under your coat? Are you secretly a hardcore Lee Heeseung fangirl?” ive been exposed-

“Damn,” he snickers, looking at his teammates. “She’s got it bad.” Heat rises to your face. Was it really that obvious? Were you just humiliating yourself? You cursed yourself for opening your mouth in the first place. For allowing these assholes to get under your skin. Girl pls stfu pls pls pls this second hand embarrassment is making me ill pls pls pls pl s

“And just because we kissed doesn’t mean you’re my fucking girlfriend.” RAIN IM SENDING YOU THE BILLS FOR MY THERAPY IM TALKING ILL KEEP GOING OVER AND OVER TO TALK ABOUT THIS BC ILL NEVER GET OVER THIS- WHEN I TELL YOU I GASPED OUT LOUD- HAD TO COVER MY MOUTH AND TRY TO HIDE THAT I WAS ABOUT TO THROW MY PHONE YOU EVIL EVIL PERSON DO YOU LIKE HURTING ME???

she likes to hurt me actually-

“Right baby?” He hummed “I’m lucky right?” pls i say im strong that after the line above i would never forgive but like this line…maybe it kinda makes up for it….

And Heeseung—he looks fine. Like nothing happened. So rain you will have a lot of explaining to do for the pain you wanted me to feel-

But before you can say anything, she grabs a cup off the table—one full of soda and ice—and without hesitation, throws it straight at Heeseung. You know what yes a million times over do it again, i think it should have been three drink minimum-

The second it swings open, Heeseung is standing there, wide-eyed, like he wasn’t sure you’d actually do it. He looks… tired. Like he hasn’t slept in days. Slowly, he lifts the crumpled test paper in his hand. “I got a hundred” You glance at it, then back at him. “Good for you,” you say again, flatly. “I guess using me was worth it.” had to turn off my phone for this one WHY WHY WHY WHY- when he pulls up the test NO STOP LEAVE SLAM THE DOOR PLS I NEED HIM TO GROVEL

“Hey,” he says gently. “How are you doing?” You don’t even look away from the screen. “I’m great.” Soobin scoffs. “Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.” okay we all know i love soobin but GET OUT OF THE CONVO NO ONE ASKED YOU IM SORRY PLS-

grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl in your lap. He watches you for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. “So. Are we wallowing or plotting revenge?” You huff out a laugh, shoving him lightly. “Neither.” i loved sunoo so much in this fic he was so sweet and this part ugh i love him- soobin take notes pls

“I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to you.” you know what a year of cleaning my whole dorm and maybe- i dont know if i would take him back but also like hes hot and hes was sweet but after i read the line “and just because we kissed doesnt mean youre my fucking girlfriend.” yeah ill have to rethink everything all over again-

Ugh i loved this fic it was a rollercoaster of emotions i was feeling all of it even if i didnt like some of the emotions i love fics that make me feel something as i read them and i loved this im so excited for the rest of the series im on the edge of my seat begging rain to write fast pls plsplspslpslpslspslpslspslspsl rain <333

COLLIDE l.hs

synopsis ⤑ Hockey boys were nothing but egoistic man boys who threw each other around, chasing a puck for a living. They lacked sustenance, they lived their lives like barbarians and you hated them, and everything they stand for. So being tasked to tutor the worst one of them all? An impossible task. Lee Heeseung was the poster child for a frat boy disaster and you wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. Or so you thought. Damnit.

pairings ⤑ hockey player!heeseung x fem!reader word count ⤑ 19k

warnings ⤑ smut, loss of virginity, fingering, angst, a little bit of back and forth, frat boy activities, hockey, drinking, parties, tutoring trope, heeseung is a fuck boy and he’s kind of a dick, the reader is up tight, Ft. Yunjin (le sserafim), Soobin (txt), fictional relationships between real life idols, etc

crossing the line series.

You hated hockey. It was grueling and animalistic. Almost barbaric. It was not a hot sport and watching big hunks of men throwing each other around a big ice box was so not how you imagined your friday night would be going. But here you were, in the middle of the packed crowd of your college’s home hockey stadium. The arena is a frozen tundra of noise and chaos, packed with fans draped in red and white jerseys, faces painted and voices hoarse from shouting.

Yunjin bounces beside you, practically vibrating with excitement as she elbows your side for the tenth time in five minutes. Her eyes are fixed on the ice, where players crash into each other like it’s a battle to the death. She lives for the thrill of it. Loves coming to most of the games, i think her super hot boyfriend Choi Soobin being on the team really catapults her love for the grueling sport. And as her roommate and best friend you allow her to drag you along, sometimes.

“You’re gonna love this, I swear,” she insists, clutching her cup of overpriced soda with both hands. “Just wait until Heeseung scores. He’s, like, magic on skates.” You force a smile, but the sound of bodies slamming into the plexiglass makes your fingers tighten around the edge of your seat. The air smells like popcorn and sweat, and the fans behind you won’t stop shrieking obscenities at the referees. You don’t get it—any of it. The violent crashes, the speed, the way grown men bark and snarl at each other over a puck. Sure, Lee Heeseung was considered a star hockey player, one of the best your school has ever seen, they say. But you were impressed, what was so hard about chasing a puck and shoving each other. The announcer’s voice crackles to life, nearly drowned out by the roar of the crowd. “Goal scored by number seventeen, Lee Heeseung!”

Yunjin screams, leaping to her feet. The arena erupts, deafening, and you flinch as a pack of players smother Heeseung in a mess of helmets and gloves. They slap his back, crush him into the boards, grinning like wolves. You can barely see his face, but his name glows in bold white letters across the screen overhead, followed by a replay of the goal—a blur of motion and ice spray. It was disgusting, and you hated every second of it. You grimace, sinking lower in your seat. “Do they always act like that?” Yunjin was used to your need to abominate hockey and all it was so your question doesn't really phase her much. Yunjin laughs, eyes bright. “It’s called celebrating.”

“It’s called animalistic,” you mutter, but she doesn’t hear you, too busy cheering with the rest of the lunatics. The game drags on, seconds bleeding into minutes, periods crawling by in a blur of shouts and whistles and obnoxious goal horns. Every time a player crashes into another, you wince. The fights are even worse, gloves dropped and fists flying, the refs standing back like it’s some kind of gladiator match. Your butt is numb from the hard plastic seat, your ears ache, and you’ve never hated anything more. By the time the buzzer finally sounds, you’re half convinced you’ll go deaf before you escape. Yunjin beams at you, cheeks flushed and hair wild from excitement. “See? Wasn’t that amazing?” she gushes, grabbing your arm. “Heeseung was insane! I told you he’s the best.”

You manage a weak smile. “Uh-huh. Amazing.” Your sarcasm goes basically unnoticed by Yunjin, as she’s too busy celebrating the big win. The crowd around you turn to each other cheering loudly. You have to stop yourself from covering your ears with your palms to drown out the sounds. Finally, mercifully, the game is over. You shuffle out of the bleachers with Yunjin at your side, ears still ringing from the blaring horns and the relentless chants. College kids swarm the exits, jerseys half-zipped and voices hoarse, stumbling over each other as they yell about some after-party to celebrate the big win. You scuff to yourself because of course there is a party. A party you won't be going to. Instead you'll go back to the dorm and relax with a good book and a cup of tea. Lord knows you need it after spending hours in this ice box.

The hallway is a crush of bodies and echoes, and you’re too busy trying not to get trampled to notice the way Yunjin keeps sneaking glances at you—eyes wide and hopeful, lower lip caught between her teeth. It was painfully obvious she wanted to ask you something and even more obvious that you wouldn't like her question. You sigh. “Whatever it is, no.” shutting down any ideas she had before she could utter a single word. Her face falls. “But you don’t even—”

“No.” You adjust your bag higher on your shoulder, weaving through a trio of guys who reek of beer and cheap cologne. “I did my time. I sat through three hours of hockey without complaining—much. Can we please just go home?” You craved that night in to yourself. Yunjin grabs your arm, nearly making you stumble. “Okay, but hear me out. There’s a party at the frat house. The whole team’s gonna be there! Come on, it’s not even that far from campus. We can just—”

You cut her off again, rolling your eyes and saying “Absolutely not.” She pouts, eyes big and tragically betrayed. “Please?” begging you. She was begging you. And you couldn't give in. “Nope.”

“I’ll clean the dorm for a month,” she blurts, and you stop dead in the middle of the hallway. A guy with a blue foam finger scowls as he swerves around you, muttering something rude, but you barely notice. She puts up a tough bargain. Yunjin’s watching you like she’s just offered up her firstborn, palms pressed together in a silent plea. “I’m serious,” she says quickly, sensing you might actually be considering it. “Trash, laundry, dishes—everything. I’ll even organize your bookshelf!” Damn. She was good, she knew how to get you. Your eyes narrow. “Two months.” but you couldn't give up that easily. You had to fight at least a little bit.

“One,” she shoots back, biting back a grin. “And I’ll buy you coffee for a week.” You groan, already regretting this. “Fine,” you grumble, and Yunjin squeals, throwing her arms around you so suddenly you almost topple over. “You’re the best!” she cries, squeezing tight. “I promise it’ll be fun, I swear! Maybe you’ll even get to talk to Heeseung!”

You snort. “Not interested,” you laugh, prying her off with an eye roll. But your gaze flicks, unbidden, to the ice behind you—where number seventeen is still skating slow laps, head ducked as he talks to a teammate. His laugh is bright enough to catch even from this distance, mouth curved and eyes crinkling at the edges. You turn away with a scuff, no way you’d involve yourself with a man who plays hockey.

The party is already in full swing by the time you and Yunjin squeeze through the front door of the frat house. Music thrums through the walls, loud enough to feel in your chest, and the living room is packed shoulder-to-shoulder with sweaty college kids and empty red cups. Someone’s yelling something unintelligible from the kitchen, and a girl in a sparkly top rushes past, giggling as her friend tries to pull her back by the arm. It was like a playground. You had to stop yourself from cringy as you and Yunjin continued to push through the crowds of people. Your head spinning with irritation at the pure senselessness in the entire house. It was like no one here had half a brain. Yunjin, of course, lights up like a kid in a candy store. Within seconds, she’s weaving her way through the chaos, dragging you along by the wrist. You stumble after her, dodging spilled drinks and people making out against walls, and wonder for the hundredth time how you let her talk you into this.

Yunjin chats with everyone—absolutely everyone—with a pulse. She flits from one group to another like it’s the easiest thing in the world, tossing compliments and laughter around like confetti. You trail behind her awkwardly, fingers curled around a cup of something you’re too afraid to taste, smiling and nodding when you’re supposed to. Soobin must have not arrived yet so she was filling the gap with randoms until he got here.

You’re not sure how much time passes—long enough for your feet to start aching and for Yunjin to introduce you to at least fifteen people whose names you instantly forget—when she suddenly gasps, eyes going wide. “Oh my god, Jake!” she squeals, abandoning your arm to dart across the room. “Jay! You guys killed it out there!” You blink, half a step behind as you follow her gaze. Sure enough, Jake and Jay—both still in their team jackets, damp hair pushed back—are leaning against the staircase, laughing about something. Jake grins at Yunjin’s enthusiasm, eyes bright, while Jay salutes her with his drink.

“Yunjin!” Jake laughs, opening his arms for a hug. “You actually made it! Didn’t think hockey was your roommate’s scene.” His eyes flick to you, warm and teasing.

“It’s not.” You admit dryly. Jake chuckled, taking a big swig of drink before smirking at you both. “Well still, I bet you enjoyed Heeseung’s killer goal that won us the game. Pretty cool, right?”

“Sure.” Your answers were deadpan and you could tell you were making them both moderately uncomfortable but you didn't care. You’d much rather be literally anywhere else but here.

“I’m suffering.” Your candor had to have been appreciated because the look Jay sent you was one that screamed ‘i agree’. He definitely wasn’t the party type either. Which was almost unheard of when it came to team captains. Yunjin rolls her eyes fondly, but she’s already turning back to Jake, leaning in to ask about one of the plays from the game. You’re left to awkwardly clutch your drink, glancing around at the sea of strangers and trying to look less like a lost puppy and more like someone who actually belongs here. After a while of watching Yunjin converse with half the party you had to pee. Finding a bathroom in this massive house would be hard. And asking someone was out of the question, you've had enough socializing for one night. You right yourself preparing to walk among the sea of people in the way of the grand staircase. You clutched your drink in your hand weaving through the crush of bodies.

Reaching the staircase was no easy task, people were mushed together like a mosh pit. The hallway is somehow even more crowded, people pressed shoulder-to-shoulder and stumbling over each other in varying levels of drunkenness. You mutter apologies, clutching your drink to your chest and scanning the doors for a bathroom sign. There’s a line, of course, stretching halfway down the hall. You bite back a groan and resign yourself to waiting, tapping your foot impatiently and trying to ignore the obnoxious couple behind you sucking face like they might suffocate if they pull apart. You’re glancing at your phone when it happens. One second, you’re minding your own business—the next, someone slams into your side, and your drink splashes straight down your front, soaking your shirt in sticky warmth.

You freeze, disbelief flaring into white-hot irritation as you look up, ready to rip into whoever’s responsible— only to find Lee Heeseung drunkenly staring back at you with a tight lipped fake apologetic look on his face. It angered you, damn near enraged you. His hair’s mussed, dark eyes hazy and amused, and he’s laughing—actually laughing, low and unbothered—like he didn’t just body-check you into the wall. A girl no taller than you stood beside him hung onto his arm like her life depended on it. Her lipstick slightly smudged and hair ruffled, she looked like a hot mess.

You blink, rage sharpening like broken glass. “Are you—are you serious right now?” you snap, shoving your empty cup against his chest. “What the hell? Watch where you’re going!” Heeseung just glances down at the cup, brows raising slowly. The girl at his side huffs impatiently, tugging at his arm, but he doesn’t move—just smirks, dark eyes drifting over you in a way that makes your blood boil. “You’re kidding,” you scoff. “Is this funny to you?”

He tilts his head, grin widening. “Kinda,” he admits, and your jaw drops at his audacity. Where does he get off thinking he's the king of the world? What just because he won himself a game tonight means he’s the hottest thing around? Fuck that. “Oh, screw you,” you snap, swiping futilely at your soaked shirt. “God, just because you’re some hotshot hockey player doesn’t mean the world revolves around you, you know?”

Heeseung chuckles, a warm, lazy sound that makes you want to punch him right in his stupidly perfect mouth. “Actually,” he drawls, dark eyes glinting, “yeah, it does.” The audacity. Your hands clench, words stuttering uselessly on your tongue, but he’s already turning away—barely even sparing you a second glance as the girl tugs him down the hall, giggling and clinging to his arm. You stare after them, heart hammering with fury, cheeks hot and sticky drink dripping from your clothes. You hate him. You’ve never hated anyone more.

What seemed like forever soaked in sticky gold liquid, the line to the bathroom started dwindling down until you were the last one to reach it. You storm into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you harder than necessary. The mirror reflects the full horror of your situation—your shirt is soaked, sticky, and clinging to your skin in the most uncomfortable way possible. The scent of whatever cheap drink was in your cup lingers in the air, and no matter how many paper towels you use, the mess refuses to come off.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, aggressively scrubbing at the fabric of your clothing. Your mind replays the scene over and over, fueling your irritation. The smug tilt of Heeseung’s grin, the way he had the nerve to laugh in your face, to dismiss you like you were nothing. Yeah, it does. You grit your teeth so hard your jaw aches. Frustration crackles in your veins as you give up on your shirt and push out of the bathroom. The party is still going strong—music blasting, people shouting over one another, the air thick with sweat and spilled alcohol. You need to find Yunjin, tell her you’re leaving, drag her out of here if you have to.

But as you weave through the crowd, she’s nowhere to be found. Your irritation shifts into mild concern as you make your way toward the last place you saw her—near the staircase where she’d been laughing with Jake and Jay. Jay’s still there, leaning against the railing, casually sipping his drink as he chats with someone. You march up to him, crossing your arms. “Where’s Yunjin?”

Jay blinks, glancing over at you. His gaze flicks to your ruined shirt, and his lips twitch like he wants to ask, but wisely, he doesn’t. “Uh, last I saw, she went upstairs with Soobin.”

Your stomach sinks. “What?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, like ten minutes ago. Looked pretty cozy.” You inhale sharply, your irritation skyrocketing to full-blown fury. So Yunjin dragged you to this stupid party, bribed you into coming, abandoned you in a sea of sweaty hockey fans, and now she was upstairs with her boyfriend, completely forgetting you existed? Perfect. Just perfect.

“I’m leaving,” you mutter, spinning on your heel before Jay can respond. You shove your phone out of your pocket, pulling up the Uber app as you push your way through the crowd, biting down the urge to scream. By the time you make it outside, the cold air is a welcome slap to your overheated skin. You stand on the curb, shivering slightly, arms crossed tight over your chest as you wait for your ride. Tonight was supposed to be chill instead, you’re suffering through a hockey game, putting up with Yunjin’s antics, dealing with a party full of people you didn’t know. But somehow, he had to make it worse. Lee Heeseung. You scowl at the thought of him, jaw clenching. If the universe had any mercy, you’d never have to see him again.

Turns out the universe had no mercy at all. Not even an ounce. The next day, you’re still in a sour mood. You spent all night scrubbing your shirt, trying to get rid of the sticky residue and the memory of Lee Heeseung’s stupid smirk. Even after showering twice, you swear you can still smell the drink on your skin. But at least you’re back in your element now—your history class, where you TA. The classroom is empty except for Professor Kim, who looks up as you walk in, giving you a polite smile.

“Ah, good, you’re here,” he says, flipping through some papers on his desk. “I have a favor to ask. I know you tutor in your free time, and we have a student who’s in desperate need of help.”

You nod automatically. “Of course. You know I don’t mind tutoring.”

“That’s great to hear,” he says, looking relieved. “Because this student is failing, and if he doesn’t get his grade up, he’ll be ineligible to play.” You barely register his words, still waiting for a name. Then he glances down at his notes and says it.

“Lee Heeseung.” Your stomach plummets. No. No way. The universe had no mercy. “Wait—what?” You blink at him, hoping you misheard.

Professor Kim sighs. “Heeseung’s been struggling all semester. I gave him a warning last week, but his last exam was a disaster. If he doesn’t pass the next one, he’s off the team.” You open your mouth to protest, to say literally anyone else but him, but before you can get a word out, the door swings open, and in comes the bane of your existence.

Lee Heeseung strolls in like he owns the place, pushing his hair back as he yawns. His hoodie is wrinkled, his backpack is barely slung over one shoulder, and he looks every bit like someone who definitely did not wake up in time for his morning classes. “Sorry, sorry,” he drawls, not sounding sorry at all. “Rough night.”

You scoff before you can stop yourself. “I’m sure it was.” At the sound of your voice, Heeseung’s gaze slides lazily to you, and then—his lips curl. A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face, and you immediately hate it.

Wait.” He tilts his head. “You’re my tutor?” He says in a mocking way, he’s making fun of you.

You cross your arms. “Unfortunately.” Heeseung clicks his tongue, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Damn. Lucky me.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes straight into another dimension. “Not so lucky for me,” you mutter. Professor Kim clears his throat. “So, you’ll meet twice a week until the next exam. I’ll leave the schedule up to you both, but I strongly recommend you start immediately.” You glare at Heeseung, who doesn’t seem remotely concerned about the fact that his academic career is hanging by a thread. Instead, he leans against the desk, watching you with amusement.

“Well, tutor,” he says, voice dripping with mock politeness. “When do you want me?” You open your mouth, then shut it. Heeseung’s smirk deepens, clearly enjoying the way you bristle. “Tomorrow at five,” you grit out.

“Perfect.” He pushes off the desk, stretching before making his way toward the door. Just as he reaches it, he glances over his shoulder, that irritating smirk still in place. “Try not to miss me too much until then,” he says, and then he’s gone. You stare after him, absolutely floored by his audacity. “Oh, I’m going to kill him,” you mutter under your breath.

By the time you make it back to your dorm, you’re fuming. Your entire walk across campus had been spent replaying your conversation with Heeseung, each smug smirk and cocky remark igniting your anger all over again. Of all people, why did it have to be him? You shove open the door, throwing your bag to the floor with a little more force than necessary. "Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable," you mutter, running a hand through your hair in frustration.

Yunjin and Soobin are sprawled out on the futon, a half-empty bag of chips between them as some random drama plays on the screen. It’s the first time you’ve seen Yunjin since she abandoned you at the party, and the second she looks up at you, she must sense the storm brewing in your expression. “Uh…” She blinks. “What’s wrong?”

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at her. “Oh, I don’t know, Yunjin—maybe the fact that you ditched me last night?”

Yunjin’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh my God.” She sits up, looking genuinely guilty. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I just—Soobin showed up, and—”

“Yeah, I know,” you snap, glaring at Soobin, who at least has the decency to look sheepish. “Jay told me you ran off with him ten minutes after we got there. You know, after I suffered through a hockey game for you.” Yunjin groans, dragging her hands down her face. “You’re right. That was a shitty best friend move. I swear, I’ll make it up to you.”

You roll your eyes, collapsing onto your desk chair. “Yeah, yeah.” You wave her off, still annoyed but too exhausted to keep the argument going. “That’s not even the worst part.”

She tilts her head. “What do you mean?” You exhale sharply, rubbing your temples. “I have to tutor Lee Heeseung.”

Yunjin’s jaw drops. Soobin raises an eyebrow. “What?” she asks, sitting up straighter.

“Yeah. Apparently, he’s failing history, and if he doesn’t pass his next exam, he’s off the team,” you huff. “Professor Kim roped me into tutoring him before I even knew who it was.”

Yunjin snorts, clearly fighting a laugh. “Oh, that’s hilarious.”

“It’s not!” You glare at her. “You don’t understand—he’s a dick. He’s entitled, arrogant, and walks around like the whole world revolves around him.” Soobin hums, popping a chip into his mouth. “Heeseung’s not that bad.”

You whip your head toward him. “Are you serious?” Who asked him? He shrugs. “I mean, yeah, he can be cocky, but he’s actually pretty chill once you get to know him.”

Yunjin nods in agreement. “Yeah, he’s nice. I’ve talked to him a few times. He’s always been cool.”

Your mouth drops open. “Okay, no. You guys don’t get it. You didn’t see him at the party last night.”

Soobin raises an eyebrow. “What happened?” You launch into a full-blown rant, recounting every infuriating detail. “I was minding my business, just trying to use the bathroom, when he and some random girl bumped into me. I spilled my drink all over myself because they were too busy making out to notice other human beings existed. And when I called him out on it, do you know what he did?” Yunjin and Soobin both stare, waiting.

“He laughed. He laughed in my face and said, ‘Yes, it does,’ when I told him the world doesn’t revolve around him!” You threw your hands in the air in exasperation. Yunjin lets out a low whistle. “Oof.”

“Right?” You throw your hands up. “And now I have to spend actual time with him, tutoring him like he’s some helpless little idiot who can’t read a history book!” Soobin chuckles, shaking his head. “Sounds like he got under your skin.”

You scoff. “No. He’s just the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.” Yunjin exchanges a look with Soobin before turning back to you with an all-too-knowing smirk. You narrow your eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” she singsongs. “I just think this tutoring thing is gonna be very interesting.”

The next day, you show up at the library exactly at five. You even get there a few minutes early because, unlike some people, you actually value punctuality. You find a table in the back, away from the louder study groups, and start setting up—pulling out your notes, opening your laptop, lining up your highlighters like the responsible student you are. Then, you sit back and wait for Lee Heeseung to show up.

And wait.

You check the time. 5:15. You exhale sharply through your nose, forcing yourself to stay calm. Maybe he’s just running late. Maybe he got held up. Maybe— 5:30. Okay, seriously? You shoot him a quick text, nothing too aggressive. Just a simple: “Hey, you coming?” Nothing. Not a single response.

5:45. Your patience is wearing paper-thin. You stare at your phone screen, resisting the urge to type out something way more aggressive. Maybe something like: “If you were planning on wasting my time, you could have at least had the decency to tell me instead of making me sit here like an idiot.” Or better yet: “Fuck you.”

By now, you’re fuming. Your fingers drum aggressively against the table as you glare at the empty seat across from you, debating whether you should just leave. Clearly, he has no intention of showing up. 6:30. That’s it. You’re done. You shove your notebook into your bag, ready to storm out and text Professor Kim that you refuse to tutor an insufferable jackass, when— a voice behind you mutters a simple “Hey.”

You slowly turn around, already brimming with rage, and there he is—Lee Heeseung, strolling in like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. He drops into the seat across from you, stretching his arms behind his head with the kind of casual arrogance that makes you want to throw something at him. "Sorry I’m late," he says. Not actually sounding sorry at all.

You slam your laptop shut with way too much force. "You’re an hour and a half late."

Heeseung just shrugs. "Yeah, my bad. I had practice. Then I had to change. And, y’know, eat. Then I ran into some people…" Your eye twitches at his nonchalant attitude “And at no point did it occur to you to let me know?”

Heeseung raises an eyebrow like he doesn’t understand why you’re so worked up. "Didn’t think it was that big of a deal." You inhale so sharply your lungs burn. "Not that big of a—" You cut yourself off, pressing your hands against the table to ground yourself because if you don’t, you might actually throw your water bottle at his stupid, smug face.

Heeseung just watches you with lazy amusement, clearly not taking this seriously. “Don’t be so uptight,” he says, flipping open his empty notebook like he actually plans on doing anything. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Oh. oh something inside of you snaps. You can’t help the next words that leave your mouth and to be quite honest you don’t know if you care much anyway. “Oh, fuck off Heeseung.”

Heeseung pauses, blinks, then smirks. “What?”

"You heard me." You stand up, grabbing your bag. "I don’t have time for your arrogant, self-important bullshit. If you actually cared about passing this class, you’d take it seriously instead of acting like you’re doing me a favor by showing up." His smirk doesn’t even falter. If anything, it deepens. “Damn,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Didn’t know you were this feisty.”

You glare. “And I didn’t know you were this much of a dick. But here we are.”

Heeseung chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re kinda cute when you’re mad.” oh. That’s it. You’re officially done.

You shove your notebook into your bag so aggressively you nearly rip the zipper, and without another word, you storm out of the library. You can hear him laughing behind you. Actually Laughing. And you swear—you swear—you’ve never wanted to strangle someone more in your entire life.

The next day, you’re back at the library, sitting across from Kim Sunoo, a bright-eyed freshman who actually wants to learn. Unlike some people. You tap your highlighter against the open textbook, explaining a key point about the causes of the Industrial Revolution. Sunoo nods eagerly, his face lighting up in understanding. “Ohhh, that makes so much sense now! I swear, I was staring at this for hours last night and none of it clicked.”

You smile despite yourself. “It’s easier when someone explains it out loud, huh?”

Sunoo grins. “Way easier. You’re really good at this, noona.”

You chuckle. “It’s literally just history.”

“Yeah, but you make it less boring,” he says, scribbling notes as fast as he can. “I actually feel like I might pass this exam now.” Before you can respond, a shadow falls over your table. And suddenly, the lightheartedness of the moment is gone. You don’t need to look up to know who it is. The air shifts, tension creeping in like a slow-moving storm.

Sunoo notices before you do. His eyes flick upward, widening slightly. “Uh—”

“Hey”

You sigh. The last thing you need right now is him. Slowly, you look up. Lee Heeseung stands there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, looking at you with something that is not his usual cocky amusement. His posture is relaxed, but there’s an awkwardness to it—like he’s not used to whatever he’s about to do.

You cross your arms over your chest. “What do you want?”

“I want to talk.” His gaze flickers to Sunoo. “Alone.” Sunoo, to his credit, looks between the two of you and seems to decide that this is not his business. He hurriedly starts shoving his books into his bag. “Oh! Yeah, of course, I—” You shoot Heeseung an annoyed look. “We’re in the middle of something.”

Sunoo waves a hand. “No, no, it’s fine! I was about to go anyway.” He flashes you a grateful smile. “Thanks for the help! I’ll see you next week?” You nod, still frowning as you watch him scurry off like he just escaped something dangerous. Which, honestly? Fair. Then, you turn back to Heeseung. You lean back in your chair, arms crossed, waiting. “Well?”

Heeseung exhales, looking almost uncomfortable. He shifts his weight, raking a hand through his hair before finally meeting your eyes. "Look… about last night…"

Your eyebrows lift. “You mean the hour and a half I spent waiting for you? Or the part where you acted like a complete asshole?” He winces, lowering his eyes to the floor. “Yeah. That.” You don’t say anything. You let the silence stretch between you, let him sit in it. And for the first time since meeting him, Heeseung actually looks nervous.

He exhales sharply, dropping into the seat across from you. “I was a dick,” he admits. “I know that. And I’m sorry.” You blink. Lee Heeseung, apologizing? Willingly? You half expect the ceiling to cave in. You narrow your eyes, skeptical. “Are you actually?”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. I am.” He leans forward slightly, his voice lower now. Sincere even. “Look, I need this. I need to pass. If I don’t, I can’t play.” Something flickers across his face when he says it—something restrained. You get the feeling he’s hating admitting this to you, like asking for help isn’t something he’s ever had to do before. You study him, watching the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers tap against the table like he’s restless. For once, there’s no arrogance in his expression. No teasing smirk. Just… Lee Heeseung, stripped of his usual bullshit.

You hate that it actually works. That a small part of you softens. But still, you’re not letting him off that easy. “I’ll be on time,” he says, his voice firmer now. “I’ll take it seriously. Just… give me another chance.”

You tilt your head, considering. “And if you don’t?” He exhales through his nose. “Then you can tell Professor Kim to find me another tutor. You’ll never have to deal with me again.” You hesitate, watching him. You want to say no. Want to tell him to find someone else, that you don’t owe him anything. But at the same time… you do love tutoring. And despite everything, you’d hate to see someone fail because of their own stupid pride. Even if that someone is Lee Heeseung.

So, against your better judgment, you sigh. “Fine,” you say, and immediately he brightens. But you hold up a finger. “But if you pull that shit again, I’m done. No second chances.”

He nods immediately. “Got it.”

You squint. “I mean it, Heeseung. One more time, and I’m out.”

“I know, I know,” he says, lips curling up into something that almost looks like a real smile. “I won’t be late.” You purse your lips, still doubtful. “We’ll see.” Heeseung stands up, stretching. “Five sharp, yeah?”

“Five sharp.”

A slow smirk spreads across his face. “Yes, ma’am.”

You roll your eyes and start gathering your things. “See, this is exactly what I mean.”

He chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No teasing. I’ll be good.” Somehow, you highly doubt that. As he walks away, hands stuffed in his pockets, you watch him go, feeling a mixture of irritation and reluctant curiosity. Because for all his bullshit, for all his cocky, self-important assholery… A small, tiny part of you is curious to see if he’ll actually change. And you hate that. So much.

That night, you and Yunjin fall into your usual routine—Chinese takeout, pajama shorts, and an unnecessary rewatch of Grey’s Anatomy. The apartment is warm, dimly lit by the soft glow of your laptop screen. The air smells like sweet and sour chicken, and your chopsticks lazily poke at your carton of lo mein as Yunjin lies sprawled across the couch beside you. “I still can’t believe you’re actually tutoring Heeseung,” she says around a mouthful of fried rice.

You groan, letting your head fall back against the couch. “Don’t remind me.”

“You hate him.” Yunjin continues.

“Exactly! Which is why this is actual hell for me.” You huff, setting your carton down on the coffee table. “He’s such a dick. He thinks the world revolves around him just because he’s good at hockey.”

Yunjin hums, twirling a noodle around her chopstick. “Soobin says he’s not actually that bad.” You scoff. “Oh, of course Soobin would say that. Heeseung’s his teammate.”

Yunjin shrugs. “Yeah, but like… he really meant it. Heeseung’s just—” She pauses, pursing her lips like she’s debating whether or not to say something. You narrow your eyes. “What?”

Yunjin sighs, setting her food down. “Soobin told me something about him. A story, actually.” You blink. “About Heeseung?”

She nods, sitting up a little. “Do you wanna hear it?” You hesitate, rolling your eyes. “Do I need to?”

Yunjin grins. “Oh, absolutely.”

You groan, but you can’t deny that you’re a little curious. You grab your drink, leaning back against the couch. “Fine. Spill.”

Yunjin sits up even more, tucking her legs beneath her. “Soobin told me that back in high school, Heeseung wasn’t—like—this.” She gestures vaguely. “He wasn’t popular. Or cocky. Or even a star player.”

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief. “What do you mean? He’s insanely good.”

“I know,” she says, eyes widening. “But apparently, his coach barely let him play. He wasn’t one of the ‘favorites,’ you know? So he rode the bench most of the time.” That… does surprise you. The Lee Heeseung you know is the player everyone talks about, the guy who steals the spotlight like it was made for him. The idea of him sitting on the sidelines, ignored, is hard to imagine.

“One day,” Yunjin continues, “one of the team’s star players got hurt before a big game. They had to put Heeseung in, and—” she snaps her fingers “—just like that, he destroyed everyone.” You blink. Surprised, this was not what you were expecting at all.

“He played so well that the entire crowd went nuts. Coaches were watching. He basically stole the game, and after that? He got a full-ride scholarship. Just like that.” Your brows knit together, trying to picture it. “But after that game,” Yunjin says, tilting her head, “he changed. Like, overnight.”

You frown. “What do you mean?” She exhales, leaning against the couch. “I mean he stopped being the quiet kid. He got stronger, started training harder. And when he got to college? Boom. Whole new personality. He’s loud, cocky, untouchable.” You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, that part tracks.”

Yunjin gives you a look. “But don’t you get it? He had to change. He was treated like nothing for years, and the second he proved himself, he made sure no one would ever look down on him again.” You chew on your lip, staring at the flickering light of the laptop screen. You don’t know what to do with that information. Because it’s easier to hate Heeseung when he’s just an arrogant, self-absorbed jock. When he’s just some guy who gets on your nerves. But now there’s a reason behind it. And you hate that it makes you see him differently.

The next day, when you step into the library, you expect to wait. You expect to sit down, go through your notes, tap your fingers against the table while checking the time, wondering how long you should stay before giving up. But Heeseung is already there And it throws you off.

He’s slouched in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, head tilted down as he stares at his phone. His brows are furrowed, lips pressed together, his thumb hovering over the screen but never quite moving. It’s an expression you’re not used to seeing on him. Tense. Quiet. Serious. It doesn’t suit him.

You shake it off, forcing yourself to walk over. You pull out your chair with a sharp scrape against the floor and drop your books onto the table. Loudly. Nothing. You fight the urge to roll your eyes and sit down. “Alright, we’re starting with Henry the Eighth today.”

No reaction. You tilt your head. “You know, the king who had six wives? England’s most dramatic ruler?” Still, nothing. Your patience thins. “What’s more important than not failing?” At that, he finally looks up, but instead of the usual lazy amusement or mild irritation, his expression is sharp.

“Mind your own business,” he snaps. It hits you like a slap. Of all the things you expected, that wasn’t one of them.

You straighten, gripping the edge of the table, surprised by the coldness in his voice. Heeseung has been many things since you met him—cocky, arrogant, insufferable—but he’s never been cruel. You inhale sharply, already pushing back your chair. “Okay. If you don’t wanna be here, I’m not wasting my time—”

“Wait.” The word is rushed, almost desperate, and before you can leave, Heeseung finally puts his phone down. He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling roughly through his nose. “It’s just my dad,” he mutters, like that should be enough of an explanation. You hesitate, watching the way his jaw ticks, the way his fingers tap restlessly against the table.

“What about him?” you ask, voice softer than before. Heeseung doesn’t look at you. “He was just asking how the season’s going. That’s it.” You study him for a moment, something itching at the back of your mind. This is the first time Heeseung has ever looked like this. Quiet. Withdrawn. Like his thoughts are somewhere else entirely. And last night, you learned something about him—something you never would’ve guessed on your own.

You shift in your seat, glancing at your open notebook before closing it. “You know…” You trail off, choosing your words carefully. “I heard a story about you.” Heeseung blinks, his gaze flicking to yours. “What?”

“I heard that back in high school, you weren’t allowed to play much,” you say. “And that when you finally got your shot, you proved everyone wrong.” His entire body stiffens. For a second, you think he’s going to let you keep talking, but then his expression hardens. His lips press together, his fingers stop tapping, and suddenly, the coldness is back.

“Don’t,” he says flatly. You frown. “I just—”

He cuts you off with his stern voice. A terrify you didn't want to wander “I said don’t.” It’s sharp, cutting, final. The look in his eyes makes it clear that whatever conversation you were hoping to have? It’s not happening. Your stomach twists, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, unsure if you should apologize or pretend like you never said anything at all. For a moment, the silence is heavy. Unbearable.

Then Heeseung sighs, running a hand over his face. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “Just… drop it.” You swallow hard, nodding slowly. “Right,” you murmur, flipping open your book again. “Henry the Eighth.” For a second, you think he won’t even pretend to pay attention. But then he leans forward, picking up a pencil and tapping it against the table. And this time, when you start talking, he actually listens.

Over the next few weeks you and Heesseung began to find some kind of rhythm that worked for the both of you. And after no time Heeseung was back to usual self. Being extremely and unavoidably annoying. But it was clear to you that all your tutoring sessions were starting to pay off, he was actually learning the material and he..seemed to like it.

The moment stretches—just a second too long. Your hand lingers against his, warmth seeping through the space between your fingers. It’s stupid. It’s just a high-five. Something you’ve done a thousand times with other people. But when you pull away, you can still feel the ghost of his touch, like it left an imprint. Heeseung’s smirk flickers, something unreadable flashing across his face. But then, just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by his usual cocky grin.

“See? I told you I was a genius,” he says, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. You roll your eyes, forcing yourself to focus. “That was one right answer out of ten, relax.”

“An improvement, though.” He points at you like he’s proving a point. “You should be proud. I might actually be learning something.” You scoff, gathering your notes, but your stomach twists in a way you don’t quite understand. Something is different.And you’re not sure what to do about it. One Part of you is scared, another part is excited. And that fear continues to grow the more time you spend with Heeseung.

The study room is too small. Or maybe it just feels that way because Heeseung takes up too much space—not physically, but in the way he leans back in his chair like he owns the place, the way his presence seems to stretch and fill every available inch. The air is thick with the scent of his cologne—something clean, sharp, a little woodsy—and you hate that you notice it.

It doesn’t help that you’re sitting way too close. Your knees bump under the table every time one of you shifts. His arm brushes yours when he reaches for his pencil. The tiny room makes every movement magnified, every accidental touch unavoidable.

You try to focus. You clear your throat and point to your notes. “Okay, so if you actually want to pass this test, you need to remember the causes of the French Revolution.” Heeseung hums, leaning forward. “Right. The people were pissed.” You deadpan. “And why were they pissed?”

“Uh…” He chews the end of his pencil, eyes flicking to the page in front of you. “Something about taxes?” You exhale. “Something about taxes,” you echo, circling the words in your notes. “Yes. Specifically, the Third Estate—” Before you can finish, Heeseung shifts, leaning over your shoulder to get a better look at your writing. And that’s when it happens. His arm presses against yours. His face is too close. And suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of everything—the warmth of his skin, the scent of his cologne, the way his breath fans lightly over your shoulder.

“I like yours better,” he says, smirking. You scuff, shoving your notebook toward him. “Then read them yourself, genius.”

He laughs, finally leaning back, and you exhale—only now realizing you were holding your breath. It was nothing. Just an accidental touch. And yet your heart is pounding out of your chest. You shake it off, clearing your throat. “Okay. Back to the revolution.” Heeseung smirks like he knows something you don’t. But he doesn’t say a word. And somehow that’s worse.

The party is loud—too loud, too chaotic, too much. You don't even know whose house this is. The bass is thumping through the floor, the air is thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and way too much cologne. Yunjin, as always, is in her element, talking to literally anyone with a pulse, dragging you around as she bounces between groups of people. You don’t even know why she drags you along to these things if she’s not even going to stay with you.

You're scouting your surroundings when you see him. Lee Heeseung. But he’s not like he usually is, No cocky smirk, no playful teasing, no girls clinging to his arm. He looks… different. Closed off even. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, a red Solo cup dangling from his fingers, but his eyes are unfocused, staring off at nothing. The usual arrogance in his posture is missing. He just looks… tired.

You hesitate. Normally, you’d avoid him. You’re not sure why you don’t this time. Maybe it’s because he’s alone, or maybe it’s because this version of him—the one that isn’t performing, isn’t playing up his reputation—intrigues you. So you walk over, crossing your arms. “No girl hanging off you tonight?” Heeseung barely reacts at first. He blinks, like he’s just noticing you, then shrugs. “Not in the mood.”

That’s not the response you expect. Usually, he’d fire back with something smug, something flirty, something to get a rise out of you. Instead, his voice is flat. You glance at him, studying his expression. His usual lightheartedness is gone, replaced with something heavier, something clouded. His fingers tighten around the cup, his jaw shifts slightly, and he isn’t looking at you. Something’s on his mind. And for some reason, you care.

Outside, the night air is cold, but it feels… lighter. You walk side by side down the street, neither of you saying anything at first. The party fades behind you, the music growing distant, replaced by the quiet hum of the night. It’s weird. You’ve never been alone with Heeseung outside of the library. You’re used to him in controlled environments—study sessions, parties where he’s surrounded by people, the ice where he’s the star. Not like this. Not just… walking.

“You okay?” you ask eventually. Heeseung huffs a laugh, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Didn’t think you cared.” You roll your eyes. “I don’t.”

He smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Liar.” You bump your shoulder against his without thinking. “Seriously, though. You’re acting different.” Heeseung exhales, looking up at the sky. For a second, you think he won’t answer. But then—

“It’s nothing,” he says. “Just hockey stuff.”

You frown. “You’re always dealing with hockey stuff.”

“Yeah, well.” He pauses. “It’s my whole life.”

You glance at him, watching the way his features harden, his usual carefree exterior cracking just enough for you to see through. And you remember what Yunjin told you—that he wasn’t always the hotshot, that he had to claw his way to the top. You don’t push him. Instead, you say, “Wanna grab food?” He blinks. “At this hour?”

The diner is the kind of place that always smells like coffee and syrup, no matter what time of day it is. The booths are cracked with age, the neon sign outside flickers every few seconds, and there’s a quiet hum of old music playing through the speakers. It’s not fancy. But it’s warm, and right now, it’s exactly what you need. Heeseung slides into the booth across from you, stretching out his legs so they nearly brush against yours. You don’t know if he does it on purpose or if he just takes up that much space. You ignore it.

A waitress comes by, barely looking at either of you as she takes your order—pancakes, coffee, extra whipped cream. Heeseung raises an eyebrow at you, amused. “What?” you challenge. “I told you. Pancakes fix everything.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. But there’s something softer about him now. Not in the way he usually teases you—this feels different. And then the moment settles into a more calm setting. You lean forward, resting your arms on the table. “So,” you say, tilting your head. “Wanna talk about it?”

You expect him to dodge the question, maybe throw out some sarcastic remark to avoid actually telling you what’s going on. But for the second time that night, Lee Heeseung surprises you. He exhales, running a hand through his hair, making it even messier than before. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. “My dad found out about my grades.” Your stomach twists. You already have a bad feeling about where this is going.

Heeseung lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “He says if I’m gonna throw my entire hockey career away for some stupid class, then I don’t deserve his financial support anymore.” He pauses, staring down at the table. “Says I should ‘get my priorities straight.’” Your heart clenches. You should’ve expected something like this. It’s not uncommon—parents putting pressure on their kids, pushing them toward success, expecting perfection. But something about the way Heeseung says it, the way his voice drops just a little at the end… You know that feeling.

“I just—” Heeseung exhales harshly, gripping his fork a little too tight. “I never feel like I’m enough for them, you know?”

You don’t even think. You just say it. “I do.”

Heeseung blinks, lifting his gaze to meet yours. You swallow hard, suddenly feeling vulnerable, but you push through. “My mom and I don’t talk anymore,” you admit. “She didn’t approve of me getting a history degree. She wanted me to go into the family business with them.” You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “When I didn’t, she basically—shunned me. Acted like I was a disappointment. Like I wasn’t worth her time anymore.” Heeseung stares at you, expression unreadable. You feel like you should keep talking, should fill the silence, but then Heeseung leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. His gaze softens.

“That’s fucked up,” he says, voice quieter now.

You shrug, picking at the edge of your napkin. “Yeah, well. It is what it is.” There’s a pause. Then— “I don’t think it is,” Heeseung mutters. You look at him, and for the first time since you met him, you realize that Lee Heeseung isn’t just some cocky, aggravating hockey star. He’s a person. A person with his own struggles, his own fears, his own wounds. The realization shifts something inside you. The waitress comes by, sliding plates of pancakes in front of you, breaking the moment. Heeseung blinks, like he’s shaking himself out of whatever just passed between you, and you do the same.

You don’t kiss. You don’t hold hands. You don’t even bring the topic up again, but the both of you feel it. Something was different.

You glance at the time on your phone and exhale sharply, tapping your fingers against the table. Heeseung is late. Again. It’s been twenty minutes, and you’ve already convinced yourself that if he’s not here in five more, you’re leaving. To say you were disappointed would be an understatement, you were more sad than anything. You had thought that the two of you had made some much progress. You’re mid-internal rant about how utterly irresponsible he is when you hear the sound of hurried footsteps.

You hesitate, suspicious. “What is this?”

“A peace offering,” Heeseung says with a grin. “Your favorite, by the way. Thought it might keep you from murdering me in cold blood.” Your lips part slightly, surprised. “How do you even know my order?”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “You get it every time we go to the campus café. Not that hard to remember.” You press your lips together, trying to ignore the fact that your stomach does a weird little flip at that. Instead, you roll your eyes and mutter, “Still an asshole,” before taking the cup.

Heeseung chuckles, sliding into the seat across from you. “Yeah, yeah. But at least I’m a thoughtful asshole.” You’re about to start the tutoring session when a static-filled announcement echoes through the library speakers. “Attention, students: The library will be closing early tonight due to a scheduled event. Please begin packing up your belongings.”

You blink, glancing at Heeseung, who’s already stuffing his books back into his bag. He shrugs. “Guess we’re taking this somewhere else.”

“Wait!” You call out. “Where are we going?” You ask him, beginning to pack up your own things.

“Just come with me.” He says simply with a shrug of his shoulders. You huff but follow after him like he said, through the crowd of people also leaving the library.

You’re not sure how it happens, but twenty minutes later, you’re sitting across from Heeseung in a quiet corner of a late-night café, your books barely touched. At first, you try to focus on history. You really do. But for once, Heeseung isn’t the one slacking off—you are. The conversation drifts. It’s not about Henry VIII or the French Revolution anymore. It’s about movies.

“What do you mean you’ve never seen Interstellar?” Heeseung looks genuinely offended. You roll your eyes. “Sorry, I just never got around to it.”

He lets out an exaggerated gasp. “Unbelievable. You call yourself educated?” You nudge his foot under the table. “Pretty sure history knowledge is more important than knowing a random space movie.”

“First of all,” he says, holding up a finger, “it’s not just a ‘random space movie.’ It’s a cinematic masterpiece.”

You snort. “Didn’t take you for the type to get passionate over movies.” Heeseung sends you a smirk, one that you had to admit made you feel mushy inside. What was happening to you? “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” And for some reason, you find yourself wanting to change that. Then the conversation shifts again. This time, it’s about childhood.

You shake your head. “That explains so much about you.” The conversation flows too easily. The barriers that were once so firm between you are now… blurred. It scares yet excites you at the same time. At some point, you notice Heeseung looking at you for a little too long. His eyes flicker over your face, his smirk settling into something softer. Something unreadable. It has your heart pounding and your palms sweaty. You felt like one of those rom com heroines that were head over heels in love with the witty Jock. What were you doing? Lee Heeseung was so not your type. Hockey players were so not your type.

“You know,” he muses, tilting his head, “this kinda feels like a date.” Your breath catches in your throat.

You scoff, trying to ignore the sudden warmth in your face. “In what world?”

Heeseung grins, leaning forward slightly. “Come on. Late-night café, deep conversation, stolen glances.” He raises a brow. “You sure you don’t feel it?” Your heart stumbles. You don’t know what to say. So you shift the topic into something more casual but still you don’t miss the knowing smirk on Heeseung’s face, like he knew the effect he had on you and he liked it. And a part of you liked it too..

The next day, you and Heeseung are back at the library, tucked into your usual corner. The energy between you is… normal. The way it always is. You tell yourself that last night at the café meant nothing. That Heeseung’s words—this kinda feels like a date—were just him messing with you, the way he always does. So you push it away, bury yourself in your notes, and act like everything is the same.

And for the most part, it is. Heeseung slouches in his chair, tapping his pencil against the table in boredom while you attempt to drill historical facts into his thick skull. He groans dramatically when you ask him a question. He teases you when you sigh in exasperation. Everything is normal. Until—

“What’s this?” Heeseung suddenly reaches into your bag and pulls out a slightly worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. You blink. “Uh, my book?”

Heeseung raises a brow. “You’re one of those people?”

You cross your arms. “What does that mean? A person who reads?”

He grins, flipping through the pages. “Y’know. The ones who are obsessed with Mr. Darcy.”

You roll your eyes. “I like the book because it’s well-written. Not because I’m obsessed with some brooding 19th-century man.” Heeseung hums, still turning the pages. “Mm. I liked it, too.”

You stare at him. “What?” No way a guy like Lee Heeseung read and liked Pride and prejudice.

He looks up, amused. “What?”

“You read it?”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Yeah. Had to for a class in high school.”

You’re genuinely shocked. You don’t know why—Heeseung surprises you more often than you’d like to admit. But for some reason, the image of him reading Pride and Prejudice is not one you ever expected. “What did you think?” you ask, genuinely curious.

He leans back in his chair, tapping the book against his thigh. “I liked the way Mr. Darcy felt about Elizabeth. That whole ‘I tried not to love you, but I did anyway’ thing? Kinda hits, y’know?”

Your breath catches. Because the way he says it..It’s not teasing, it’s not sarcastic, it's not a joke. The air shifts between you and for a minute you just stare at each other, saying nothing but so many things all at once. Something pulses in the space between you—something unfamiliar, something dangerous, something you don’t quite know how to name. Then, before you can react— Heeseung laughs, then he leans forward and kisses you.

It’s quick. Just a press of his lips against yours. Light, fleeting. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s a joke. Something so trivial you do with the everyday person, something with no meaning. And it takes you a second to process what just happened before the reality of it slams into you like a freight train. You shove him back. Hard. “What the hell, Heeseung?” Your voice shakes with anger.

He just grins, laughing. “Relax. I just wanted to see you flustered.” Your stomach sinks. To him it was a joke, kissing me was a joke to see me– Flustered? That was funny to him? You don’t even realize your hands are shaking until you grab your things and shove them into your bag. Your chest feels tight. Your vision blurs. Because it wasn't a joke to you. You didn't enjoy being the punchline to someone's entertainment. “Hey, where are you—” But you don’t let him finish. You walk out.

You make it all the way out of the library before the first tear falls. You hate yourself for it. Hate that you’re crying. Hate that you’re letting Heeseung get to you. But you can't help it. That was your first kiss. And he stole it from you. It wasn't special, it wasn't meaningful if anything it was the opposite. It was just a joke. A way for Heeseung to entertain himself. You wipe your face harshly, forcing yourself to breathe. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That it’s not a big deal. That it’s fine. But it’s not.

You’re halfway across campus when you hear footsteps behind you. “Wait—wait,” Heeseung calls. You don’t stop. If anything you walk quicker trying your hardest to get away from him. “Hey—seriously—” He jogs up beside you, still laughing. Like it’s funny. Like it’s just another thing for him to tease you about. And that’s when you’ve had enough. That’s when you break.

You whirl around, eyes blazing. “You think this is funny?” Heeseung falters, caught off guard by the sharpness in your voice. You scoff, shaking your head. “You don’t get it.”

Heeseung frowns, finally realizing that you’re actually mad. “I mean, come on. It was just a kiss—”

“No, it wasn’t!” The words come out louder than you intend. Heeseung blinks. Your throat tightens. You stare at the ground, voice quieter now. “That was…my first kiss.” The words feel like ash on your tongue, burning your inside out. Embarrassment flooding your senses.

And silence followed, dead silence. Heeseung said nothing at your confession. When you finally look up, Heeseung’s expression has completely changed. He doesn’t look smug anymore. He doesn’t look amused. He looks like he just got punched in the stomach. “Shit,” he breathes.

You shake your head, swallowing hard. “Forget it.” You turn to leave again, but this time, he grabs your wrist. Stopping you from moving away from him. You want to rip your wrist from his hands, it feels like fire on your skin. You just wanted to get away from him even for just a few minutes to collect yourself, so you could calm down.

Heeseung, although unintentionally, took something from you. And for some people your first kiss would mean nothing but not to you. You had been waiting for the right time, a first kiss, in your mind, was supposed to be romantic. It was supposed to mean something. Even if you didn't end up with that person in the end. Even if you had the messiest break up it didn't matter because in that moment they were the right person and the feeling was there.

“I—” He hesitates, exhaling sharply. “I didn’t know.”

You laugh bitterly. “Yeah. No shit.” because of course he didn't. Because in his world silly little romantic gestures and the innocence of waiting for the right time to have your first kiss didn’t exist. Kissing was something you just did for him.

Heeseung runs a hand over his face, looking genuinely guilty. His usual cockiness is gone, replaced by something that almost looks like… regret. “I—fuck. I’m an asshole,” he mutters, shaking his head.

You sniff, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah. You are.”

He looks at you, jaw tight. “I wouldn’t have done that if I knew.” And you believe him. You can see it in the way his lips are pressed into a thin line, the way his jaw clenches like he’s punishing himself for something he can’t take back. A long silence stretches between you. Were you really about to forgive him?

Then, you exhale, your voice small. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that.”

Heeseung swallows hard. “I know.” Your throat tightens as you look away, the ache in your chest still present but no longer suffocating. “It was stupid, and it—it wasn’t supposed to be a joke.”

“I know,” he repeats. And this time, his voice is laced with something heavier. Something genuine. You hate that you can’t hate him for it. You chew on your lip, staring at the ground. A part of you wants to stay mad. Wants to tell him to leave you alone, to let you hold on to your anger because that would be easier. But another part of you—one you’re not sure you like—wants to believe him.

Because Heeseung might be an arrogant hockey player with a flirty smirk and a ridiculous ego, but… he isn’t cruel. You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. “I can’t believe my first kiss was with you.”

Heeseung huffs out a laugh, though there’s no amusement in it. “Yeah. And I can’t believe I ruined it for you.” You look up at him then, surprised by the way his gaze is so… serious. He was being sincere. “I’m really sorry,” he says quietly. “I was just being an idiot. I didn’t think—I didn’t know—” He shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “I swear, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

You stare at him for a long moment, searching his face for any trace of insincerity. But there’s nothing. You could tell with utmost certainty that he was sorry, that he regretted it. And against all odds, you sigh, your shoulders dropping just a little. “I forgive you,” you murmur.

Heeseung blinks. “You do?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

A slow, relieved smile tugs at his lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You shake your head, still feeling a little raw, but… better. Heeseung watches you carefully. Then, after a beat, he hesitates before saying, “You know… if you wanted, I could—” He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking almost shy. “I mean, I could give you a proper first kiss.” You freeze, your heart stuttering in your chest.

Heeseung seems to immediately regret saying it, his eyes widening. “Only if you wanted—and not now! I mean—just, like, someday. If you ever wanted to, uh—” You stare at him. Then, despite everything, a laugh bubbles up in your throat. Heeseung let out a groan, running a hand over his face in embarrassment “Just, forget i said anything.”

But you’re grinning now. It was your turn to tease him and man it felt good.

The arena is alive with energy, the kind that shakes the walls and hums beneath your skin. You’re here. At a hockey game. Voluntarily. Yunjin nearly fell off the bleachers when you agreed without your usual dramatic sigh and drawn-out complaints. She had pestered you the entire way here, elbowing you in the ribs, wiggling her eyebrows, making heart gestures with her hands.

“I know why you suddenly want to come,” she had sing-songed, a smug grin plastered on her face. You had simply rolled your eyes, refusing to entertain her antics. But now, sitting in the middle of the buzzing crowd, you feel… different.

For the first time, you’re actually watching the game. Not just tolerating it, not just suffering through it for Yunjin’s sake—you’re watching, eyes trained on one player in particular. Lee Heeseung.

You’ve never really paid attention before, never really noticed the way he moves across the ice like he was born on it. He’s fast, insanely fast, weaving through players with a sharp focus you’ve never seen from him anywhere else. The same guy who saunters into tutoring sessions late, who smirks and teases and never takes anything seriously—here, he’s different. He’s serious. Disciplined. And you suddenly understand why people look at him the way they do. Why he’s not just good—but great.

Your chest tightens as you watch him skate down the ice, stick-handling the puck with effortless precision before passing it off to a teammate. A minute later, the puck is passed back to him, and in one smooth motion, he winds up his shot. The slapshot is powerful, cutting through the air before slamming into the back of the net. The entire arena erupts. Heeseung’s teammates swarm him, cheering, helmets knocking against each other as they embrace. The student section roars, chants of his name ringing out through the stands.

And you— You cheer. For the first time ever a hockey game has actually excited you. You let the fact that it was a grueling, animalistic sport slip away from you and you allowed yourself to have fun. To watch the people around you at the edge of their seats and you be a part of it. You weren't sulking in your seat wishing you were anywhere but here, no you were having fun. It was liberating. Why hadn;t you allowed such a simple pleasure before.

You don’t even realize it at first. It’s small, just a quiet “yes!” under your breath, but Yunjin hears it. Her head whips toward you so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t get whiplash. “Oh. My. God.”

You blink, startled. “What?”

Her jaw drops, hands gripping your arm in a death hold. “You just cheered.” You open your mouth to protest, but she’s already gasping dramatically. “I can’t believe it. You—you like hockey. You like hockey.”

You shove her off, cheeks burning. “I do not.”

“You do! You just cheered! You’ve been watching the game, and not in a ‘God, this is so stupid’ kind of way, but like a real fan.” She gasps again. “Oh my God, do you have a jersey under your coat? Are you secretly a hardcore Lee Heeseung fangirl?”

You glare at her. “I swear to God, Yunjin—”

But she just grins, eyes sparkling with pure mischief. “You like him.”

Your stomach flips. “I do not.”

“You do!” She wiggles her brows, giddy like she’s just discovered the best gossip of the century. “You’re watching him like he hung the moon, and you cheered, and you didn’t even complain when I dragged you here!”

You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. “I just—” You hesitate, glancing back toward the ice where Heeseung is still grinning, fist-bumping his teammates. And for the first time, you admit it to yourself. You like him. You really like him. Even if he stole your first kiss like it was a joke, even if he’s late sometimes, even if he never takes anything seriously with that stupid little smirk on his face. You like him. Lee Heeseung had surprised you. He was nothing you had thought him to be. He was funny, he was kind, he was smart even if he thought otherwise.

The realization settles over you like a weight you’re not sure you’re ready to carry. Because no way does Heeseung feel the same way about you. Does he? He called your little cafe hang out a date. He’s told you things about himself that i’m sure only his closest friends would know. He kissed you for god sake. Maybe he does like you back?

“Even if i do like him..” You mutter finding it hard to get the words out. “It’s not like he would like me back?”

“It doesn’t hurt to find out right?” Yunjin asks with a big dopey grin on her face.

“That’s the thing..” You trail off “It does hurt to ask, because if he doesn't like me back then it will be awkward, it will ruin everything we've done so far.”

“Sure.” Yunjin nods “But you can’t walk around with this crush looming over you. Things like this can’t go unsaid..”

You just nod at her not really wanting to further conversation here of all places. The game was over and everyone was starting to leave, it would be humiliating if someone were to hear the two of yours conversation.

“Come on.” Yunjin grabbed your arm “We have to wait for Soobin..”

You stand outside the rink with Yunjin, your arms crossed over your chest as she bounces on the balls of her feet, clearly eager to see Soobin. The energy is still electric from the game, students lingering in groups, buzzing about the win. You’re pretending to listen to Yunjin ramble about some play that Soobin made, but your eyes keep flickering toward the players filtering out of the locker room. Looking for him. But Heeseung’s nowhere to be found.

You’re not sure why you care. Not sure why your stomach twists in disappointment every time another player walks past and it’s not him. You were sure you looked like a little lost puppy, how pathetic of you really.

“Looking for someone?” Yunjin cooes, a grin on her face. You shake your head at her relentlessness. She never gives up does she.

“No.” You deadpan “I’m not.”

“Sure.” she giggles. But she didn't believe you. And truthfully you didn't believe yourself.

Luckily, Soobin finally emerges, and Yunjin squeals, launching herself at him. He laughs, catching her with ease, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. “Did you see my goal?” he teases.

“I saw everything,” Yunjin gushes. You roll your eyes, but there’s a small, unbidden smile playing on your lips as you watch them. You always admired their relationship and the way Soobin takes such good care of Yunjin. Sure, you weren't the biggest fan of hockey players but Soobin was one of the good ones. Yunjin loved him, so in turn you loved him too. Unless he hurt her. Then he’d had hell to pay. But, they've been going strong for two years now so the chance of that happening was slim to none it seemed.

The moment is cut short when a group of guys from the opposing team walks past, their presence immediately shifting the air. “Nice win,” one of them says, voice dripping with sarcasm. His eyes land on Soobin. “Lucky, huh?”

Soobin tenses beside Yunjin, but his expression remains neutral. “Just played our game, man.”

One of the guys scoffs. “Right. Guess even a broken clock is right twice a day.” Jake and Jay join the group just in time to hear that, their easygoing post-game demeanor sharpening.

“Problem?” Jake asks, his usual grin gone. It was so unlike Jake to not have a beaming smile on his face. He was almost never this serious from what you’ve seen of him.

The guy just smirks. “Not at all. Just wondering what your team is gonna do when Lee Heeseung finally crashes and burns.” Something in your chest tightens.

Jake’s jaw ticks. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on. You know it as well as we do. Without hockey, Heeseung is nothing. Just another dude who peaked in college and has nothing to fall back on.” The guy laughs, shaking his head. “Damn shame, really.” You see red.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you step forward. “Excuse you?” The guy turns to you, clearly amused. “Oh? And who are you?”

“I’m the person telling you to shut the hell up,” you snap, surprising everyone—including yourself. Heeseung might drive you insane. He might be arrogant and cocky and an infuriating flirt. But the way they’re talking about him—like he’s disposable, like he doesn’t matter beyond what he can do on the ice—it bothers you. It bothers you a lot. More than it should maybe. But at this moment you didn’t care. You sure as hell were not going to let sore losers talk down on him when he wasn’t even here to defend himself.

You keep going, anger bubbling to the surface. “You don’t know anything about him. You don’t know how hard he works, how much pressure he’s under. He’s one of the best players in the league, and that’s why you’re all so bitter.” You let out a scoff. “And if he did quit hockey tomorrow? He’d still be ten times the person any of you are.” The group goes silent for a beat. Then the guy just laughs. He actually laughs. You tense up, readying yourself to really have at them.

You open your mouth to argue, but he just shakes his head, still chuckling. “Good luck with that, sweetheart.” Then they walk off, leaving you standing there, seething and embarrassed for making a scene.

“Damn.”

You turn to find all eyes on you. It made you want to sink into yourself and put yourself away for the next year. A closed off hole in the dirt would be a better place for you right now then where you were currently. Jake raises his eyebrows, impressed. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

“Neither did I,” Jay adds, smirking.

Even Soobin is looking at you like he’s seeing you in a new light. Everyone was looking at you like you were a totally different person than who you were. And you didn't know if you liked it.

But it’s Yunjin who nudges your side, grinning knowingly. “Interesting.” You groan, rubbing your temples. Because, yeah. It is interesting. Because for all the times you’ve denied it, all the times you’ve tried to pretend you don’t care about Heeseung— You just proved, in front of everyone, that you do.

The next day, you wait for Heeseung at the library, tapping your pen impatiently against your notebook. Five minutes turn into fifteen. Fifteen into thirty. But he never shows. Annoyance bubbles inside you. Typical. Still, something feels different this time. After the kiss, after everything that happened, you expected—no, hoped—things would shift between you. Instead, he’s just… disappeared. And you hate that you care. Everything was ok. He was flirty, so why was he ignoring you? Why was he flaking?

So, against your better judgment, you find yourself heading toward the frat house. The music is low, a few guys lounging around, but it’s nothing like the parties you’ve been dragged to before. When you ask where Heeseung is, they just gesture upstairs, some of them giving you looks you pointedly ignore. You don’t even knock. You push open his door to find him sitting on his bed, scrolling through his phone.

He barely spares you a glance. “What do you want?”

You scoff. “Seriously? You skip tutoring and act like I’m the one bothering you?” Heeseung tosses his phone aside, finally looking at you—but there’s no teasing glint in his eyes, no smirk. Just something unreadable, something guarded. “I didn’t ask you to come here.”

You frown. “Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for you to ignore me, either.”

Silence. Heeseung rubs the back of his neck, exhaling harshly. “Look, just forget it.”

You shake your head, frustration growing. “Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?” He quips with a sarcastic laugh. It makes your blood boil.

“Like this. Distant. Rude. A total asshole.”

He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Funny. I thought that’s how you always saw me.”

“That’s not—” You stop yourself, clenching your fists. “What’s your problem?”

Heeseung stands, suddenly in your space, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. “My problem?” His voice is sharp now. “My problem is you making me look like an idiot.”

You blink, taken aback. “What?” The confusion coursing through you was palpable. You couldn’t remember a time you had made him look like an idiot. The two of you hardly interacted outside of the library and you certainly hadn’t been around each other when your friends were near. So what the hell was he talking about?

“Last night,” he mutters, his jaw clenched. “You stood there, in front of everyone, and defended me like I’m some kind of fucking charity case.” Oh. Oh.

Your breath catches in your throat. “That’s not what I was doing—”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” he interrupts. “I don’t need you to tell people I’m more than hockey. I am hockey.” His eyes darken. “And just because we kissed doesn’t mean you’re my fucking girlfriend.”

The words hit you like a slap. You open your mouth, then close it. You don’t even know what to say. The silence stretches between you like a canyon.

“I wasn’t trying to-”

“I didn’t ask for you to do that,” he cuts you off. “I don’t need saving.” You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I wasn’t trying to save you, Heeseung. I was just—”

He laughs, but it’s anything but amused. “You were just what?”

“Caring,” you snap. “I was caring, okay? God forbid someone actually gives a shit about you.” Something flashes across his face—something raw, something almost vulnerable—but it’s gone as quickly as it came. A beat of silence. Then, softer: “I don't need you to care.”

And that, somehow, it hurts more than anything else he’s said. You nod, pressing your lips together. “Just drop it.” He says with finality. But you weren't done. No, you were fired up.

You should. You should just let it go. But instead, you shove his shoulder. “No.”

He looks at you, startled. “Did you just—” You shove him again.

He catches your wrist. “You’ve got some nerve.” You glare up at him. “And you’re a coward.”

His grip tightens slightly. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” You take a shaky breath. “You push people away because it’s easier than letting them in. It’s easier than admitting that you actually give a shit.” Heeseung’s eyes flicker with something unreadable. “And what if I don’t?” You swallow. “Then prove it.” His grip on your wrist tightens. And then, suddenly— His lips are on yours.

This time you don’t push him away, this time you welcome him. Because you wanted this, more than you’ve wanted anything else before. It’s rough, heated, and you should push him away. You should be furious. But instead, you find yourself kissing him back. You barely register him walking you backward until your back hits the wall, his hands gripping your waist, his lips trailing along your jaw, your neck. The argument, the hurt, the frustration—it all melts into something else entirely. Something that has been building since the first moment you met. And you don’t stop him. How could you when this was all you’ve wanted. All you’ve been thinking of. The kiss is hard, almost punishing, like he’s trying to prove a point. But you don’t pull away. You kiss him back, fisting the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer.

It’s heated, desperate, fueled by something neither of you want to name. His hands find your waist, and before you know it, you’re stumbling back onto the bed. Your heart is racing. This is a bad idea. This is reckless and impulsive and everything you swore you wouldn’t do. But when Heeseung hovers over you, his lips brushing against yours— you don’t want him to stop. And you beg him not to.

“Don’t stop.” You breathe pulling away an inch to whisper the words. “Please.”

“But-” He stutters his own breathing labored “You’ve never..”

“I want to.” You nod at him, giving him all the reassurance he needs.

“Are you sure?” He asks you, his lips leaving a small trail on your neck down to your collarbone. “Tell me you’re sure.”

“I’m sure heeseung.” You grabbed his face, so his eyes were leveled with yours. “I want you.”

Heeseung’s hands continued down the expanse of your body. Running his palms up and down your sides until they reached your waist. He pulled at your body until you’re forced down onto your back with a huff.

“You’re so beautiful” Heeseung mumbles from above you. “I’m so lucky to be the only man to see you like this…” He coos as his hands made quick work of sliding your yoga pants down your legs revealing your white cotton panties to his eyes. “Right baby?” He hummed “I’m lucky right?”

You could barely form words as you watched drink in the sight of you. You nod at him that being the only form of communication you could offer him. His hands run up your body again, slowly caressing you. Until he reached your tank top covered breasts. His hands squeezed at them causing a broken gasp to leave your lips.

You had never been touched by a man like this. So sensually, so erotic. Your body felt ablaze with need for him; you didn't know how to contain yourself. “Please.” You whispered, lifting your hips off the bed, showcasing your ever growing need for him.

“Be patient baby, I want to take my time with you.” Heeseung pulled at the top of your tank top, yanking it down to expose your breasts to him. He smiled at you, a smile that had made you feel warm inside, safe. His hands kneaded the skin of your breasts. Breathy moans left your lips as you watched Heeseung in fascination. He was beautiful like this. You had never seen a more beautiful man before.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?” Heeseung asked, and for a second you were confused until you felt his nimble fingers on your most sensitive area. An area that had not yet been explored. It had your breath stuttering, your nerves alight.

Heeseung’s finger circled your clit, his eyes watching your for any signs of discomfort. “This might feel a little uncomfortable, just tell me if you want me to stop and I will okay?”

“Okay.” You sigh. Heeseung’s finger dips inside of you and at first the stretch is uncomfortable but not painful and soon..it starts to feel good. A moan leaves your lips before you could stop it.

“Fuck.” Heeseung hisses eyes trained on your pussy and how well you were taking his finger. “I’m going to add another one..you’re so tight.”

“Oh my god.” You whispered as the feeling of his fingers going in and out of you became almost too much to bear.

“Does that feel good, baby?” Heeseung whispered eyes still trained downwards, watching himself fuck you with his fingers.

“Yes, fuck yes.” Your moans were loudly and could probably be heard throughout the entire house but you didn’t care. It felt too good.

Suddenly, the feeling was yanked from you when Heeseung pulled his fingers out. His hands immediately traveled to his pants, yanking them down in one fell swoop. “You’re ready for me.” He said, pulling your hips to the end of the bed.

“Heeseung…” You trailed off “Is it going to hurt?” You asked him. Heeseung looked at you with a softness you had rarely ever seen from him before.

“It will sting a little..” He admits “But tell me if it's too much and I'll stop right away.”

“Okay, i’m ready” You give him a little smile and a nod, mentally preparing yourself. You were about to lose your virginity to a guy that wasn’t even your boyfriend. And you wanted to, you were excited to.

Heeseung lined himself at your entrance watching your face to gauge your reaction, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you. You felt him run the tip of his cock up and down your folds, collecting your wetness. And finally after what felt like forever he slid in. slowly, inch by inch. The stretch was far more uncomfortable than his fingers. And he was right to say it would sting. But it was not unbearable. And finally when he was fully inside, hips flush against yours you had felt so close to him, more close than you had ever felt to anyone. It was almost romantic. Not almost, it was.

Heeseung slowly moved himself in and out of you allowing you to get used to his size.

“God.” He hissed out, his fingers making dents in your thighs as he tried his best to contain himself. “So…fucking…tight.”

“Yeah?” You asked, your voice light and airy. Your hands reached for his shoulders digging your fingertips into his skin. “Does it feel good?”

Heeseung groaned at your words pistoning his hips harder inside of you. “Y-yes” He stuttered. “Best pussy i’ve ever felt.”

You smiled at his crude words but you would be lying if you didn't think his words to be oddly…sweet.

“Faster.” You moaned, moving your hands down to circle at your clit. “You can go faster.”

Heeseung let out another deep girdled groan lifting your knees to your chest allowing himself to hit a deeper spot inside of you. It had you gasping for breath. The new angle sends you hurtling to your orgasm before you could even catch your breath.

“Fuckkkk” Heeseung’s moans were like music to your ears, a sound you had never thought you would have the pleasure of hearing and now that you have you would never give up.

Your orgasm served as a catalyst to his as he pulled out, leaving you feeling empty. His hand worked himself up and down, his breathing heavy and chest heaving up and down. “Oh my god.” He groaned as droplets of his cum landed on your stomach. You watched him with wide eyes, your own chest falling in tandem with his.

“Are you okay?” He asks after a while, letting you both catch your breath.

“Yeah..” You sigh. “More than okay.”

The next day, Heeseung is out of town for an away game, leaving you alone with your thoughts—ones you don’t particularly want to sit with. Over thinking the night the two of you had over and over again. It was perfect, in your mind. And you didn’t regret not one bit.

When Yunjin suggests another movie night, you jump at the distraction. Wanting a way to calm your raging nerves. An hour later, the two of you are curled up on your respective sides of the couch, Chinese takeout containers balancing on your laps, Legally Blonde playing on the screen. But you’re barely paying attention. Your mind is still tangled in the events of last night—the heat of Heeseung’s touch, the way he kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, the things he whispered against your skin.

It’s only a matter of time before Yunjin notices. She shoots you a knowing look, pausing the movie. “Okay. Spill.”

You hesitate, staring down at your lo mein. “Spill what?”

She scoffs. “Don’t even try that. You’ve been acting weird all night. Like, more weird than usual.”

You exhale, pressing your lips together. Then, before you can overthink it, you blurt, “I slept with Heeseung.” The silence that follows is deafening. Yunjin just stares at you, chopsticks frozen mid-air. “You what?”

You groan, setting your food down. “You heard me.” She blinks. “Oh my god.”

“I know.”

“Oh my god.”

“I know!”

Yunjin drops her chopsticks and grabs your hands, shaking them. “Okay, okay. Start from the beginning. How did this happen?” So you tell her. You tell her about going to the frat house, about how Heeseung was being an asshole again, about the argument that escalated into something else entirely. By the time you’re done, Yunjin is still holding onto you, eyes wide. “So… what happens now?” You bite your lip. That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Because the truth is—you don’t know.

“I have no idea,” you admit. “We didn’t really talk about it. He had to leave early for the game this morning.”

Yunjin watches you carefully. “And how do you feel?”

You hesitate. “I don’t regret it.” That’s the one thing you’re sure of. Yunjin nods, but there’s a flicker of concern in her eyes. “Just… be careful, okay?”

You give her a small smile. “I will.” She studies you for another moment, then sighs dramatically, flopping back against the couch. “Well, damn. I guess this makes you a hockey girlfriend now.”

You snort. “I am not a hockey girlfriend.”

“Not yet.” She waggles her eyebrows. You groan, throwing a pillow at her. She yelps, laughing as she ducks.

Monday rolls around, and you’re actually excited to see Heeseung again. It’s ridiculous. You know it’s ridiculous. But after everything that happened, after the way things felt so different between you, there’s a small, traitorous part of you that wonders if things have actually changed. But then hours pass. And Heeseung doesn’t text. Doesn’t call. You tell yourself you're not the type of girl that obsesses over whether a boy will call her or not but it’s hard not to. Not when said boy just made you feel like the most special girl in the world. The one who took your virginity and made it the most special moment of your life. The boy you're falling so madly and deeply in love with.

You’re not that type of girl. By the time evening comes around, you’ve tried convincing yourself a hundred times that you don’t care—that you don’t need to hear from him. So when Yunjin texts you, asking if you want to grab food at the diner, you immediately say yes. A distraction is exactly what you need. A night at a little diner with your best friend who knows about Heeseung. You can get some perspective from a girl who's in a happy and healthy relationship. She’ll tell you that Heeseung is just tired, he was away all weekend playing Hockey he might just want to rest. All your worries will be satiated and then you can focus on having a good dinner.

The diner is packed when you walk in, the usual buzz of students filling the space. You and Yunjin are making your way to a booth near the back when she suddenly stops short. You follow her gaze—and feel your stomach drop. At a table near the center of the diner sits Heeseung, Soobin, and the rest of the hockey guys, all laughing loudly over burgers and milkshakes like they don’t have a care in the world. And Heeseung—he looks fine. Like nothing happened.

Yunjin glances at you. “Do you want to—” Before she can finish, you take a breath and start walking. You’re not going to hide from him. That would be pathetic. You’re just going to go over, say hi, and act normal. But the second you and Yunjin reach the table, you can feel the shift in energy.

Heeseung tenses when he sees you, his usual cocky smirk faltering for a second before he recovers. “What are you doing here?” You blink, taken aback by his tone. “Getting food. What does it look like?” Some of the guys at the table snicker, and your stomach twists. You feel small. You feel helpless.

Heeseung leans back in his seat, his jaw tightening. “Didn’t realize you were such a fan of hockey hangouts.”

You furrow your brows. “What?” Your heart drops to your stomach.

He shrugs. “I mean, I just didn’t peg you as someone who follows guys around, but hey—good to know.”

The table erupts into laughter, and heat flares up your neck. You cannot believe this. is he seriously—after everything—is he seriously doing this right now? He’s humiliating you. And for what? To look cool? To hurt you? Because it was working, he was hurting you. Soobin, however, notices immediately. His gaze flicks between you and Heeseung, frown deepening. You glance at Yunjin, whose mouth is already set in a furious line. But before you can say anything, she grabs a cup off the table—one full of soda and ice—and without hesitation, throws it straight at Heeseung.

Gasps ring out. The laughter stops immediately. Heeseung sits there, stunned, soda dripping from his hair and down his face. The entire diner is watching now, but Yunjin doesn’t care. “What the fuck, Yunjin?!” Heeseung exclaims, jumping up, shaking the liquid off his hands. She glares at him with pure, unfiltered rage. “You are such a fucking asshole, Lee Heeseung.”

Then she grabs your hand, yanking you away from the table before you can even process what just happened. Leaving your heart at the table with him. Shattered for everyone to see.

The second you’re outside, the cool air hitting your flushed skin, you exhale sharply. “Holy shit.” Yunjin looks just as pissed as you feel. “What the hell was that?”

You shake your head, anger and humiliation swirling inside you. “I don’t know.” But what you do know? You’re done. Done making excuses for Heeseung. Done thinking that maybe—just maybe—he’s not the person you feared he was. Because he just proved exactly who he is. And it hurts.

When the two of you are back at the dorm you allow yourself to cry, to feel the emotions as they came. The heeseung you thought you knew would never do this to you. But it was clear to you now that he only used you as a means to pass his class. His sweet personality was only a well executed act that you were stupid enough to fall for. How could you fall for that? Hockey boys were nothing but egoistic man boys who threw each other around, chasing a puck for a living. They lacked sustenance, they lived their lives like barbarians and you hated them, and everything they stood for.

You yanked your phone out of your back pocket before swiping to Heeseung’s contact. You hovered over his name for only a second before you opened messages and typed out; “Tutoring is done. Don’t text me, don’t call me. Goodbye.” and you wished you could gather the words to hurt him the way he hurt you but you just didn’t have the strength. You wanted to forget Lee Heeseung and hockey all together.

Days pass in almost a blur. You contine life as usual only Heeseung is no longer a part of it. You avoid him like the plague, if he’s near at all you bolt. There was no talk of hockey in the dorm anymore. Yunjin was just as pissed and hurt as you. She was the best friend anyone could ever ask for really.

It was Friday night when you finally had time to settle in for the night. You had an old copy of pride and prejudice in your hand and a hot cup of tea next to you. Yunjin was with Soobin for the night so you were finally alone. It was just past ten-thirty when the sound of pounding on your dorm broke you out of your reading trance. You hurried out of your bed, opening the door with a sense of urgency. Only to be met with Heeseung.

He was holding a piece of paper in his hand, sporting a grin on his face. The audacity of him. To show up to your dorm..grinning. Was it is lifes mission to torture because it sure did feel like it. The look on Heeseung’s face as you slam the door almost makes you falter. Almost. You stand there, heart racing, hands clenched into fists as you try to steady your breathing. On the other side of the door, you hear nothing at first—just silence. And then: “Wait—no. Wait.”

A loud knock. You squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to do this. “Please, just open the door,” Heeseung says, his voice muffled.

You shake your head, even though he can’t see it. “Go away, Heeseung.”

“I—no. Not until you listen to me.” Another knock. Then another. “I swear I wasn’t using you.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “Oh, really? Could’ve fooled me.”

“I mean it.” His voice is closer now, pressed right up against the door. “That night at the diner—I fucked up, okay? I was an idiot. I didn’t want the guys to know about—” He pauses. “About us.” Something about the way he says us makes your stomach twist. You hate that a part of you still wants to listen. “Why?” you ask, your voice sharper than you expect. “Why is it so humiliating to be seen with me?”

“It’s not,” he says immediately. “That’s not—fuck. That’s not what I meant.” You don’t respond. You don’t know what to say. “Can you—” He exhales, frustration laced in his voice. “Can you at least open the door so I can look at you while I apologize?” You hesitate. Of course, you hesitate. You should just tell him to leave. He doesn’t deserve the chance to explain himself after what he did. But against your better judgement and like a complete and utter idiot, you unlock the door.

You glance at it, then back at him. “Good for you,” you say again, flatly. “I guess using me was worth it.”

His jaw clenches. He rubs the back of his neck. “I know you don’t owe me anything. I just—” He shakes his head. “I panicked, okay? I thought if the guys found out about… us, they’d—”

“They’d what, Heeseung?” You cross your arms. “Make fun of you? Say something stupid? Newsflash—people say stupid shit all the time.” He looks away. “You don’t get it.”

“Then make me get it.”

His hands tighten into fists. His lips press together like he’s warring with himself. “I just—I’ve spent years making sure people see me a certain way. That I’m not the same loser I was before.” You stare at him. “And you think being seen with me ruins that image?”

His head snaps up. “No.” He steps closer, and for the first time since that awful night, his voice is softer. “That’s not what I meant.” He swallows. “You make me feel different. And that—” He shakes his head, frustrated. “That scares me.” You don’t know what to say. Because what do you do with that? What do you do with the fact that this boy, the same one who humiliated you in front of everyone, is now standing here saying things you never expected to hear?

A lump forms in your throat. “Then maybe you should figure out what you actually want, Heeseung.” He looks at you, something raw in his expression. “I already know what I want.” But you don’t let yourself believe him. Not yet. So you step back. And this time, when you close the door, you do it gently. And you let yourself cry because that’s the only thing you can control right now.

The next night you're curled up in bed, the soft glow of your laptop screen illuminating your face as a movie plays in the background. You’re not really watching, though. You’re just existing, letting the noise drown out your thoughts. The door swings open, and Yunjin and Soobin step inside, their laughter filling the space. Yunjin glances at you before excusing herself to the bathroom, leaving you alone with Soobin. He hesitates for a moment before sitting down on the edge of your bed. “Hey,” he says gently. “How are you doing?”

You don’t even look away from the screen. “I’m great.”

Soobin scoffs. “Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.”

You sigh, finally meeting his gaze. He’s watching you carefully, like he’s trying to piece you together. His usual playful demeanor is gone, replaced with something softer. “Heeseung is a mess,” Soobin says after a moment. “He misses you. And he’s sorry.” You swallow the lump forming in your throat. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to care. But despite yourself, a single tear slips down your cheek.

“He used me, Soobin,” your voice cracks, and you look down at your lap. “How can I forgive him? Why would I?” Soobin sighs, shaking his head. He doesn’t hesitate when he says, “Because you love him. And he loves you.” Your breath catches. it’s so simple, so matter-of-fact, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like he’s just waiting for you to admit it to yourself. Before you can say anything, Yunjin steps out of the bathroom, looking between the two of you. “You ready to go?” she asks Soobin.

He nods, standing up. But before he leaves, he gives you one last look. “Just… think about it, okay?” Then, they’re gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You sit there long after the door closes, Soobin’s words echoing in your mind. Because you love him and he loves you.

Your heart clenches, and you wipe at the tear on your cheek, frustrated. It shouldn’t be this hard. You shouldn’t still care this much. But the truth is—you do. You sigh, curling up tighter in your blanket. The movie playing in the background is one you’ve seen a million times, but you’re not paying attention. Your thoughts keep circling back to Heeseung. His face when you shut the door. The way his voice wavered when he admitted you scared him.

Does he really love you? Or is this just another game to him? You don’t know. And that uncertainty terrifies you. Opening your heart up terrifies you. A soft knock pulls you from your thoughts. Your stomach twists, half-expecting it to be Heeseung, but when you open the door, it’s Sunoo. “Hey,” he says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Yunjin texted me. Said you might need company.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. Of course she did. Sunoo plops down next to you on the bed, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl in your lap. He watches you for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. “So. Are we wallowing or plotting revenge?” You huff out a laugh, shoving him lightly. “Neither.”

“Boring.” He sighs dramatically, throwing himself back against your pillows. “Okay, then what’s the plan? You’re clearly miserable. And I’m pretty sure Heeseung is too.” You don’t say anything, just stare down at the popcorn in your hands. Sunoo sighs again, but this time, it’s softer. “Look, I get why you’re mad. You should be mad. But…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not close with Heeseung and I barely know him since it’s my first year, but I’ve never seen him care about anyone the way he cares about you.”

Your chest tightens. “Then why did he treat me like that?”

“Because he’s an idiot.” Sunoo shrugs. “And because he’s scared. But mostly because he’s an idiot.” You roll your eyes. “Not helping.”

He nudges you. “I’m just saying… Maybe talk to him. Really talk to him.” You sigh, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know if I can trust him again.”

Sunoo is quiet for a moment, then says, “Then make him prove that you can.” You swallow hard, his words settling into your chest like a weight. Heeseung owes you more than just an apology. Maybe if he really wants you, he’ll fight for you. And maybe you, just maybe you’ll let him.

That weekend, Yunjin had had enough. She wasn’t about to let you wallow in self-pity any longer. “You’re coming to the game,” she announced, standing in front of your bed with her arms crossed. You groaned, pulling your blanket over your face. “Pass.”

“Not an option.” She yanked the covers away. “You’ve spent all week moping. You need to get out.”

“I am out,” you deadpanned. “My bed is out.”

“Not what I meant.” She rolled her eyes. “Get dressed. Now.” Despite your protests, she wasn’t having any of it. Eventually, after an absurd amount of bribery (including the promise of ice cream after), you gave in. By the time you arrived at the arena, the energy in the air was electric—fans were buzzing with anticipation, the scent of popcorn and arena food filling your senses. The rink was already packed, the game about to start, and you felt out of place among the sea of jerseys and face paint. Yunjin, however, was thrilled, chatting with other students and cheering before the puck even dropped. You sat stiffly beside her, arms crossed, doing your best not to look at the ice—because you knew if you did, your eyes would immediately find Heeseung.

And you weren’t ready for that. A few minutes into the game, Yunjin’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out, eyes scanning the screen before she let out a dramatic sigh. “Ugh. Soobin left his gloves in the locker room. Can you please grab them for him?”

You turned to her with a glare. “Why can’t y—”

“Just go do it,” she cut you off, shoving your shoulder lightly. Something about her tone made you pause. She sounded too casual. Too… calculated. You narrowed your eyes. “This feels like a setup.”

She gasped, all mock innocence. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing?” You weren’t convinced, but the alternative was sitting here and enduring the game, so you sighed. “Fine.”

Yunjin grinned, and you shot her one last suspicious look before heading down the corridor. The locker room hallway was eerily quiet, the distant sound of the game muffled through the walls. You pushed open the heavy door, stepping inside, expecting to see rows of empty benches and Soobin’s gloves lying somewhere in the mess of gear. instead, standing in the middle of the room, was Heeseung. Your breath caught. He looked different off the ice—less intimidating without his helmet, his hair damp with sweat, curling slightly at the ends. He was still in his jersey, the bold number on his sleeve catching the light, his hockey bag slung over one shoulder.

And he was staring at you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was heavy, charged with everything that had been left unsaid. You clear your throat, gripping the strap of your bag tighter. “I’m just here to grab Soobin’s gloves.” Your voice is steady, indifferent. Like seeing him doesn’t completely shake you.

Heeseung nods slowly, then gestures to the bench behind him. “They’re over there.” You walk past him, determined to just grab the gloves and leave, but as soon as your fingers curl around them, Heeseung speaks again. “You’re here.”

You freeze, but don’t turn around. “Yunjin dragged me.” A beat of silence. Then, softer—almost hesitant—Heeseung says, “I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again.”

You inhale sharply, gripping the gloves tighter. Finally, you turn to face him. “You made that pretty easy when you humiliated me.” Regret flickers in his expression. “I know,” he murmurs. “I was an idiot. A complete asshole. I told you, I was scared.”

You scoff. “Scared of what, Heeseung? That people would find out you actually cared about me? That you weren’t just some player?”

“Yes,” he admits, and the raw honesty in his voice takes you off guard. “I was scared of how much I cared about you. Scared that you’d realize I wasn’t good enough for you.” Heeseung runs a hand through his damp hair, exhaling shakily. “I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to make you feel like you didn’t matter, because you do. You do more than you realize.”

Your chest tightens, emotions crashing over you all at once. You want to be mad. You want to scream at him for the way he made you feel. But there’s something in his voice, in his expression—genuine remorse, vulnerability—that makes it hard to hold onto that anger. “You really hurt me, Heeseung,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. He steps closer, carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll run. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to you.”

You swallow, emotions warring inside you. For a moment, neither of you move. Then, hesitantly, he reaches out—giving you the chance to pull away—but when you don’t, his fingers brush against yours, light and uncertain. “Can we just… start over?” he asks. “Please?”

Your heart pounds. A part of you wants to walk away, to protect yourself from getting hurt again. But another part—maybe the bigger part—wants to believe him. You take a deep breath, looking into his eyes. “Okay.”

“Okay”

reg taglist. (★) @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @filmnings , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar , @notevenheretbh1 , @hwanghyunjinismybae, @ch4c0nnenh4, @kristynaaah

series taglist. (★) @saejinniestar , @chwesun , @vixialuvs , @slut4hee , @xylatox , @ghstzzn @skyearby @m1kkso @jakeswifez @heartheejake @hommyy-tommy @yunverie @lalalalawon

@strayy-kidz @wolfhardbby @kwiwin @immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @starfallia @mariegalea @adoredbyjay @strxwbloody @lovingvoidgoatee @beeboobeebss @zyvlxqht @weyukinluv @flwwon

@guapgoddees @demigodmahash @cloud-lyy @heesky @ikaw-at-ikaw @shuichi-sama @shawnyle @kwhluv @iarainha @ikeuwoniee @mora134340

crossing the line masterlist coming soon.

2K notes · View notes